Greenwood Town’s panic over the other day’s cold snap at last calmed to anxious anticipation, but protests against ongoing tribute hikes were approaching mass disorder. Tomatoes splashed against the Royal Guard Office’s windows, a rotten stench wafting into the lobby where Isen Lothar was signing off on another stack of paper work. Suddenly half the town had reasons for tribute exemptions.

The door slammed opened. Lord Hyera walked in, the scales of his dragonhide armor clean and gleaming. Not one person was brave or stupid enough to throw food at him. This morning he was scowling typically. His expression eased as he spoke: “Stay seated, Lothar. You’re doing a good job.” Compliments like these only meant one of two things, neither positive.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Regrettably,” Lord Hyera dourly began, “your weekly pay is to be reduced by fifty-three gold. If you have objections, this is your time to speak.” He placed a thin binder on the desk labeled budget restructuring.

Isen’s stomach clenched. “I have no objections, sir. We must all make sacrifices.”

“Indeed we must, every last man, woman, and child. This winter will be unlike anything which you have lived through, Lothar. I advise you to prepare.”

“How do you know, sir?” Isen almost interrupted.

“A messenger arrived at the west gate. The northern settlements are requesting aid, and King Desiric is making preparations for a new ice age, part of which include clearing all known open-world dungeons before we are buried under snow and elementals. I have personally chosen you to be a main tank for a full raid party. There are gold bonuses at stake for you. Do you accept?”

Isen maintained a stoic face while his blood rushed. This was his opportunity to prove himself—as a main tank. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Very good.” Lord Hyera unfolded a square of coffee-stained parchment. A map. “Location nine is the dungeon. You are to report to the Royal Barracks tomorrow at dawn to meet your team. Do you have any misunderstandings?”

Frowning at the map, Isen cautiously evaluated his words. This was not the time to look incompetent again. “This dungeon is very near the area which Guard Captain Madrog’s son was captured. Should I assume that you have plans to move against Scarlett Freya while we occupied with the dungeon?”

“Yes.”

Excitement waned. “Pardon me sir, but there have been rumors that Freya has hundreds of child hostages.”

“I have heard no such rumors, and even if such hearsay were true, it is neither your place to know nor strategize. You will strictly follow your party leader without question. Understand?”

“Excuse—” Isen choked on spit. “Excuse me? My party leader?”

“Yes, your raid party leader.”

“How can I be the main tank and not be party lead? This is very questionable.” It went against core dungeoneering principles.

Lord Hyera looked at Isen as though looking at a special dog. “You are inexperienced.”

“But archives have shown that chances of safe and successful dungeoneering without a main tank as party leader is drastically lower—”

“I know what the archives say. You may have won the divine lottery, Lothar, but you are merely an eighteen-year-old boy who pales at the sight of a severed head. To assign you as party leader would be questionable. Your squeamish pride alone would cause a wipe.”

Those words stung more than they should’ve, and Isen had been trying to not think about Cardon. Suddenly lifeless eyes stared at Isen. And so did Sorath’s punchable smirk, proud of what he had done to Isen’s childhood best friend—murder. This was not justice. This was no better than how bandits and pirates acted.

Lord Hyera said with a hint of sympathy, “If it were up to me, he would’ve been taken in alive, but the Psionic Hexblade didn’t have any other option.” He spoke of Sorath’s class with godly reverence.

“Was that in his report?”

“Yes. It was a one against four confrontation.”

Isen’s fingers chilled. “He killed four people?”

“As he reported.”

“Why?”

Lord Hyera sighed. “Did you not hear me? It was a one against four confrontation on lawless land. One man against four thugs belonging to a barbaric gang full of known violent criminals. They would not have hesitated to blast off his head, and they would not hesitate to blast yours off either. Get a hold of yourself, Lothar! You are a Royal Guard!”

Isen swallowed a hard lump stuck in his throat. Cardon’s bloody face and broken glasses now refused to fade away. “I didn’t join to get away with murder, sir.”

“That is true. You joined to bring glory and riches to yourself, and I have given you the chance. What the Psionic Hexblade does is none of your concern.”

Stupidly Isen blurted back, “I’m this Office’s receptionist. I need to—“

“You are relieved of reception duty. You may have the rest of this day to yourself. You are to report to the Barracks tomorrow at dawn. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes sir.” Isen stood, then said in another bout of passive disobedience, “Also, I hereby formally lodge a complaint to the King’s court.”

“What is your complaint?” Lord Hyera calmly asked.

“Since the faction is undergoing sweeping budget restructuring, I find it unjust that the King’s bounties retain their full values. They are also exempt from tribute, which I vehemently disagree with, especially during these difficult times.”

“And what is your exact suggestion to fix your perceived injustice?”

“Bounties should be subject to tribute like any other form of gold income. List A bounty sums should be reduced by at least two-thirds across the board. List B bounty sums should be reduced by ten to thirty percent. List C bounties should be without sums, negotiable with the King’s court.”

Lord Hyera nodded. “You complaint has been heard by the court. You will receive a written response within two weeks, but during current circumstances, it may take two to four months.”

“Thank you, sir.” Isen walked to the door, donned his helmet. This suit of high-quality steel armor was perfect against projectile vegetables.