The common room was lively in the morning, with dishes clattering, the gentle hum of overlapping conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter from a corner booth. The scent of fresh bread and spiced eggs drifted through the air, blending with smoke from the hearth that crackled lazily beneath a mantle adorned with iron-forged crests. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, lighting up the steam rising from mugs and bowls.

  Seraphina and I stepped inside, the warmth hitting us like a wave after the cool stone hallway. Heads turned, some out of habit, some with recognition, but most went back to their breakfasts.

  Halfway across the room, Mark spotted us. He waved once, then hurried through the tables, almost bumping into a server and muttering an apology. He sank into the seat across from us as if he’d been holding his breath since dawn. His eyes were rimmed with fatigue, and his hair was sticking up in a stubborn cowlick. The curiosity on his face was unmistakable.

  “What the hell happened last night?” Mark demanded, eyes flicking between us. “I saw the aftermath: blood, scorch marks, broken stone. Guards everywhere. They didn’t even let me in until the Guildmaster vouched for me.”

  I met his gaze, calm but weary. “Take a breath, Mark. You didn’t miss much. Just the late Inquisitor Hermmons and his charming entourage.”

  Seraphina gave a soft snort, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Did anyone else get hurt?” she asked quietly. “Other than them?” Before I could answer, a voice cut in steady, sharp, and unmistakably hers.

  “An apprentice,” said Captain Dennes as she strode up to the table, her tone sharp. “Didn’t make it. His name was Nilo.”

  She pulled out a chair and sat without ceremony, the muted clink of leather and plate carrying over the low murmur of the room. As she settled, she set her guard helmet on the table with a dull, deliberate thud. Her eyes never left me, focused and respectful, but she didn’t so much as glance at Mark.

  I couldn’t look away. It was her eyes, clear, sharp blue, that held me fast. This morning her hair was pulled back, though the short bangs still slipped across her face, softening the edges of the steel she wore.

  “Corren’s alive. Barely. He’s stabilizing, but it’ll be a while before he can stand. The Guild’s still a wreck. It’ll take time to clean out the blood and the ash.” She added.

  Mark leaned back slightly, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. His gaze flicked to her and stayed there. “Damn…” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. It wasn’t just the report that hit him; it was her. She looked like she walked out of a battlefield and a painting at the same time, and she hadn’t even noticed him.

  Before the silence could stretch too far, Vaktar appeared silent as ever. He slid into the last open seat like he’d been watching the whole time, gave a curt nod to the waitstaff, and set his satchel down beside him with purpose. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, locked onto mine.

  “Anything?” I asked.

  He was about to start, but stopped. “Do you want me to continue with her here?” Vaktar asked, nodding toward the Captain.

  I offered a thin smile and raised my eyebrow. “Yes, our dear Captain Dennes is here to assist. If we can share among everyone, everything would be better for all. Right?”

  Dennes gave the slightest nod, her face unreadable, though I noticed a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth that quickly disappeared. She shifted in her chair, the quiet creak of leather and armor enough to remind everyone she was still watching.

  I realized I was holding her gaze a moment too long.

  A sharp nudge landed against my calf under the table. I glanced to my left to see Seraphina smirking over the rim of her cup. “Careful, love,” she murmured just loud enough for me to hear. “You’ll end up saluting her next.” The room’s edge softened, a few quiet chuckles breaking the air. Even Dennes’s mouth curved into something that might have been a smile if only for a heartbeat.

  He paused for a moment to smile before he leaned forward, forearms braced on the table, the flicker of something serious in his expression.

  “After we spoke last night about how quickly Hermmons and his people arrived, I examined the travel logs and market records.” His voice was steady and calm, but there was an underlying sharpness. He thrived on uncovering truths in unlikely places. “They landed at the airship pad late morning. No detours. Went straight to the market, stopped at one vendor, an old woman’s stall, and then headed directly for the Guild.” He paused for a moment. “She hasn’t been seen since. Vanished.”

  I frowned. “You think this woman was in on it?”

  “I think,” he said, lifting his mug and giving it a thoughtful swirl before sipping, “people like that don’t leave loose ends. And I think someone was waiting for them, someone who knew exactly where to point them.”

  I leaned in, elbows on the table, watching him closely. “You’re saying someone local planned this. Set it up.”

  Vaktar didn’t answer right away. Just gave the faintest shrug, noncommittal on the surface, but I knew that look. He already believed it. He just hadn’t found the name yet.

  A chill crept under my skin. “They didn’t just find the Guild by chance. Someone handed them a map.”

