Understanding began to settle over us, slowly.
It was just as I had guessed. Lady Celestia wasn’t merely burdened by expectation or scrutiny. She stood at the center of a legal, political, and personal crossroads—one she had never intended to get into, let alone lead.
Still, that particular problem felt far beyond me.
I mean—me? I’m fat. Being ridiculed for most of my life was bad enough. The idea of having to talk to a girl, let alone help with something like this, felt like another hurdle stacked on top of everything else.
I wasn’t like my brother.
He got ridiculed too, but instead of shrinking, he pushed back. Hard. He actually bullied the people who mocked him until they stopped.
…Honestly, it was kind of impressive. In my case, I’d never had that kind of confidence.
And just like some things seemed universal, this felt universal too—I couldn’t think of a single girl who would want to date a fat guy.
Well. Other than gold diggers.
And Reika—but she was a whole different brand of crazy. The kind who was completely, unapologetically obsessed with my brother. Which, in itself, was weird and impressive in the most concerning way possible.
A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Honestly, they were kind of perfect for each other that way.
My gaze drifted back to our fathers who had offered to help. They stood there now, shoulders tense, expressions stiff with uncertainty. For all their resolve earlier, reality had clearly caught up with them.
If my brother were here, yeah—he’d definitely laugh. And he’d never let them live it down.
“Before she became the heir,” Captain Godwin said, grinning, “Lady Celestia buried herself in study. Books, scrolls, magic theory—barely came up for air. We often saw her when we were doing drills from the courtyard.”
Captain Aldric nodded. “True. If she wasn’t in the tower, she was in the archives.”
“But,” Captain Godwin continued, raising a finger, “she also decided that book knowledge wasn’t enough. So, she became a free-blade, an adventurer, for a time.”
Captain Godwin snapped his fingers. “Took contracts, joined squads, fought monsters, slept in questionable inns—”
“—and nearly set one on fire,” Aldric added flatly.
Captain Godwin waved a hand. “Minor detail.”
“And she was good at it,” Captain Aldric continued.
“How good?” Trayn asked.
Captain Godwin puffed his chest out proudly. “Mithril rank.”
There was a beat of silence.
“…That’s high, right? She tried to give us a lecture last night but it was too fast.” I said, much to the agreement of many.
Captain Aldric let out a short laugh. “Third highest. For a woman barely in her twenties, she accomplished a lot.”
Captain Godwin nodded enthusiastically. “Now imagine for a moment. A powerful mage. Dungeon Raider Mithril-ranked free-blade. Smart. Young. Single. Beautiful. Available.”
He spread his hands wide.
“And suddenly, she becomes heir of a dukedom,” he said with a wry smile. “Next thing she knows, proposals started flying in from every direction.”
“Letters. Gifts. Portraits. Declarations of undying love,” Captain Aldric added, raising a finger for each one. “One man tried to challenge a wyvern in her name.”
“…Did—did, that person survive?” Trayn asked sounding both unsure and wanted to laugh.
Captain Godwin shrugged. “Briefly.”
I stared ahead, trying to process all of that, then glanced back at our fathers. They looked uncomfortable, like they’d just realized they’d volunteered us for something far beyond our pay grade.
“Okay—boys,” Arthur’s father began, clearing his throat. The three of them exchanged glances that spoke louder than words—we’ve talked about this already, but let’s pretend we haven’t.
“How about a bet,” Arthur muttered flatly, a grin tugging at his lips. “I bet they’re about to say exactly that—the kind of thing that sounds like they’ve prepared it in advance but really means nothing.”
“Well,” Arthur’s father continued, voice slow and deliberate, “seeing as you’re all young, energetic, and—” He waved vaguely in our direction, a gesture that could mean capable or completely unprepared. “—somehow involved in this… situation…”
Trayn’s father leaned forward, nodding as if agreeing with some invisible script. “We thought it would be best if you helped.”
“Specifically,” my father added, nodding with far too much confidence, “you boys.”
There was a collective pause.
“…Help how?” Trayn asked carefully, one eyebrow threatening to vanish into his hairline.
“Oh, nothing complicated,” Trayn’s father said quickly, waving a hand as if that would make it true. “Just… be supportive.”
Arthur squinted. “That sounds like something that becomes complicated very fast.”
