Truth be told, I hadn’t ant to be out this far at all. I usually stuck to the dungeons near the township of Aurelienth, those with solid stone walls, predictable sli infestations, the kind of miserable routine a knight could rely on. Those dungeons were stable in their own way: every creature in them spawned straight from the aetherrealm, which ant they filled themselves again after a day or less. Don’t ask how the aetherrealm works; I don’t know myself. I just know that if you cleared a sli pit in the morning, by sunset it would be ripe for another swing or two. Reliable work for minimal thinking.
But Aurelienth was a big trading hub, which ant there would always be new crops of bright-eyed magi straight out of the academy, still slling of parchnt and arrogance, eager to prove themselves by ‘cleansing’ the sa dungeons I depended on to eat.
Which led here, in the middle of . . . sowhere, about thirty miles to the South of Aurelienth.
It turned out my navigation skill was still sound enough for use. The signs along the road were at least consistent in one thing: lying just enough to make doubt myself.
The first one pointed ‘→ To Wensforth,’ though the arrow leaned down like it had given up on hope. The next said ‘← Town,” but ‘town’ had been scratched over with what might’ve been the word bandits. I took the middle path anyway, because nothing in life scread ‘heroic destiny’ like ignoring both good sense and warnings carved in blood.
By so miracle—or the pity of Saint rin himself—the third sign I ca across was still legible and upright. Dunswell, 2 leagues ahead. That sounded vaguely civilized. I traced the faint groove of the letters with a finger, as if to make sure they were real, then glanced at Silvermane.
The path narrowed into a strip of dirt hemd in by low, whispering grass. Birds called from sowhere unseen, and the wind carried the sll of possibly clean water. My shoulders eased for the first ti in hours.
Every few hundred steps, I checked for new signposts, but they seed to grow shyer the closer we got to the town. I had to rely on the ruts carved by wagon wheels and a scarecrow standing guard over a patch of corn to navigate myself.
Dunswell wasn’t a village after all. From a distance, it looked like a smudge of roofs and smoke, but as Silvermane and I drew closer, the walls materialized in our vision—real ones, not the low stone fences I’d been seeing all afternoon. The town had a gate. Two of them, in fact, with iron bands and guards who looked just self-important enough to make life difficult.
That was the thing about bigger towns: the more gates they built, the more rules they invented to justify them.
I got close and joined the line. Farrs lined up with carts of grain, traders argued about tariffs, and sowhere behind the wall, a bell tolled like it was counting down to my next mistake. I counted myself lucky there were traders here. A place with rchants ant coin, food, maybe even a proper bed if the saints were feeling generous. It also ant I didn’t stand out too much, though I still drew a few looks for being the only one on horseback.
When my turn ca, I got off my horse out of respect, and the guard looked up from his ledger once. It seed like he was about to routinely glue his eyes on the ledger again, but my armor must have snatched his attention.
“Occupation?” he droned.
Okay, Henry. Just keep it nice and simple. There’s literally no way this Ceralis thing can twist your words if the only thing you intend to say is: Knight.
So I willed myself to say, ‘Knight’.
“Knight,” I said. Still, with a gratuitous amount of venom, but I’d managed to say what I was about to say.
That earned a long pause and a squint. “Knight? You an like . . . reenactnt society?”
No, sir, I’m a traveling knight, nothing fancy, I willed myself to say.
I said, “I am the kind that makes reenactnts real.”
[Persuasion Failed]
[Hostility Triggered]
What? No. I wasn’t even trying to persuade the man. I was just going to lay low and pass the gate without trouble.
“Right,” the guard said slowly. “And what brings you to Dunswell, Sir Reenactnt?”
One word, Henry. Keep it simple. Keep it safe.
“Rest.”
He frowned. “Rest?”
“Yes.”
“Only certified adventurers and dungeoneers are allowed rest within the walls.”
That was obviously a rule he’d just invented, probably on the spot, but the worst part was that he sounded pleased about it.
I could’ve just turned around. I could’ve picked a ditch, or a stable, or even the blessed roadside. But I’d already said the word, and the gears inside my skull seed to have taken it as a contractual obligation.
“I am certified,” I said. It ca out exactly how I wanted it to for once: pissed off.