  He gave a single nod. “And probably covered their tracks before the blood was dry.”

  My appetite disappeared. I leaned back, letting his words sink in, as the image in my mind grew more explicit and more disturbing. The ambush. The timing. The stall. Everything felt too perfect, too swift.

  I looked at him again. “Keep going. Whatever it takes.” He didn’t flinch. Just gave a slow, deliberate nod. No need for words, this was his territory. His hunt. But I wasn’t done. “And Vaktar, look into those thugs, too. The ones from the street after I took over the Guild Forges. Four people, conveniently waiting to mug a couple in that alley?”

  He finally looked at me thoroughly, the faintest flicker of interest sharpening his eyes.

  “Too convenient,” I said. “What happened yesterday, and what happened then—I want to know if there’s a thread connecting them. Or if the timing’s just a little too perfect.”

  “Could use some funds to dig deeper,” Vaktar admitted.

  I reached into my coat, pulled out a small pouch, and slid it across the table. “Use what you need. Otherwise, buy Seraphina and me dinner with the change.”

  “That pastry shop in the tower garden? They have that one with drizzled honey,” Vaktar asked, a rare hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s to die for.”

  Seraphina’s eyes lit up. “Exactly! And the almond cream one—they only bake it in the mornings, and it’s always gone before noon.”

  Vaktar leaned in slightly. “The one with the flaked crust? You have to eat it fresh. Wait too long and it loses half the charm.”

  “I know,” Seraphina said, lowering her voice like they were swapping state secrets. “Last time, I—”

  “The Royal Guard should be the ones to go and find these people,” Captain Dennes cut in, her tone clipped and firm. The air around the table tightened again, the moment of sweetness gone in an instant.

  “Yes, but the Guard would stand out too much,” I countered. “We’ll handle it among the four of us. Captain, once we find them, you can take it from there.”

  She didn’t answer immediately. Her jaw clenched as she looked at each of us, weighing the risks and calculating the fallout.

  “This isn’t standard protocol,” she said finally, voice low. “If anything goes wrong…”

  “Then you’ll be there to clean it up,” I said. “Isn’t that what protection detail means?”

  She exhaled through her nose, clearly annoyed. “Fine. But I want updates. Regular ones.”

  “You’ll be the first to know,” I said, and I could see the reluctant acceptance behind her eyes.

  Seraphina watched the exchange in silence, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her cup. “Let us know the second you find her, Vaktar,” she said.

  Vaktar’s eyes flicked to her. “You’ll be the first to know.” He set the mug down gently. “I’ll keep digging while you’re visiting the Mages. There’s more here than we’re seeing. I can feel it.”

  Captain Dennes set down her fork, the metal clicking softly against the plate. Her eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked from Vaktar to me. “And when we do find out who’s behind this,” she said evenly, “what exactly do you plan to do, my lord?” The table quieted again. Even Mark stopped chewing.

  I met her gaze. “That depends on who it is.”

  Her jaw tightened just a fraction. “That’s not an answer.”

  “No, it’s not,” I said. “Because if it’s what I think, if someone inside this city helped them, pointed them to the Guild, then it’s not just betrayal. It’s something deeper. Something rotten.”

  She studied me for a long moment. “You’re not wrong,” she said at last. “But make no mistake, my lord. When the truth comes out, this won’t stay within guild walls. It will be sent directly to the Palace. To the Crown. And if that happens when it happens, there’s no room for vengeance. Only law.”

  I didn’t look away. “Then the law better be ready to come down on these people.”

  A beat of silence passed. Then, surprisingly, she nodded.

  “Good,” she said. “Because you are an Earl with a damn sharp sword. The crown has more reach… but the moment this reaches the Royals, you’re also a witness. And if you want this to end the right way, you’re going to have to walk both sides of that line.”

  Seraphina glanced at Dennes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “How was your night at the inn?”

  The Captain snorted. “Too soft. The mattress swallowed me like a trap.”

  That cracked a real laugh out of all of us.

  Seraphina leaned in slightly, her tone light but teasing. “Yes, but it’s best when you’re sharing it with someone.” Her hand slid gently onto my arm, fingers warm and familiar.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Captain Dennes caught the gesture. For the first time since sitting down, her composure wavered just slightly. A blink, a subtle shift of her shoulders, and then a faint flush crept into her cheeks.

  “You may be correct, my lady,” she said, her voice quieter than before, almost thoughtful.

  Breakfast wound down with the last scrape of plates and clink of mugs. The tension from earlier had never gone, but was tucked beneath the surface like a blade sheathed, not forgotten.