“Think of it as a learning experience,” my father said, leaning back just slightly too proudly. “Character building.”
“And,” Arthur’s father added, clapping his hands once for emphasis, “you’re all heroes. People expect things from heroes. Just, be civil.”
I stared at my father. “Father, that sounds suspiciously like good luck, you’re on your own.”
Trayn’s father gave a sheepish shrug. “Well… yes, but—uh—we’ll be around if needed. In theory.”
Arthur smirked. “In theory, right. I see how this works. You want the credit for offering help, but the responsibility is all ours. Yeah, thanks dad. I always knew I could count on you.”
His father looked him in the eye, raised a hand, and pointed to the ring on it, emphasizing that they can’t help. “Do you want to be supervised while you’re on a date!? I’d be happy to do that for you son.”
Arthur rolled his eyes while Trayn folded his arm as he spoke in a dry tone. “So, to be clear, it’s as Wills said,” he said, looking between the three fathers, “we’re to do this… but good luck, you’re entirely on your own.”
A small chorus of groans rose from our little group. Some of us, like the trio who pissed off my brother, looked entirely too eager. Our fathers, for their part, looked extremely pleased with themselves. My mother on the other hand, was content to let them handle it.
“What would Vi say in this situation,” Arthur said then he thought for a moment.
A small smile crossed his lips as he imitated my brother’s voice. “Yeah, handing off a crap ton of responsibility to teenagers is the pinnacle of adult parental wisdom.”
We barked a laugh, while our fathers shrugged.
“How’d I do?” Arthur asked.
“Close,” I replied. “But, I think if my brother were here, he’d laugh then proceed to run away. He’s good like that. He even got a title for it.”
“Oh, yeah,” Arthur scratched the back of his head. “I forgot he’s good at that.”
Captain Godwin snickered. “That’s how they get you. First, it’s just help her, and the next thing you know, you’re knee-deep in succession politics.”
The fathers ignored him completely. Impressively so.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“So,” Trayn’s father said, smiling a little too brightly—far too brightly—“you boys will handle it.”
There it was.
The responsibility—neatly wrapped, lightly justified, and unceremoniously shoved straight into our hands.
The awkward moment lingered even as we continued to talk, until we all heard another knock on the door. The king who was content to listen to our, if you can even call what happened a conversation, opened it.
Servants began to file in, efficient and expressionless, their arrival dispersing the tension. Without ceremony, they unfolded tall wooden partitions, arranging them with practiced ease until the open space was neatly divided.
Just like that, the atmosphere shifted.
“This way, honored guests,” one of the servants said, gesturing politely.
Behind them came the tailors—four in total. Two men, two women. The men gravitated toward us instinctively, tape measures already draped around their necks, while the women moved toward the girls with the same quiet confidence.
The princess went to the other side, while the king stayed on ours. One of the tailors clapped his hands once, smiling professionally. “We’ll take measurements honored guests. It won’t take long.”
For all the politics, burdens, and responsibilities handed to us, this—standing around waiting to be measured for clothes felt oddly—grounding. For now, at least, we were just kids getting fitted for clothes because we hadn’t brought any when we got summoned.
There wasn’t any particular order we were called, but I managed to be one of the first people to be called. I stepped behind the partition, and immediately felt my shoulders tense.
The tailor—a middle-aged man with kind eyes—had his leather measuring tape already in hand and gave me a polite nod and reassuring smile. “Please stand straight.”
Easier said than done.
As the tape wrapped around my chest, then my waist, I felt heat creep up my neck. I tried not to look down, tried not to think about the numbers he was quietly murmuring under his breath as he wrote them down using a quill.
I’d gone through this before, of course. School uniforms, formal wear. It was never new. That still didn’t make it any less uncomfortable. I sucked in my stomach out of habit, then froze when the tailor lightly tapped my shoulder. “Relax young lord,” he said kindly. “Clothes fit better when they’re honest.”
That somehow made it worse.
I let my breath out and stared at the partition in front of me, focusing on the wood grain, on anything except the measuring tape sliding along my arms and shoulders.
Outside, I could hear the others chatting—laughing, even. Good for them.
When the tailor stepped back, satisfied, I resisted the urge to immediately cross my arms or hide behind them. Still… I hoped whatever they made would be loose.
