There is no sound quite as ominous as the clop-clop of royal horses pulling up outside your inn the day after surviving an interdinsional death gauntlet.
Especially when those horses are pulling a carriage so obnoxiously gold, it looked like it had been dipped in tax fraud.
I watched through the curtains as the guards stepped out, their armor gleaming, their capes fluttering dramatically despite there being no wind. One of them was holding a scroll so long it trailed behind him like a wedding dress.
"We’re gonna die," I muttered into my tea.
Lilith was unbothered. She was polishing her blades and humming a lullaby that could only be described as aggressively Slavic. Galrik was doing push-ups with Mister Fog balanced on his back, reading a cookbook titled "Boiling the Soul: Culinary Arts from the Abyss."
The door burst open.
"By royal decree of Her Highness, Queen Dione the rciful (But Only on Tuesdays), the party of Floor Ten is hereby summoned to the capital to receive comndation, recognition, and probable entanglent in political sches far beyond your ntal capacity."
Pause.
"Also there will be cake."
Mister Fog levitated up, eyes glowing. "Cake...?"
Lilith leaned her sword against the table. "I don’t trust cake."
I stood up, clutching my mug like a holy relic. "Can I... opt out?"
"No," the royal ssenger said with a smile far too wide for soone who’d just threatened with complints.
We were given an hour to pack.
Which ant they packed for us.
Galrik mourned his rock collection. Mister Fog tried to sneak an entire haunted wardrobe into the carriage and was almost tackled by five guards. Lilith didn’t pack anything. She simply opened a hidden pocket in her coat and revealed everything she had ever owned, including a live raven and a single grenade.
I, anwhile, stood in my room, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror.
"You’re not special," I reminded myself. "You didn’t save anyone. You scread through most of Floor Ten."
Then I paused.
"...but you’re still here."
I wasn’t proud of how I survived, but I had survived. Despite every cursed door, sentient spreadsheet, and reality-lting vision board... I was here. Alive.
Possibly traumatized. But alive.
And now I was being summoned to the capital like so kind of... hero?
Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. I refuse the call to adventure. I rebuke it. I un-subscribe.
"Too late," Lilith said from behind , scaring the absolute sin out of . "Let’s go, Coward King."
"Can we please not call that outside the inn?"
"No promises."
The carriage ride was quiet. Which, in this group, ant sothing horrible was going to happen soon.
Galrik kept asking if nobility had protein shakes.
Mister Fog was writing sothing in a language that looked like it bled.
I tried to nap, but every ti I closed my eyes, I saw Floor Eight’s therapy circle and that talking plushie who knew too much.
Lilith sat beside , legs crossed, sharpening a dagger on a bone. I didn’t ask where the bone ca from.
"I hate this," I muttered.
"I know," she said. "That’s why I’m here."
It was a weird kind of comfort. Like being told the executioner was your ride-or-die.
I peeked out the window.
The Capital of Evareth was just coming into view.
Sprawling spires. Gleaming towers. Banners flapping in smug synchrony. Streets lined with statues of old heroes—who all looked constipated with glory.
And at the center?
A castle shaped like soone scread "symbolism!" and then threw gold at a hill until it obeyed.
Mister Fog’s eyes widened. "Ah, yes. The place where dreams are taxed and emotions are illegal. I’ve missed this hellhole."
"Why were you ever here?" I asked.
He smiled. "Jury’s still out."
The carriage rolled up to the gates. Trumpets blared.
I flinched.
"Relax," Galrik said, patting my back with enough force to dislocate my lungs. "We’re gonna be famous!"
I whispered the only prayer I knew:
"Please, gods of cowardice, grant invisibility or a fatal nosebleed. Either works."
The throne room was large enough to fit an entire village, and yet sohow still managed to sll like overcooked lavender and fear.
I stood in a row with the rest of my party, hands sweating, knees aching, and heart actively considering unemploynt. At the far end of the marble corridor sat Queen Dione—elegant, terrifying, and draped in so much silk it looked like she was being slowly devoured by curtains.
Her crown was sharp enough to be illegal in three kingdoms. Her throne looked like it had been assembled from the stolen dreams of peasantry. She raised one brow at us, a single, regal flicker of amusent.
Then she smiled.
"Oh, so these are the heroes," she purred.
I almost collapsed on instinct.
"Lilith Nightvale," she continued, motioning to the bloodthirsty goddess next to . "Slayer of the Nine-Eyed Behemoth. Your bounty has been... erased. For now."
Lilith gave a bow so low I thought she might lunge.
"Galrik Stonefist. You... arm-wrestled a living dungeon door open."
"TWICE," Galrik said proudly, flexing in what was now canonically a royal palace.
The queen chuckled.
"And Mister Fog," she said, her voice dipping just slightly. "We et again."
Mister Fog took off his hat and bowed, revealing his floating third eye. "You still owe a drink and an apology, Your Highness."
"Never," she whispered.
Then she turned to .
And paused.
"...And this must be Cecil."
That was it.
No title. No feat. Just my na, like it was a punchline she’d been saving all week.
I tried to bow and accidentally knocked over a ceremonial staff. It clattered. The guards twitched. Lilith facepald. Galrik muttered, "Nice."
The queen raised a perfectly manicured hand.
"Rise, Cecil. You are the only one who didn’t try to punch, burn, or seduce their way through the dungeon. That takes a rare kind of survival instinct."
"Uh. Cowardice?" I offered.
"Exactly," she said with a wink. "Which is why I’m assigning you as Royal Emissary to Things We Don’t Want to Deal With."
"What."
"You’ll represent the crown in tasks too stupid or dangerous for actual nobles. You’ll be given authority, immunity, and a very loud bell to ring when things go to shit."
I blinked. "So I’m your scapegoat?"
"Precisely," she bead. "But you’ll get dental."
After the ceremony, we were ushered into the royal guest quarters.
Lilith tested the walls for traps.
Galrik dove into the feast like it was arm day.
Mister Fog found a mirror and whispered ancient curses to it until it shattered out of respect.
I sat on my new bed, staring at the velvet canopy and the tray of sweets next to it.
"...I’m a governnt official now," I said to no one.
Then I scread into a pillow for ten full minutes.
Later that night, I snuck out to the castle gardens.
It was quiet. Peaceful. No alarms. No screams. No cursed mosaics or eldritch riddles.
Just a guy who had barely survived being chewed up and spat out by a legendary dungeon... now being courted by politics like so glorified pawn.
I plopped onto a bench.
"Cecil?"
I turned. Lilith stood there, arms crossed, eyes softer than usual.
"You alright?" she asked.
"I don’t know," I said. "This doesn’t feel real."
She nodded. "You got called a hero by a woman who owns seven assassination squads. Nothing about this is real."
I laughed. "Thanks. That helps."
She sat next to . For a long mont, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, "We’re not done, you know. This—this ’peace’? It’s bait."
I sighed. "Can’t I get one Chapter of rest?"
"No."
"Not even a filler episode?"
"Maybe a hot spring one. But only if soone dies."
And just like that, the breeze picked up. Sowhere in the distance, a scream echoed faintly.
The world was waiting.
And tomorrow?
We’d answer. Begrudgingly. Exhaustedly. Probably while on fire.
But for now...
Just one night.
No monsters.
No dungeons.
Just us.
And a very angry garden gno peeking at us from behind a bush holding a scroll labeled: "URGENT QUEST: STUPIDEST SHIT EVER."
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