  We stood one by one, chairs pushed back, armor shifting, boots scuffing the floor. I reached to my side and secured Emberline back into my belt, the weight of it familiar against my hip.

  I pulled a folded note from my pocket and handed it to Mark. “For the Guildmaster.”

  He took it, brow raised. “What’s this? A love letter?”

  “Instructions,” I said dryly. “Tell him if he needs me, I’ll be with the Mages. Or maybe neck-deep in trouble. It depends on how the day goes.”

  Mark smirked. “So the usual.”

  I gave him a look. “Just make sure he gets it.”

  He held up the note in mock salute. “Aye, my lord. Royal courier of questionable literacy, at your service.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Try not to start a fire on the way there.”

  “No promises,” he said, already halfway out the door. “But if I do, I’ll say you ordered it.” I need to find a way to limit the amount of sugar that guy consumes every day.

  Outside, the sun was sharp, and the city thrummed with motion. As we crossed into the Tower quarter, the air changed cleaner, charged, almost humming beneath the skin.

  Vaktar peeled off at the edge of the district, giving a nod. “I’ll follow up at the inn later. Good luck.”

  We pressed on.

  The Mage’s Tower wasn’t just a tower; it was a cathedral of arcane ambition. A vast complex of tall stone walls, graceful spires, and connected buildings stretched over several city blocks. In the center, towering like a crown, stood the tower itself, made of silver-stone and white marble, with dozens of windows carved into its spiraling sides and slender spires reaching up like fingers toward the sky.

  Unlike the Black Tower, simple, brutal, a column of shadow piercing the clouds, this place was alive. Mages in deep-colored robes moved between buildings, carrying scrolls, crystals, and cups of tea. Students hurried across bridges connecting towers, and arcane glyphs shimmered along the edges of archways.

  Overhead, skyships floated in and out of sight, their runes faintly glowing as they docked at high platforms, releasing more travelers into the complex below.

  We reached the main gate, an arched entrance framed by stone lions and glowing wards that pulsed faintly with protective runes. Just inside, a guard post sat beneath a carved overhang, staffed by two magic swordsmen dressed in black and silver livery. Their posture was relaxed, almost disinterested, but their eyes missed nothing.

  As we approached, one of them stepped forward, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade. It wasn’t a threat yet. Just protocol.

  Out of habit, I activated Analyze.

  Level: 10

  Class: Magic Swordsman

  Skills: Swordsmanship Lv. 12, Minor Arcane Shielding Lv. 7, Alertness Lv. 5

  Equipment: Standard Steel Armor (Tier II), Minor Enchanted Padding (Fire Resistance +1)

  Decent enough. For parade guards. The other registered at the same level, with the same training and charm of a man used to people stopping when he spoke. But nothing here was elite. Just dressed like it.

  I let the scan fade, keeping my face neutral. They were watchful, yes, but they weren’t the teeth of the Tower. A polite warning, however, was followed by something more dangerous, which answered the call.

  We gave our names, complete and precise. Dennes added her title with clipped authority. That helped. The tension in the guards’ shoulders eased, just slightly.

  “We’re here to speak with someone who can assist with magical research and a few high-level questions,” I added.

  The lead swordsman gave a nod, then scribbled something on a folded parchment and handed it off to a nearby page boy, who bowed quickly and darted into the complex.

  We waited.

  The minutes stretched, filled only with the sound of distant bells and the occasional hiss of a skyship docking overhead. No one spoke. The guards didn’t blink. Then movement.

  The main doors of the mage cathedral swung open, and a woman in a flowing blue robe stepped out, catching the morning light with every move. The fabric shimmered softly, as if there was more to it than just dye and thread, probably was. Her stride was relaxed but purposeful, the kind of walk that made people step aside without knowing why.

  Her hair, reddish-brown with copper in the sunlight, framed her face in loose strands, with the rest falling over her shoulders. I saw the glint of a thin silver chain at her throat, the only ornament she wore, and even that seemed chosen with care. The silver-threaded cuffs at her wrists moved as she walked, and I couldn’t tell if it was the robe shifting or the magic in her.

  By the time she was halfway across the square, her eyes locked on mine. Calm. Measured. The kind of look that said she’d already taken my measure and decided exactly how this conversation was going to go.

  She stopped a few paces from us and bowed, just enough to be polite.

  “I am Mage Valen,” she said. “I’ve been assigned to escort you. If you follow me, the Royal Arch Mage is expecting you.”