As I stepped back out, still trying to shake the lingering embarrassment, I heard Shun speak.
“Uhm, Captain, earlier,” he said, glancing between the two knight captains, “you mentioned Lady Celestia’s rank. Dungeon Mithril-free-blade, or something. How does that even work here?”
That was all the invitation Captain Godwin needed.
“Oh?” he said, straightening as if he’d been waiting for the question. “Interested in the free-blade system?”
Captain Aldric gave a small nod. “It’s how independent combatants—what you’d call adventurers—are classified and regulated.”
Captain Godwin began counting on his fingers. “At the bottom, you have Crawlers. Copper and bronze. Beginners, mostly. People still learning how not to get themselves killed.”
“Next are Delvers,” Captain Aldric continued despite giving his colleague a small glare. “Iron and silver. Reliable fighters. Dungeon work, escort missions, monster subjugation.”
Captain Godwin ignored the look he received, clearly enjoying himself. “Then come the Raiders. Mithril and orichalcum. Veterans. The kind who takes on high-risk contracts and coordinated hunts.”
I felt a small chill at that.
“And above even that,” Aldric said, voice lowering slightly, “are the Seekers.”
“Gold and Adamantium,” Godwin added. “They seek out targets—monsters, calamities, things better left unnamed—and hunt them down. They are few and far between, around six people in our kingdom, though there are more abroad.”
Hanzo tilted his head, clearly thinking things through. “It’s a bit like those novels I’ve read but with a few extra twists,” he said before getting excited, “How about it, want to form a party?”
The two knight captains blinked.
“A… party?” Captain Godwin repeated, brow furrowing. “You mean, like a celebration?”
A few of us looked at Captain Godwin, but the expression on his face told us that he wasn’t joking. He looked genuinely confused.
“Uhm, no Captain,” Hanzo said quickly, waving his hands. “I meant, a fighting group, a team.”
“Oh,” Captain Aldric said, realization dawning. He scratched his cheek with a wry smile. “That’s not what we call it here.”
Captain Godwin cleared his throat, slipping back into lecture mode. “For a group of seven or less, it’s called a squad.”
“Two squads,” Captain Aldric added, “form a band.”
“And two bands together make a fellowship,” Godwin continued. “Large enough to take on threats, but still flexible.”
He paused, then gestured broadly.
“Anything larger than that,” Aldric said, “if it’s a permanent group, is classified as a guild team.”
“And if it’s temporary?” Godwin finished with a grin. “A Raider group.”
That, naturally, led the conversation somewhere even I was curious about.
“Captains,” Taka, said hesitantly, “you mentioned Crawlers and Delvers earlier. Does that mean… dungeons exist here?”
The knight captains exchanged a look.
“They do,” Captain Aldric answered with a nod.
Captain Godwin, smiling, began to explain. “No one knows how they were made, but there are three classes. The first, class 1, is the beginner kinds of dungeons that barely go down five to ten levels. We have twenty-four of those in this country. Class 2 is the normal kind of dungeon. There are six scattered in our kingdom.”
Captain Aldric continued. “There are more abroad of course. Most go down around thirty to fifty levels. The ones in our kingdom average around thirty levels. Most tend to get populated by stronger monsters than compared to the surface.”
Captain Godwin sighed. “Dungeons are classified as threats as much as they are resources. They produce monsters, and materials. Left alone, they breed monsters until those monsters overflow into the surface.”
“That sounds bad,” Hanzo said.
“It is,” Captain Godwin replied cheerfully. “But also, profitable. The worst part is—well, they tend to migrate.”
“…Migrate?” I repeated.
“Yes,” Captain Aldric said with a small smile. He looked entirely too calmly. “It’s exactly as you heard it.”
Captain Godwin pointed down the corridor, in the direction lady Celestia had gone earlier. “Lady Celestia will be covering that in detail. She has… opinions on the matter.”
“And experience,” Captain Aldric added. The way they said that made it clear this wasn’t just academic.
“For now,” Captain Godwin said, clapping his hands once, “just know this, dungeons are why the free-blade system exists in the first place.”
I glanced at the others. Another box checked on the things we probably should’ve asked before getting summoned list.
