In a small meeting room at the Hospitarium of St. Alar sat five people. Three were gravlings, one was an old dwarf, and one was a tall human man.

  Lazgrim glared at Vitzer and Moulin—Nikolai’s two mentors, who in his opinion were the most irresponsible teachers alive. Moulin smiled calmly back, while Vitzer merely looked annoyed at the whole situation.

  Simi also looked annoyed, but for different reasons. “I don’t want to bring him on the expedition, Father. The idiot is unstable! He’ll be a risk to my team and to the teams we’re working with.”

  The human man nodded, and so did Lazgrim. He agreed with Simi; the lad was nowhere near ready for a dungeon, especially one as dangerous as the Tomb of the Fifty-Two Pillars.

  Vitzer shrugged, but Moulin answered first. “You’re making a habit of underestimating Nikolai, my dear. He got himself out of a bad situation by thinking outside the box. He will be an asset to you.”

  Vitzer snorted. “Asset is going a bit far, wife, but I did enjoy his ruthlessness in escaping that brothel.”

  Lazgrim’s scowl deepened. “You could have gotten him out, couldn’t you?” he said, realization dawning. “You knew where he was. You could have spared him that horror.”

  Moulin looked a touch guilty, but Vitzer only smiled, showing far too many sharp teeth. “Obviously we could have, but what point would that serve? If we rescue him every time something bad happens, how will he ever learn?”

  “You haven’t rescued him even once!” Lazgrim growled.

  Vitzer shrugged. “And he’s still alive, is he not? He’s finally showing some teeth—and I admit, the way he used Soothe with dark magic was inspired.”

  Lazgrim shook his head in disgust, but the human guildmaster cleared his throat, cutting off his retort. The man sighed. “Regardless of talent or potential, he is unstable and inexperienced.”

  Moulin took a sip of tea, again letting Vitzer speak. “Our daughter’s team needs a healer, and we have provided her with one. I see no issue. If the boy dies, then that is simply all he amounted to. If he lives, he’ll come out with a path, new spells, and hopefully a bit less naivety. It is worth the risk in our opinion.”

  The guildmaster smiled politely. “I am still the Guildmaster, Archmage Vitzer, and I may allow or disallow anyone I wish from joining the expedition. I could allow it, but there will be conditions.”

  Vitzer gestured for him to continue.

  “The boy’s escape from the brothel caused quite a stir,” the man said. “As you requested, I made sure the guild took responsibility. Officially, we raided the place, rescued a number of slaves, and the boy is—publicly at least—simply a healer.”

  He leaned forward, fingers steepled. “Now, that alone requires compensation. You also want him on the expedition. That, too, can be arranged—but I do not run a charity. What do you offer in return?”

  Lazgrim huffed. “Now hold on! I know payment was given at the time, but that boy also saved one of your top adventurers not long ago. Have you forgotten that, Guildmaster?”

  The man glanced at Lazgrim and gave a small nod. “I haven’t forgotten. That is why we’re having this discussion at all. But that and this are separate matters. I won’t ask payment from the boy—only from his teachers.”

  Lazgrim rolled his eyes. “These two will make the lad pay for it anyway…”

  Vitzer grinned mischievously. “Of course we will. That’s how it works.”

  This time, Moulin smacked the back of his head. She smiled at Lazgrim. “We will not—or at least, we’re not planning to. Now, Guildmaster, what is it you want?”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The man’s smile widened. “Something related to the boy’s recent escape, actually. I love my city, and places like that brothel infuriate me.” The pleasant smile did nothing to hide the fury behind his green eyes.

  Moulin gestured for him to continue.

  “With an Archmage and a Saint helping us, perhaps we can root out the rot. I’m also led to believe you have a certain item—a relic that grants access to a certain vault. Such an item would be extremely valuable to the guild and the city.”

  Vitzer burst out laughing. “You want that key? Boy, the vault’s empty! It has been for decades.”