  As she turned, her robes shifting with controlled grace, I blinked, Analyze.

  [Name: Arilenn Valen]

  Level: 23

  Class: Elemental Scholar (water affinity)

  Skills:

  Arcane Theory Lv. 18

  Watercraft Lv. 16

  Binding Wards Lv. 14

  Memory Recall Lv. 11

  Young but no novice. Her power was clean, disciplined. Someone on the fast track.

  I let the scan fade as we followed her through the gate, noting how the guards straightened a little more once her back was turned. Not just a messenger, then. A mage with real footing here.

  Mage Valen led us through the wide stone paths of the Tower grounds, her voice calm and clipped as she narrated.

  “To your left is the Alchemic Wing, mostly restricted unless you have clearance. Ahead is the Central Archives, where enchanted texts are stored and copied. And over there,” she pointed to a long, low building topped with shimmering copper runes, “is the Lesser Hall, used for basic spellcasting and theory lessons.

  We passed through a covered arch where arcanists in dark robes moved in pairs, some floating scrolls beside them, others deep in quiet, muttered arguments. Above, skyships drifted lazily across the open sky, docked at thin towers fitted with glowing mooring rings.

  Then we heard it shout, clashing metal, and the rhythmic crackle of controlled bursts of magic.

  Valen pointed to a wide, open area surrounded by marble pillars and chalked summoning circles. Dozens of armored students moved in unison, blades raised, spells flickering along the edges of their strikes. The training grounds.

  “This is where magic swordsmen are drilled and evaluated. Only second-tier initiates and above are allowed to spar here.” We paused to watch. I turned to Dennes.

  “Since you’re a magic swordsman yourself,” I asked, “did you train here?”

  She blinked, surprised. “How did you know that?”

  I gave a small shrug. “Little details. The way you move, how you watch people’s hands before their mouths.”

  Her lips curled, not quite a smile, but close. “Sharp, my lord.”

  I smiled to myself, keeping it subtle. Analyze might be a cheat, but sometimes, it was exactly the kind of cheat I needed.

  Then her gaze turned back to the grounds, softer now, touched with something like nostalgia.

  “Yes. I trained here. Four grueling years. Sunrise to sunset. I cracked my ribs twice, burned off my eyebrows more times than I want to admit, and once got thrown into the Reflecting Pool for talking back during spellblade forms.”

  Seraphina raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, you talked back a lot.”

  Dennes laughed. “I had opinions.”

  We watched the students a moment longer, spells flashing, swords ringing.

  “You miss it?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: “Sometimes.”

  Just past the training grounds, Mage Valen led us toward the heart of the complex, the Central Spire. It rose above the surrounding structures like a beacon of authority, its marble-white surface inlaid with veins of pale blue crystal that shimmered faintly under the midday sun. Expansive glass windows spiraled up its face, each etched with arcane sigils that pulsed softly as we approached.

  Guards at the base gave us a cursory glance and stepped aside. No challenge. Valen’s presence was enough. Inside, the temperature dropped. The air smelled faintly of parchment, ink, and something floral like pressed lavender. We passed a reception desk staffed by a sharp-eyed scribe who barely looked up, quill dancing across a ledger. Beyond that, a pair of wide double doors opened silently into a reception chamber.

  It was lavish.

  A long, darkwood table dominated the center of the room, surrounded by high-backed, plush chairs. Crystal trays displayed delicate desserts, fruit tarts, cream puffs, and pastries shaped like coiled sigils. A silver tea set steamed gently at the far end, the aroma of bergamot and honey filling the air.

  And we weren’t alone. Four mages stood to the side of the room, spaced just far enough apart to avoid being casual. They didn’t wear formal robes, but the cut of their clothing and the quiet alertness in their stance told me this wasn’t a group of scholars waiting to chat.

  Analyze.

  Level: 23

  Class: Arcane Attendant

  Skills:

  Shielding Ward Lv. 14

  Arcane Detection Lv. 15

  Conjured Barrier Lv. 12

  Each scan returned nearly identical results to those of Mage Valen, with the same blend of utility and defense. Not just wait staff. Not just protection. I filed it away. Interesting, I thought, scanning the room again. Only Dennes and I are armed.

  None of the standing mages showed signs of aggression, but their positioning wasn’t random. Stationed. Calculated. And if they were all just here for hospitality, I’d eat my boots.

  There must be others nearby. Hidden. Watching. But no triggers. My Perception skill remained still, no pings, no tension. No direct threats. Not yet. I stepped forward and pulled out a chair for Seraphina. She gave me a small, amused smile as she sat. Then I moved to the next seat and did the same for Captain Dennes.