“And the third one?” Arthur asked as he stepped out from behind the curtain, tugging at his sleeve. Hanzo slipped into his place almost immediately, clearly still listening in.
Captain Godwin glanced our way. “Class Three,” he said. “A special class. In simpler terms, a hero dungeon.”
The room seemed to tighten.
“What’s the difference?” Arthur asked, just as Trayn wandered over, curiosity written all over his face.
The two captains exchanged a look again—but this time, neither of them smiled.
“In a Class Two dungeon,” Captain Aldric said slowly, “you might encounter stronger monsters only once you reach the deeper levels.”
Captain Godwin ran a hand through his hair as a difficult expression crossed his face. “In a Class Three, those kinds of monsters appear on the upper floors.”
That earned a collective, uneasy breath from all of us.
“As far as we know,” Captain Aldric continued, “there are only two such dungeons on the entire continent.”
Captain Godwin tilted his head. “One of them is about an hour’s ride from here.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Then Captain Godwin, as if remembering something mildly amusing, added, “Fun fact—Lady Celestia’s grandfather was one of the very few people to ever reach the thirtieth floor of that dungeon.”
He let that sit before finishing.
“He was also one of the strongest people in the world at level sixty-eight. And he is the person she is trying to catch up to.”
Trayn let out a low whistle. “One hell of a legacy.”
The two captains nodded in agreement.
Our conversation, though, left a strange weight hanging in the air—one that didn’t quite lift even as the tailors continued their work, tape measures sliding, and quills scratching against parchments.
Haruto was the one who broke it.
“If dungeons are that dangerous,” he said, voice steady but louder than before, “and they hurt people… then shouldn’t we do something about it? We are heroes after all, we have the power to help them.”
The room stilled as the tailors paused for half a heartbeat, their hands freezing mid-measure. One of them glanced up sharply, eyes widening just a fraction too much. Another exchanged a look with a servant near the partition.
Before anyone else could react, the king spoke.
“Enough.”
His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It cut cleanly through the room, firm and heard by everyone. Every tailor immediately lowered their gaze. One of them stepped back and bowed deeply.
“You will forget what you think you heard,” the king continued calmly. “What you think you inferred. This matter does not leave this room.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” they replied in unison, voices tight but respectful.
Only after that did the king turn back to us, his expression composed—but serious.
“You are correct, lord Haruto,” he said. “Heroes do act to prevent suffering.”
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“However, intention alone does not decide such things.” The king folded his arms. “At present, your existence has not been publicly announced. Most servants only know of you as honored guests.”
Captain Godwin nodded. “Fewer than fifty people know of you. Most of them are His Majesty’s personal guards.”
“And sworn to silence,” the king added, now looking the servants and tailors in the room.
Haruto frowned. “Why not announce us, then?”
The king exhaled slowly.
“Because,” he said, “you have not yet chosen to fight.”
The words settled heavier than anything else that had been said.
“To announce heroes,” the king continued, “is to name them. To define their purpose in the eyes of the people. Once that happens, there is no turning back.”
I saw the king, looked at each of us in turn—not as symbols, not as tools, but as people.
“Which of you,” he asked evenly, “would I announce as a hero?”
No one answered.
“Who among you has chosen that path? That role? A blade to raise, or a spell to cast?” the king went on. “Until that choice is made—I will not force it upon you.”
Captain Godwin scratched his cheek. “It’d be a mess otherwise. Other nations, public expectations and opinions, churches arguing over which one of you fits their doctrine best.”
Captain Aldric grimaced. “And god help us if the church gets involved too early.”
Haruto clenched his fists, then slowly relaxed them.
“So—until we decide,” he said, “we stay—hidden?”
“Yes,” the king confirmed, firmly. “You are guests. Students. Observers.”
He allowed himself a small, wry smile.
“And, inconveniently for some,” he added, “children.”
That earned a few quiet snorts—even from the guards.
The tailors, having received their unspoken cue, resumed their work as if nothing had happened. Fabric rustled. Chalk lines were drawn. The moment passed—but it didn’t disappear.
I stared at the floor, my reflection faint in the polished stone. There are dangers we were aware of now—but not committed to facing. Some threats are meant for legends, not beginners. Where do we fit in all of this, I wonder? We who are heroes yet still hadn’t chosen to be heroes yet.