“Certified, are you?” the guard said. “Then you wouldn’t mind showing your Magus Seal, would you?”
“Magus?”
He smirked. “Only magi can be licensed adventurers. Are you a mage?”
I could feel Silvermane snort behind , which, under the circumstances, was not helpful. I took a slow breath, trying to be knightly and civil. “There has never been a law denying rest to travelers,” I thought I said calmly.
What ca out was, “You speak falsehood before the chosen one of Saint rin. The punishnt for deceit is the removal of one’s lying tongue.”
[Intimidation Successful]
The guard visibly flinched, stepping half a pace back. “What— no,” the guard said, recovering quickly. His tone steadied, though his hand stayed tight on the ledger. “Temporary rest is restricted inside the gates after dusk. You can stable your mount outside, if that’s what you ant.”
I see, I willed myself to say. It ca out as, “Then you admit your cri. Speak your true reason before I weigh your worth.”
[Intimidation Successful]
He blanched. “What— what cri? There’s no cri! Look, sir, if you’d just present your . . . your identification, we can—”
“Fabricate law in my presence again,” my mouth declared, “and I shall carve the truth into your mory.”
[Intimidation Successful]
[Chained Intimidation Successful]
[Passive: Overwhelming Aura Activated]
The guard ceased to exist. His chest locked, his shoulders folded in like sobody had tightened a screw behind them. His eyes were open wide enough to show the whites; his jaw hung slack. He froze in place like a figure carved from the sa stone the gate was made of.
For a second I thought he was playing possum. Then his hand—still clutching the ledger—went rigid. The ink on the page trembled but the quill did not. He looked less like a man and more like the statue of one sobody had forgotten to finish.
[Aura Effect: Paralyzing Pressure]
By the pancreas of the Saints, I can do that?
I waved a hand in front of his face, but he didn’t react.
Panic prickled up my spine like gooseflesh. What if the man stayed like that? What if I’d turned him into a statue forever?
Effect: AURA — OVERWHELMING DOMINION (Passive)
Secondary: Paralyzing Pressure — weak-willed targets
Estimated Duration: Five minutes
[System Clarification: Collateral intimidation not advised]
The words were a small rcy, but I didn’t have ti to think through for the line behind had already buzzed. People leaned away from the guards, eyes narrowed and nervous, but not daring to glance at . A child near the fruit cart squeaked and hid behind her mother’s skirt. The woman, pale as goat’s milk, pulled her close and bowed her head. Sowhere behind the line of rchants, a lon rolled off a stall and burst against the cobbles. No one moved to pick it up.
[SOCIAL PENALTY: Aura of Authority detected]
Sphere of Influence: Dunswell Northern Gate
Estimate Duration: 2~8 days
Carry on, good folk, I wanted to gently say, yet I knew better than to speak and let Ceralis twist my words.
The other guard, who’d been leaning against the post pretending not to watch, gave the smallest, most professional nod: the sort you give when you’ve decided to de-escalate by pretending the strangest thing is ordinary.
Am I allowed through? I thought. I am going to slow the line.
“Let pass,” my mouth intoned, “or the rest of you shall rember why queues move swiftly.”
The other guard swallowed, smoothed his tunic, and tucked the ledger further back. He kept his voice low and annoyingly steady. “Very well. We’ll let you pass, on one condition. There’s a fifty-kohn gate fee for mounted entrants, sir. Pay here, stable outside, or you can—” he glanced at the frozen man “—stand watch for a while, if you prefer.”
I fished out the coins, palms sticky and still slling faintly of sli, and slapped them into the guard’s waiting hand. These weren’t even mine, but belonged to the villager. I felt awful about it, though guilt was fast becoming a luxury I couldn’t afford. I would have to pass through this town anyway, and such a grand one would surely have a proper pawnshop, or better yet, a dungeoneer guild quarter.
As the guard waved through, I mounted up again, Silvermane’s hooves clopping against the cobblestone. If this kept up, I thought grimly, I’d end up a legend for all the wrong reasons. The Mad Knight of Dunswell. The Saint’s Hamr. The Queue Killer.
Maybe the best thing to do from now on would be just to stop talking altogether.
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