Chapter 2
Sir Dorian Lionsreach was very good at remembering instructions.
This was unfortunate.
Because remembering instructions meant he was also very good at remembering exactly how they were worded.
Which, as it turned out, mattered quite a lot.
He stood in the Silver Ember Guild's main hall with his arms folded, staring at the newly posted notice on the central board. It had gone up less than an hour ago, written in Rowan Valebright's unmistakable hand—precise, efficient, and utterly devoid of humor.
It read:
NOTICE
Until further review, Sir Dorian Lionsreach is not to:
– Act independently on behalf of the Guild
– Initiate emergency responses without approval
– "Handle it himself"
Failure to comply will result in consequences.
Dorian squinted at it.
"Hmm," he said thoughtfully.
A clerk passing by slowed. Then stopped. Then backed up two steps.
"Sir Dorian," she said carefully, "you're not supposed to be near that notice."
"I'm not near it," Dorian replied. "I'm evaluating it."
"That still counts."
Dorian waved a hand. "Only if proximity is defined emotionally."
The clerk pinched the bridge of her nose and walked away.
Dorian leaned closer to the board, tapping the parchment with one finger.
"Act independently," he murmured. "Initiate emergency responses... handle it himself..."
He straightened.
"Well," he said, smiling faintly, "that's refreshingly specific."
Behind him, the guild hall hummed with the sound of normalcy trying desperately to reassert itself. Repair crews hammered. Apprentices argued about whose fault the warehouse incident technically was. A pair of adventurers debated whether they could charge hazard pay retroactively.
No one noticed Dorian quietly slipping out the side door.
Which was, frankly, on them.
The problem was not on fire this time.
Dorian found that deeply suspicious.
He stood at the edge of a market street in the eastern district, hands on his hips, surveying a scene that looked calm. Too calm. Stalls were open. Merchants called out deals. Children ran past with wooden swords.
And yet.
A man stood on a crate, shouting.
"...I TELL YOU, IT'S A MATTER OF TIME!"
The crowd's energy prickled—half amused, half uneasy.
Dorian's instincts stirred.
He stepped closer.
The man on the crate was thin, wild-eyed, and gesturing dramatically toward a boarded-up building at the end of the street.
"There's something in there," the man declared. "I've heard it scratching! Breathing! Whispering my name!"
A woman shouted back, "That's your conscience, Bereth!"
Laughter rippled.
Dorian frowned.
"Sir," Dorian said politely, raising a hand. "What seems to be the issue?"
Bereth turned, eyes lighting up when he saw the armor.
"A knight!" he exclaimed. "Finally, someone important!"
Dorian nodded gravely. "I do my best."
Bereth leapt down from the crate and hurried over. "There's a monster in that building. I know it."
Dorian glanced at the structure in question. Old stone. Windows boarded. Door chained shut with a heavy iron lock.
"Have you seen it?" Dorian asked.
"No," Bereth admitted. "But I feel it."
Dorian hummed.
"That's usually how these start," Bereth continued urgently. "First the feeling, then the screaming."
A merchant crossed her arms. "You said that last week."
"And then there was screaming!" Bereth insisted.
"That was you!"
Dorian raised both hands. "Alright. Everyone calm down."
He turned back toward the building, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
Now.
Rowan had been very clear.
No independent action.
No initiating emergency responses.
No handling it himself.
Dorian nodded.
"Excellent," he murmured.
He turned to the crowd. "I'm not here in an official capacity."
The crowd blinked.
"I'm simply... observing."
Bereth frowned. "Are you going to deal with it or not?"
Dorian smiled. "Define 'deal.'"
He took three steps back.
Then shouted, "IS ANYONE HERE QUALIFIED TO INVESTIGATE POTENTIAL MONSTROUS ACTIVITY?"
The crowd stared.
A hand rose slowly.
"Yes?" Dorian said.
A young adventurer stepped forward. "I mean... I've done rats. And one slime."
Dorian clapped his hands. "Perfect. Congratulations. You're hired."
"For what?" the adventurer asked.
