Chapter 1
I was halfway through brewing my tea when the city bell started screaming.
Not ringing.
Screaming.
That deep iron gong echoed through Eastrun like a dying beast, rattling my windows and shaking dust from the rafters. Birds exploded from the rooftops outside. Somewhere down the street, someone shouted a curse creative enough that I briefly admired it.
I stared at my teacup.
Steam curled upward, delicate and patient. The scent of chamomile filled my small office, warm and gentle.
I had earned this tea.
"Ignore it," I muttered to myself.
The bell rang again.
GONG.
I closed my eyes.
Thirty-five years old. Strongest guild master in the kingdom. Slayer of demon generals. Defender of the northern wall. The Adamant Shield of the Realm.
And all I wanted—all I wanted—was ten uninterrupted minutes to drink tea in peace.
The bell rang a third time.
I sighed, set the cup down untouched, and reached for my coat.
"So much for rest," I said.
By the time I stepped outside the Silver Ember Guild, the street was already chaos.
Adventurers ran past me in mismatched armor, some fastening belts as they sprinted, others still chewing bread. Merchants slammed shutters closed. A child pointed down the avenue and shouted, "It's huge!"
That narrowed it down very little.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar weight settle into my body—the quiet hum of mana responding to my presence. It had been years since I'd needed to consciously draw on it. These days, my strength just... existed. Like breathing. Or back pain.
"Guild Master!"
I turned to see three of my members skidding to a stop.
A spearman, barely twenty. A mage whose robes were on backward. And Tilda, a reformed ogre who now worked as our front-line tank and baker on weekends.
"What is it?" I asked.
The spearman swallowed. "Monster sighting near the east gate, sir. Big one."
"How big?" I asked.
Tilda held her hands apart.
"Bigger than a carriage," she said. "Smaller than a house."
I nodded. "That's manageable."
The mage raised a trembling finger. "It... it breathed fire."
I paused.
"...Less manageable," I amended.
Still, I kept walking.
People parted instinctively as I moved through the street. Some bowed. Some stared. A few whispered my name like it was a spell.
Valebright.
The Guild Master.
The Shield.
I pretended not to notice. It was easier that way.
The east gate came into view just as a blast of heat rolled over us.
Flames scorched the cobblestones. Guards scattered. A massive shape reared up against the gate—scaled, horned, and far too energetic for something that should've known better.
A dragon.
Not ancient. Not clever. A young one. Reckless. Probably hungry.
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
"You've got to be kidding me."
The dragon roared, flames bursting from its jaws and charring a guard's shield. It slammed its tail into a watchtower, cracking stone.
People screamed.
I sighed again.
"Alright," I said, stepping forward. "Let's get this over with."
The dragon noticed me.
Its massive head turned, yellow eyes narrowing. It inhaled deeply, chest glowing.
I cracked my knuckles.
"Don't," I warned.
It did anyway.
Fire roared toward me.
I walked through it.
The flames parted around my body, dispersing like mist against a wall. The heat washed over my coat but didn't burn. I kept walking, boots crunching against scorched stone.
The dragon hesitated.
Good instinct.
I reached it in three steps, leapt, and punched it square in the jaw.
The impact echoed like thunder.
The dragon's head snapped sideways, its entire body lifting off the ground before crashing down in a heap of scales and dust.
Silence followed.
Then, somewhere behind me, someone whispered, "By the gods..."
I landed lightly, rolled my shoulder once, and looked down at the stunned creature.
"Go home," I told it. "And stop eating livestock."
The dragon groaned, scrambled to its feet, and—very wisely—took off, wings flapping frantically as it fled into the clouds.
I watched it disappear.
Then I turned back toward the city.
Every guard. Every adventurer. Every bystander was staring at me.
I raised a hand.
"Damage report?" I asked.
No one answered.
Typical.
By the time I returned to the guild, the adrenaline had faded, leaving behind the familiar ache in my joints and a profound sense of disappointment.
My tea was definitely cold now.
The Silver Ember Guild loomed ahead—three stories of stone and banners, bustling as always. This place was my pride. My burden. My retirement plan that refused to let me retire.
As I stepped inside, the noise hit me.
Arguments over quest rewards. Laughter. The clang of armor. Someone yelling about a missing chicken.
I froze.
"...Please don't tell me," I muttered.
Sir Dorian Lionsreach barreled toward me, armor gleaming, grin wide.
"Rowan!" he boomed, clapping me on the back hard enough to stagger lesser men. "You punched another dragon, didn't you?"
"I asked it politely first," I said.
Dorian laughed. "Still got it!"
I sighed. "Why is someone yelling about a chicken?"
Dorian's grin faltered. "Ah. That."
"Dorian."
"We don't talk about the magic chicken incident," he said quickly. "Anyway! You're just in time. We have... news."
That never meant anything good.
He grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the front desk.
I resisted. Weakly.
Then I saw her.
She stood behind the reception counter, stacks of papers arranged with terrifying precision. Light brown hair tied neatly back. Simple clothes. Ink smudged faintly on her fingers.
She looked up.
Our eyes met.
And my brain stopped working.
She blinked first.
"Oh—!" she said, straightening. "You must be Guild Master Valebright!"
Her voice was warm. Clear. Nervous, but determined.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Dorian leaned in and whispered, far too loudly, "Close your mouth before you swallow a fly."
I snapped it shut.
"Yes," I said, far too stiffly. "That's me."
She smiled.
"I'm Lila Fairbloom. I'm the new receptionist."
The world tilted slightly.
New.
Receptionist.
Directly under my authority.
I felt something cold settle in my stomach.
This was going to be a problem.