  She blinked once. Her surprise was subtle but present. She looked up at me, uncertain whether to protest or thank me. Finally, she nodded quietly, accepting it. An Earl holding a chair for a soldier. Titles didn’t mean much to me.

  Then I took my seat, unslung Emberline from my belt, and gently placed the sheathed blade on the table. That was the moment the air shifted. Across the room, the mages’ stances stiffened. Shoulders squared. Eyes narrowed. Not out of fear, but focus. They hadn’t expected that. Or maybe they had, but they were hoping not to see it.

  I didn’t reach for it. I didn’t touch the hilt. I let it rest there, quiet and unthreatening. Steel in a velvet room. So, they noticed. I offered a polite smile and reached for the pastries instead. I placed one on a plate and offered it to Seraphina.

  Mage Valen circled the table with slow, deliberate steps, her deep brown hair pinned in an elegant twist that shimmered faintly in the lamplight. She was striking in a quiet, pretty way, but not flashy, with a poise that commanded the room without raising her voice. When she took the seat directly across from us, she folded her hands with practiced grace and offered a small, serene smile. It was the kind of smile that could smooth tensions, calm nerves, and make you feel like everything was under control. A diplomat’s smile. One that didn’t reveal a damn thing.

  A moment passed. Then, one of the other mages moved at last, gliding forward with the tea set and another tray of sweets. They poured carefully, the silver pot never trembling, though the quiet in the room had thickened.

  I glanced around. Every single mage standing or seated was watching me. No words, no direct challenge. Just subtle, sharpened attention. Not at me, though. At the sword. Emberline sat untouched on the table, still sheathed, its dark surface catching only the softest glint of light. But its presence filled the space like a second heartbeat. Not loud. Not violent. Just… waiting.

  There was a pressure in the air now, something coiled, restrained. A faint edge of magic hummed beneath the surface, as if the room itself was aware. The sword radiated the sense of a force kept carefully leashed, not bound by enchantment, but by the man beside it.

  They weren’t just being cautious. They were tiptoeing around something they didn’t fully understand. A monster at rest. A blade that chose not to strike because I hadn’t given it reason.

  Once everyone had been served and the tea had cooled just enough to sip, the silence settled into something less tense, still alert, but no longer brittle. Then, the side door opened with a soft click.

  Then I took my tea with both hands, polite as ever. Two knights stepped inside, one to each side of the door. Their armor was gleaming but practical, marked with the Tower’s sigil. No wasted motion, no display. They moved like men used to standing still for long periods, but still ready to kill if asked.

  I blinked. Analyze.

  Level: 34

  Class: Arcane Knight

  Skills:

  Enhanced Combat Awareness Lv. 22

  Warded Strike Lv. 19

  Mana Resilience Lv. 17

  Solid. Not decorative. But not like the Church’s knights. Those bastards had moved like they were born to end lives. These two felt more like gatekeepers than assassins.

  I leaned over to Seraphina and whispered, “Thoughts on the pastries?”

  She gave a small smile and picked up one with a delicate spiral of fruit on top. “I like them. Light, not too sweet.”

  “We’re going to have to start collecting recipes,” I murmured. “Take a few back to Brakenreach when we finally go home.”

  Seraphina gave a soft laugh, her hand brushing mine. “Agreed. I want that cinnamon braid one. Dangerous.”

  Before I could respond, the side door opened again. This time, it wasn’t knights. It was him. Arch Mage Vael. He entered like he was already part of the room, tall, robed in deep indigo with silver lining, and carrying a presence heavier than the two knights combined. He didn’t need to speak to be in control. Everyone shifted subtly as he stepped in, spines straighter, shoulders stiffer.

  I rose as he approached and gave a short, respectful bow.

  “It’s been a couple of days,” I said. “Thank you for seeing us.”

  Vael inclined his head as he sat. “Of course. Sit. Sit.” One of the waiting mages stepped forward and placed a fresh cup of tea and a small dish of pastries before him. He didn’t touch them. His eyes locked onto me, and then dropped to the sword on the table.

  “I heard what you did yesterday,” he said plainly. “With those Church fellows.”

  I nodded. “A… mishap.”

  His gaze lingered on Emberline.

  “That’s the blade you used?”

  “Yes.”

  Vael made a quiet, thoughtful sound. “Hmm.” Then he looked back up at me, expression unreadable. “So,” he said, “tell me, David, what do you know about magic?”