"For an investigation," Dorian said. "I will supervise."
Bereth looked relieved. The merchants looked confused. The adventurer looked terrified.
Dorian leaned down to him. "You'll be fine. Probably."
They approached the building together.
The adventurer swallowed. "Sir... should we alert the Guild Master?"
Dorian shook his head. "No need. This is not an emergency."
A scratching sound echoed faintly from inside.
The adventurer whimpered.
Dorian paused.
"...Yet."
He gestured to the lock. "Go on."
The adventurer reached out.
The chain rattled.
Something inside the building moved.
The scratching grew louder.
The crowd gasped.
Dorian felt a thrill of vindication.
Ah. So there is something.
The lock snapped open.
The door creaked inward.
A shape lunged out.
The adventurer screamed.
The crowd screamed.
Dorian reached for his sword—
—and stopped himself.
Rowan's voice echoed in his head.
Do not handle it yourself.
Dorian clenched his jaw.
The shape tumbled into the street.
...And resolved itself into a very angry badger.
It hissed.
Everyone froze.
The badger hissed louder.
Bereth blinked. "That's it?"
The adventurer sagged with relief.
Dorian stared.
"...Well," he said after a moment, "that explains the scratching."
The badger charged.
Chaos erupted.
People scattered. Stalls overturned. Someone threw a cabbage.
The badger bit the cabbage and became briefly distracted.
Dorian pointed. "See? Threat neutralized."
The adventurer stared at him. "It's still loose!"
"Yes," Dorian said. "But not monstrous."
The badger fled down an alley.
Silence returned.
Bereth crossed his arms. "You made a big fuss over a badger."
Dorian nodded solemnly. "We learn something new every day."
A guard approached, eyeing the open building. "Sir... did you authorize this?"
Dorian smiled pleasantly. "No."
The guard frowned. "Then why did you—"
"I supervised," Dorian said. "That's different."
The guard stared at him.
"You're very good at this," the guard said flatly.
"Thank you."
The guard sighed. "I'm reporting this."
Dorian nodded. "Of course you are."
As the crowd dispersed, Dorian turned back toward the guild hall, hands clasped behind his back, utterly satisfied.
No fires.
No explosions.
No independent action.
He had obeyed the letter of the law.
Which, unfortunately, meant the spirit was very upset.
Somewhere in the city, a chicken clucked.
Dorian paused.
"...Don't start," he muttered.
Sir Dorian Lionsreach was, by all available metrics, having an excellent day.
No buildings were on fire.
No alchemical cylinders had detonated.
No city officials were actively screaming.
That last one, admittedly, was temporary.
Dorian strolled back toward the Silver Ember Guild with an easy gait, hands clasped behind his back, humming cheerfully. The badger incident had been resolved in the cleanest way possible—by letting it escape into a district that was, technically, not his responsibility.
He had supervised.
He had not acted independently.
He had followed Rowan's instructions to the letter.
Which meant—undeniably—that Rowan could not be angry.
Probably.
The guild hall doors were open, voices echoing inside. Dorian stepped through and was immediately hit by the scent of ink, stress, and faintly burnt wood—comforting smells, really.
Lila Valebright stood near the main table, reviewing reports with three clerks at once. She didn't look up as Dorian passed.
"That badger was not an emergency," she said calmly.
Dorian stopped.
"...You heard about that?"
She flipped a page. "We hear about everything."
Dorian smiled. "Excellent. Then you know I behaved impeccably."
One of the clerks looked up, eyes tired. "Sir Dorian, a merchant just submitted a complaint about 'reckless encouragement.'"
Dorian tilted his head. "Encouragement?"
"He says you inspired him to investigate a suspicious barrel on his own."
"...Ah," Dorian said. "That was an accident."
Lila finally looked up.
Her expression was polite.
Dangerously so.
"Dorian," she said gently, "did you, in any way, create an environment where people felt empowered to confront perceived threats without proper training?"
Dorian considered this.
"Well," he said slowly, "I wouldn't say create."
She stared.
"I would say demonstrate."
The clerks groaned.
