Franklin let the room settle before speaking again.
"Osric. William. Laurent."
The three turned toward him immediately.
"You're done for today," Franklin said. "Go rest. Eat properly. Sleep." His gaze hardened slightly. "You'll receive your payment tomorrow. Promotions as well."
William blinked. "Promotions?"
"E-rank," Franklin said flatly. "Both of you."
William's mouth opened, then closed again. He nodded, visibly restraining himself from saying something stupid.
Osric only inclined his head.
"Thank you."
Franklin studied him for a brief moment longer—long enough for the weight of the words to sink in—then waved them off.
"That's all. Dismissed."
Laurent turned and left without comment. William followed a second later, glancing back once before disappearing into the crowd. Osric went last, feeling the eyes of the guild on him as he stepped away—but he didn't look back.
When the doors finally closed behind them, Franklin shifted his attention.
"George."
George straightened immediately.
"Office," Franklin said. "I want a full report."
They moved without ceremony, weaving through the guild and into the back corridor. The noise faded as Franklin closed the door behind them.
Only then did he turn.
"You lost control of the situation," Franklin said calmly.
George didn't flinch. "Yes."
Franklin studied him for a moment before continuing.
"But you adapted," he added. "And so did the others." His fingers tapped once against the desk. "Especially Osric."
George looked up.
"He shouldn't have survived that," Franklin said. Not accusing. Observant. "Yet he did more than survive."
Franklin leaned back slightly, eyes sharp.
"Start from the beginning," he said. "And don't leave anything out."
Franklin didn't sit.
He remained standing behind the desk, hands resting lightly against its edge, eyes on George without accusation—only expectation.
"Start from the beginning," he said. "Why did Roman break formation?"
George didn't hesitate.
"He lost control," he said. "Saw the hobgoblin with his friend's sword. Charged."
No excuses. No softening.
Franklin nodded once. "You didn't stop him."
"I couldn't," George replied. "If I'd tried to restrain him, we would've lost momentum and spacing. The goblins would've reached the backline sooner."
Franklin accepted that with a slight shift of posture.
"And Erica?"
George's jaw tightened.
"The hobgoblin baited us," he said. "It moved toward Roman deliberately. We reacted." He exhaled. "It turned on her because it knew we would."
Franklin's eyes sharpened. "Human sentiment."
"Yes."
"She was faster," George continued. "Lighter. The monster chose the target that would pull us apart."
Franklin absorbed that in silence.
Then, quietly: "When did you lose control of the fight?"
George thought for half a breath.
"When the hobgoblin disengaged," he said. "After Erica went down. I stayed to stabilize her."
"That left Roman exposed."
"Yes."
"And Osric?"
George looked up.
"He moved before I gave the order," he said. "Intercepted the charge. Cut the leg—not to cripple, just enough to break momentum."
Franklin's fingers tapped once against the desk.
"Positioning?"
"Angled approach," George said. "Didn't overextend. Didn't chase. He kept the monster's attention on himself without committing."
Franklin nodded slightly. "He controlled space."
"Yes."
"And the opening?"
George allowed himself one small pause.
"He saw a pattern," he said. "The hobgoblin overcorrected every time Osric pressured its blind side. Osric baited it."
A beat.
"He coordinated the opening without calling himself the leader."
Franklin's gaze lifted—interested now.
"And the killing blow?"
"Wasn't his," George said. "He could've lunged. Instead, he held position. Let Laurent and William commit."
Franklin leaned back at last.
"He didn't fight like someone trying to prove himself," George said. "He fought like someone trying to make sure everyone lived."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Franklin spoke.
"Most young fighters wouldn't have done that," he said finally.
"They would've chased the finish."
George nodded.
"He chose survival over credit."
Franklin leaned back slowly.
"That tells me more than a kill ever could."
He turned and walked to the window, looking out over the city roofs.
"This hobgoblin," he added, almost to himself, "was organized. Patient. Tactical."
George followed the shift.
"Goblins don't behave like that on their own."
"No," Franklin agreed. "They don't."
He looked back at George.
"And neither do soldiers who vanish into caves."
The implication hung there—unspoken, heavy.
Franklin straightened.
"Get some rest," he said. "Tomorrow, we'll talk about what this really means."
George nodded once.
And left.
Franklin remained by the window, eyes distant, already moving pieces that no one else could see yet.