Surprisingly, the Hall was mostly empty. It was still early in the morning, and the only people up were adventurers heading out on quests.

  A few nods were thrown their way as they made their way up the stairs. Rowan returned them, glancing at Annie as she said, “Now repeat all that back.”

  He sighed. “We’ve been over this three times already, but sure, why not.”

  They climbed up to the third floor, entering a long hallway. “He’s saying that the Steel Fist helped on the goblin quest, and that they deserve a part of the reward. They want 250 gold for the Core I got from the shaman.”

  Annie nodded, pointing to a door. “You’re going to be the only two in there. He filed a dispute with the Guild, and you’re representing the Crimson Grove.”

  “I mean, it’s not like we weren’t expecting it,” Rowan shrugged. “Of course he’s going to say we’re the ones who attacked them.”

  “As far as the Guild’s concerned, it's his word against ours.”

  “Good thing I stacked the deck,” he pointed out.

  Annie sighed. “That trick was a good way to build popularity, I’ll give you that. But the Guild is this.” She pointed at the plain wooden plaque on the door that read ‘Guildmistress’. “And popularity won’t mean much.”

  Rowan arched an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked. “Annie, she’s your a—”

  She cut him off, menacingly raising a finger. “Don’t you dare.”

  He considered it for a moment but thought better of it.

  “I’m serious,” Annie continued. “You’re expecting her to be on your side because you know we did nothing wrong and that they’re full of shit. But it's going to be the exact opposite.”

  “Why?” he frowned. “You have a fight or something?”

  Annie rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Lady preserve me,” she muttered, taking a deep, calming breath. “She’s gonna make it some sort of test,” she finally said. “Pit you against him to see how well you perform.”

  “Even with the surge coming?”

  “It’s not like she’s going to let you kill each other,” she shrugged. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if she put you in an arena against him. As a way to ‘settle differences’.”

  Rowan thought about it for a moment, and realized he was completely fine with that.

  With him able to cast again, and the rest of the team outfitted in gear worthy of their skill, Rowan was confident they’d come out ahead, no matter what happened. And if Zoe was included on top of that, it wouldn’t even be a challenge.

  “Alright,” he nodded. “I’ll try to bait him. Make it happen today.”

  She grinned. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

  He’s going to think I’m still injured from my advancement. It’s only been a week, but it takes most mages months to recover. I can use that.

  Rowan opened the door and stepped inside.

  Killian was seated in front of a large oaken table, intricate carvings adorning its legs and body. His expression wasn’t exactly happy, but he didn’t seem too annoyed either.

  “Close the door,” the woman sitting opposite him said, her demeanor casual.

  Rowan hadn’t met the Guildmistress in person, but he understood why the citizens of Litwick had such a high opinion of her.

  There was an aura to her, in more ways than one.

  Her hair was cut short, barely reaching her ears. It was a deep, chestnut brown, slightly curling upwards. From up close, Rowan saw no family resemblance to Annie, and while he’d heard her call the Guildmistress aunt more than a few times, he wasn’t so sure they were related.

  Rowan closed the door, making his way to the chair next to Killian.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Guildmistress,” he said politely, inclining his head.

  A sudden sense of foreboding washed over him, and Rowan strengthened [Iron Will]. The feeling of being under the gaze of a predator slowly faded, but it still lingered in the background.

  He risked a glance at the Gold-rank opposite him, unable to resist scanning her.

  There was a certain grace to her that Rowan had only seen in truly skilled individuals. She was balancing on the back two legs of her chair, the tip of her boot just barely pressed against the table.

  Even sitting, Rowan felt like it would take her barely a heartbeat to pick up the wicked-looking spear resting against the wall and point it at his throat.

  Her lips quirked upwards, and the feeling disappeared.

  “Likewise,” she nodded, gesturing at the chair. “Please sit. I have enough shit to deal with already, and I’d much rather we get this over with quickly.”

  She opened the folder in front of her, reading out. “The Steel Fist accuses the Crimson Grove of dealing in bad faith and unjustified assault,” her eyes moved to Killian, her tone disinterested. “Did I read that right?”

  He nodded, looking like he was about to go into a prepared speech. “Yes, Guildmistress. They—”

  She raised a hand, cutting him off. “Killian, we’ve been through this song and dance enough times already. I repeat, I have shit to do.”

  He shrugged. “Alright, I want five hundred gold from them. Two fifty for the Core, and another two fifty for the healing potions my men used after their fight.”

  Rowan arched an eyebrow, ready to add to the conversation when Quinea’s eyes returned to him. “Are you going to pay them?”