Lila closed her eyes for exactly three seconds, then exhaled. "Rowan is going to hear about this."
Dorian straightened immediately. "Ah."
"That wasn't a threat," she added. "It was a statement of fact."
Dorian nodded solemnly. "Understood."
He turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Lila asked.
"Nowhere important," Dorian said cheerfully. "Just... not here."
He made it three steps before the guild hall doors slammed shut behind him.
The temperature dropped.
The conversations stopped.
Dorian turned slowly.
Rowan Valebright stood just inside the doorway.
Arms crossed.
Expression unreadable.
Presence oppressive in the way only a man who had survived wars could manage.
Dorian froze.
"...Hello," Dorian said.
Rowan did not respond.
Lila cleared her throat softly and stepped back. "I'll... let you two talk."
The clerks scattered like prey animals.
The doors closed again, leaving the two men alone in the hall.
Rowan's gaze did not waver.
Dorian clasped his hands behind his back. "I would like to state, preemptively, that I followed your instructions."
Rowan said nothing.
Dorian continued. "I did not act independently. I did not initiate an emergency response. I did not handle anything myself."
Rowan raised one eyebrow.
Dorian felt a bead of sweat form.
"I supervised," Dorian finished proudly.
Rowan inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
"Did you," Rowan asked quietly, "authorize an untrained adventurer to investigate a sealed building based on a rumor?"
Dorian hesitated.
"...I empowered him."
Rowan closed his eyes.
"Did you," Rowan continued, "cause panic in a market district?"
"No," Dorian said quickly. "That was already there."
Rowan opened his eyes.
"Did you," Rowan said, "redirect a potentially dangerous animal into a residential area?"
Dorian grimaced. "In my defense, it was running very fast."
Rowan stared at him for a long moment.
Then sighed.
Deeply.
"I leave you alone for half a day," Rowan said, "and you invent a new category of disaster."
"I wouldn't say disaster," Dorian said. "More like... precedent."
Rowan stepped forward.
Dorian tensed instinctively—then relaxed when Rowan stopped short, resting his hands on the table.
"You are not allowed," Rowan said evenly, "to interpret my instructions creatively."
Dorian opened his mouth.
"You are not allowed," Rowan continued, "to delegate danger."
Dorian closed it.
"And you are especially not allowed," Rowan finished, "to encourage civilians to emulate you."
Dorian winced. "They lack my instincts."
"They lack your luck," Rowan corrected.
Silence stretched.
Then Dorian straightened.
"Understood," he said sincerely. "I will comply fully."
Rowan studied him.
"...You're lying," Rowan said flatly.
Dorian smiled faintly. "Not lying. Adapting."
Rowan rubbed his face. "I married into peace. You are determined to ruin it."
Dorian's smile softened. "Someone has to keep things interesting."
Rowan looked at him sharply.
"...You're afraid," Rowan said.
Dorian blinked.
The levity faltered—just for a moment.
Rowan's voice was quieter now. "When I step back, you fill the space."
Dorian shrugged lightly. "Someone has to."
Rowan straightened.
"That doesn't mean you set fires to see if I return."
Dorian hesitated.
"...I didn't set one today."
Rowan stared.
"...Today," Rowan repeated.
Dorian cleared his throat. "We're learning."
A pause.
Then Rowan sighed again—less angry now. Tired.
"Go," Rowan said. "Before something else happens."
Dorian nodded. "Yes, Guild Master."
He turned to leave.
"Dorian."
He stopped.
"If you break the rules again," Rowan said, "I will personally assign you to paperwork."
Dorian froze.
"...Understood," he said, voice strained.
As he escaped the guild hall, heart pounding, Dorian allowed himself a grin.
Still alive.
Still trusted.
Still technically compliant.
Somewhere nearby, a chicken clucked.
Dorian stopped.
Slowly turned.
The chicken stood at the end of the corridor.
Watching.
"...You're not helping," Dorian said.
The chicken clucked again.
Dorian sighed.
"Fine," he muttered. "But if Rowan asks—this was your idea."
The chicken did not deny it.