  Moulin shot him a look, but the guildmaster only smiled. “I expected as much. I do not seek riches, Archmage. I seek protection. During the last migration, monsters breached the walls and thousands died. If we had access to an impenetrable vault—one stocked with supplies, armaments, beds…”

  Moulin’s smile grew. “A place to shelter during a crisis until the danger passes. An idea I can support, dear Guildmaster. It’s a deal.”

  Vitzer shot to his feet. “No deal! I’m not giving him such a powerful item just for letting that idiot join an expedition!”

  Moulin rolled her eyes. “Do you even know where the key is, dear husband?”

  Vitzer hesitated, then scoffed. “Of course. It’s in my study—in, uh… somewhere in there!”

  Moulin smiled victoriously. “You have no idea. Ten years ago, I asked for another storage room to be built. You tossed me the key because you didn’t deem it worth your time. I’ve been storing old junk in the vault ever since.”

  She produced the key from her robe. Vitzer sat back down and shrugged. “Well then, we’re using it. We can’t possibly give it away.”

  “We can, and we will.” She placed the key on the table. “We have a deal, Guildmaster. I only need to retrieve a few personal items.”

  Vitzer opened his mouth to object, but Moulin lifted a hand to silence him.

  “The key requires a generous amount of mana to operate,” she warned. “And once locked inside, you cannot escape without the key. Choose carefully who you allow access.”

  The Guildmaster nodded. “You truly are a saint, Moulin. I will take the utmost care. Now—why are you so insistent that the boy participate? There are plenty of safer ways for him to gain experience. Why the tomb?”

  Vitzer crossed his arms and refused to answer. Even Moulin hesitated. Lazgrim looked between them, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Then his eyes narrowed. “There’s something in there you want. And you think the lad is the one who can get it for you.”

  Moulin smiled guiltily and nodded. “It isn’t a relic or anything physical. The boy is still na?ve. He needs hardship—real hardship—to grow, and quickly. He is far behind where he should be at his age, and his unique abilities will paint a target on his back. He must become strong, and a dungeon is the gauntlet we’ve chosen.”

  Lazgrim started to object, but Moulin silenced him again. “We know the risks. But dungeons offer more than danger. There is a chance for relics, artifacts—anything that might help him on his path.”

  Simi, who had barely spoken, frowned. “We aren’t going to hand him every useful item we find, Mother!”

  “I’m not asking you to,” Moulin said. “But remember who you turn to when one of your team is badly hurt. Remember who has saved two of your teammates—one of them your leader.”

  Simi slumped. “But Mother, I can’t ask my team to give up every valuable item we find!”

  Moulin shrugged. “Then decide what the worth of your friends’ lives is. I’ve never asked for payment—but who knows what might change in the future?”

  The guildmaster sat straighter, expression stern. “Saint Moulin, I do not appreciate blackmail of my guild members.”

  Simi looked hopeful, but Vitzer grinned. “Blackmail? We’ve done you plenty of service over the years, Guildmaster. This is not blackmail. This is our price. We need the brat to grow, and you want to stay on good terms with us. A small compensation for past favors.”

  The Guildmaster’s eye twitched, but Lazgrim hid a grin poorly. “They aren’t asking for every item, lad. Just… assistance, should something useful be found. I’d let it go. Though for the record, I’m against the whole thing.”

  The Guildmaster sighed. “Fine. I suppose I can accept that. Simi, I’ll inform your team myself.” He looked at Vitzer. “They won’t welcome him when they hear this.”

  Vitzer shrugged. “Perhaps when he saves their lives, they’ll reconsider.”

  Simi scoffed. “Him? He’s not even Stage Three!”

  The Guildmaster choked on his tea. “What!?”

  Vitzer leaned forward. “And yet he handled those slavers, did he not? He healed that cursed adventurer. And dear daughter, he overpowered you when you first met—remember?” The old gravling beamed with pride before catching himself. “Well, he’s still a fool. But you can’t argue with results.”

  Simi flushed as the Guildmaster looked at her, then shook his head. “Very well. We have a deal.” His eyes settled on the key. “That vault will save lives. One rookie in a dungeon is a small price. But if he dies—this is on you, not me.”

  Vitzer and Moulin smiled in unison. “Of course not.”