  He thought about trying to defend against the accusations, but that didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

  Killian had obviously done things like this before. Extorting a team he thought was weaker than his. Quinea seemed awfully tolerant of that behavior, but Rowan shouldn’t have been surprised. Litwick wasn’t exactly flush with Silver-ranks, and each one was a strategic asset needed to keep the Wilds at bay.

  Killian wasn’t the strongest Silver-rank adventurer in the city, but he wasn’t far from it. If their little dispute could be settled with a fight, the Guildmistress had every reason to make it happen—especially considering the towering stacks of paperwork waiting on her desk

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Rowan shook his head. “No, I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Guess that settles that,” she scribbled something onto the folder, setting it aside. “Tomorrow work?”

  “Perfect,” Killian glanced at Rowan, a smug smile tugging on his lips. “Oh, and it seems you’ve advanced. Not to mention gotten a skill on top of that too,” he said casually. “Should be a good fight, huh?”

  Rowan barely managed to suppress a smile.

  He’s happy because he thinks I can’t cast. Boy, is he in for a surprise.

  “What? Tomorrow?” Rowan frowned, shaking his head. “I can’t. I’m still healing.”

  Quinea shrugged. “The Steel Fist has a quest to head out to in three days. And I want this over and done with by then. So it can be tomorrow, or the day after that. Your choice.”

  Rowan grimaced, looking away.

  He might be suspicious if I pick tomorrow. But I don’t really feel like waiting another day to deal with this.

  “Tomorrow then,” he answered, straightening up. “No point in delaying. A single day isn’t going to help me much either way.”

  For a moment, a flicker of approval flashed across the Guildmistresses face, but it was gone so quickly Rowan wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it or not.

  Killian clapped him on the shoulder. “I like the way you think.”

  Rowan scowled, shrugging off his arm. “And what’s the format?”

  I hope it’s one on one. I’m sure the rest of the team wouldn’t have trouble holding their own against his four strongest if she picks a team battle, but in the end, I think I’d rather deal with this on my own.

  And it wasn't just his overconfidence talking this time.

  “It’s a duel,” Quinea answered. “Traditionally, the two highest ranked individuals in each team face off against each other. But you’re allowed to switch in situations like this,” she shrugged. “Though it wouldn’t make much sense to send that swordsman of yours against a high Silver-rank.”

  Rowan kept his expression steady, not wanting to give anything away.

  The longer Killian thought he was at an advantage, the better it would turn out for him.

  Ideally, he’ll only find out I’m not actually injured when the fight starts.

  “So,” Quinea clapped, getting their attention. “Are we done here? All parties satisfied with the outcome?”

  Killian smiled, standing up and dusting off his coat. “Very.”

  Rowan did the same, getting ready to leave.

  As they made their way to the door, the Guildmistress spoke. “Oh, and one more thing.”

  The pressure descended on Rowan’s shoulders once more. He saw Killian wince from the corner of his eye, but the spearman’s expression smoothed out a heartbeat later.

  “No killing,” Quinea said firmly, her voice like steel. “There are quests to be done, and monsters to kill. The last thing I—or this city—needs is to lose fighters for pointless crap like this.”

  Her gaze settled on Killian. “This is the last time you do something like this until we deal with the surge. Understood?”

  He nodded, a hesitant look flashing across his face. “Understood, Guildmistress”

  “Oh, and if Jamis wins, you owe him a thousand gold,” Quinea said absentmindedly, rearranging her desk.

  Killian's eye twitched, but besides that, he seemed fine with the outcome. “Fair enough, I guess.”

  He shot one final glance towards Rowan, his confident smirk returning. “See ya tomorrow, kid.”

  With that, he opened the door and stepped out. Rowan was about to follow, but Quinea’s voice stopped him. “You stay,” she said casually, but to him, it felt like a blade hanging over his neck. “And close the door. You’re letting in a draft.”

  Rowan gulped, doing as he was told. “Yes?” he asked, keeping his tone polite.

  “Sit.”

  During their conversation, the Guildmistress had been more focused on the papers on her desk than the two of them. But now, Rowan had her undivided attention.

  “So,” she said after what felt like a minute. “You’re the mage Anneliese keeps telling me about.”

  What? Rowan’s brows furrowed. Who is… his eyes widened in realization.

  “Wait, her real name is Anneliese?” he asked in disbelief.

  Quinea lips quirked upward. “She didn’t share?”

  Rowan shook his head. “No, she didn’t.”

  Well, not like I can blame her, he thought. At least not without being a massive hypocrite.

  “Whoops,” Quinea shrugged, but she didn’t seem all that broken up about it. “Anyway, that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about,” she said, changing the topic. “The shaman you fought,” her expression shifted, and Rowan suddenly wasn’t talking to Annie’s aunt, but the Guildmistress of Litwick. “How strong was it?”

  Rowan’s brows furrowed in thought, recalling the fight. “It had Earth and Wind, and its Core was halfway to Yellow. But besides that, it wasn’t all that skilled.”

  “What about spells?” she asked, leaning forward. “Could a Silver-ranked warrior have taken it out?”

  He spent a moment thinking about it.

  The shaman had been a tough opponent, that wasn’t in question. But Rowan had won against it while still being a Red-Core mage himself. With only Murmur-level spells at his disposal.

  His pride wanted him to say no. That there was no way a warrior could have beaten it. But that would have been a lie.

  “I think so,” he finally answered. “The shaman didn’t have Chant’s. Or maybe it did, and just didn’t have the chance to use them. But a high Silver-rank warrior with a well-developed Aura could have won against it. Definitely.”

  Quinea listened intently, nodding along. “Good,” she said when he finished, rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a card. “After your duel with Killian, you’re going to go to this address and talk with Tremil.”

  “The mage advisor?” Rowan asked, not sure where she was going with this. “I mean, sure?” he said hesitantly. “But why?”

  Tremil was the only Yellow-Core mage in the city, which made him the strongest—or second strongest, depending on who you asked—person in Litwick. Rowan wasn’t opposed to having a conversation with the man, but the Guildmistress had phrased it as an order, not an offer.

  “Because things are going to shit quicker than we’d hoped,” she said frankly. “There aren’t a lot of mages in Litwick, and I’d much rather the first time you meet each other isn’t with [Fireball]’s flying overhead.”

  Rowan frowned. “The tribe?”

  The amount of goblin quests being posted on the board had grown with each passing day. But he still hadn’t expected things to come to a head so soon.

  A goblin tribe was a living, breathing thing. They had crafters, warriors, mages, and everything in between. For them to move across a whole region and establish a new base requires time. Time that had seemingly run out.

  Quinea nodded. “Yes. We expected to have at least a couple of months before we needed to act. But plans change,” she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “In a week, we’re riding out,” her voice was firm, like a hammer falling. “Every single adventurer Litwick has to offer, and we’re going to crush them before they manage to get a foothold.”

  Rowan’s eyes widened, a sudden sense of excitement washing over him.

  An expedition against a tribe sounded like the perfect way for him to test his newfound strength. But the excitement quickly faded as a realization dawned.

  “Every single adventurer?” he asked slowly. “Does that include you?”

  A subtle smile tugged at Quinea’s lips. “You’re quick to catch on, aren’t you?”

  Having the Guildmistress with them should have made Rowan feel better, but in fact, it did the exact opposite. If she was coming, there had to be a reason for it. And the only one Rowan could think of was if there was a threat worthy of her time.

  It would leave the city defenseless, and a decision like that wasn’t made lightly.

  “They have a Warchief, don’t they? A strong one,” Rowan muttered, tapping a finger against the desk.

  “They do,” she nodded. “And from what my scouts tell me, he’s peak Gold. Not to mention a Warlock with the Dust affinity, a cohort of shamans by its side, and more hobgoblins than we have Silver-ranks.”

  She grinned. “Should be a fun fight, don’t you think?”

  Rowan took a moment to process everything he’d just heard.

  If those numbers were right, it wasn’t looking all that good for the city of Litwick and its adventurers. That was a threat they’d need multiple Gold-rank adventurers to deal with, and right now, they only had the one.

  “Yeah, fun,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair.

  I mean… she’s not wrong, Rowan thought, his lips quirking into a small smile despite himself. She deals with the Warchief, the mage advisor deals with the Warlock, and we use our mages to keep the shamans at bay while one of us rains fire and brimstone on the hobgoblins.

  His mind raced as an image of the upcoming battle formed in his thoughts.

  Him and his team carving a bloody swathe through a horde of goblins. Nemir’s sword cleaving through them with ease, Annie’s spear reaping a life with every thrust, Silvia’s arrows drowning them in steel, and Omi’s daggers slashing their throats from the shadows.

  It was exactly what they needed to get acquainted with their new gear.

  “Anyways,” Quinea said, pulling him out of his musings. “Talk to Tremil, and be ready for when the call goes out,” she waved him off, returning her focus to the mountain of paperwork on her desk. “You can leave now.”

  Rowan nodded, standing up. “I will,” he said firmly. “And the rest of the Crimson Grove will be too.”

  Quinea snorted. “Good.”

  Just as he opened the door, the Guildmistress added one final thing. “Oh, and try not to embarrass Killian too much. He’s greedy, and prideful, but he’s a good warrior. And I don’t want him pouting while he should be focused on more important things.”

  Rowan smiled. “I can’t make any promises.”

  He left her office with a bounce to his step, his thoughts centered around the upcoming week and the pile of work that just fell into his lap.

  A week wasn’t a lot of time, but it should be more than enough to master at least a few new spells.