The doors to the Council table open and an organized assemblage of influential and powerful people make their entrance. They swarm around the circular table and quickly find their seats. A grim silence descends on them all as every single member of the council refuses to speak first.

Truly, today is an auspicious day. For an average council gathering, only about fifty councilors attend, but on this day, all one hundred and forty-nine seats are occupied.

After a long minute of reticence from all members, the doors to the chamber squeak open once more. Aodean, [Prime Minister] of Camelot, enters carrying a hefty folder. He glances at the full council and whistles at the impressive sight.

“Well, this is awkward. It’s been a while since I’ve seen most of you. Some of you bastards didn’t even bother showing up when I was put into office!” he says, casually opening his folder.

Several people snort or chuckle softly at the comment. Some frown.

Aodean pulls a wine flask out from between the pages in his folder and tosses it to Bristoff. The [Smith Guildmaster] catches it with one hand and frowns at the plain, brown bottle. He shrugs, pulls the cork, and then takes a large swig.

“Heh, I don’t usually drink wine, but this isn’t half bad,” the dwarf comments.

“It’s the new brand my company is making. It’s something in between wine and mead,” Aodean explains while grabbing a stack of papers from his folder.

“Now, let’s get to business. [Summon Notes].”

With the skill’s power, a stack of papers appears before every member of the council, a copy of the folder he holds. It’s more copies than he’s ever had to create before, but they’ll last through the meeting.

Aodean clears his throat, feeling a bit annoyed at the oppressive silence. Even Cornelius, who has been steadily hiring [Assassins] to kill him, has yet to say a word.

“So, I guess I should start with why you’re all here.”

He taps his paper. “Last week, there was a large explosion in the market district in the middle of the night. The blast destroyed several buildings and damaged many others. Thankfully, since the explosion was primarily underground and it was in the middle of the night, very few civilians were injured.”

Aodean forces a smile. “The underground facility that was destroyed was the headquarters of the Assassins’ Guild.”

Gasps. Shouts. Oaths. The room erupts into noise as the less influential counselors talk over each other. For the regulars, the men with real clout, well… It’s been a week! More than enough time to talk to those in the know, grease the right hands. Some even knew where the Assassins’ Guild was before the blast. However, there is still one thing everyone here still wants to know: Who did it? And why?

Aodean knows, so he smiles and waits, letting the room devolve further into chaos. Why anyone thought a council with one hundred and forty-nine seats should exist without some way to keep order is beyond him. The frustration growing on the faces of those around him further piques his amusement, especially that of a certain man.

“Damnit Aodean! Stop being smug and get on with the report!” [Grand Merchant Guildmaster] Cornelious bellows over the others.

The Australian man does his best to suppress a chuckle, which just comes out as a snort with a shit-eating grin. “What’s wrong, Corny? Did you lose a business partner recently?”

Cornelious furrows his brow as he grinds his teeth. Anyone else would have already been killed eight times over. Death could have still been used as a threat, but now his claws are clipped.

“Let us not waste time, [Prime Minister].”

Aodean’s shit-eating grin threatens to pull a muscle. This! The thought of seeing this is what got him out of bed this morning! And on time of all things!

“Fine,” Aodean replies and claps his hands. The room returns to silence as his aura flares for a second.

“Now, I’m sure I don’t need to explain why we don’t want anything to do with that lot, and how if they hadn’t been hidden, I would have sent in the golems myself.”

Those words send a ripple through the listeners. The Golems of Camelot, an army of autonomous killing machines, lies dormant under the city, including a dozen behemoths sleeping beneath the lake.

If Camelot is ever attacked, then these unliving beings of power will awaken and come to the city's defense. It has happened before, and the enemy army that dared attack was completely and utterly destroyed. [Golem King] Arthur was not one to grant his enemies a chance to learn and level, and his golems reveal his will.

“Thankfully, someone beat me to it,” he points towards a man sitting on an almost never used seat.

The man slowly stands. His sharp eyes scrutinize the council in its entirety. He is entirely unimpressed, however he does not let his face reveal his thoughts.

After all, that would be very ungentlemanly.

Grabbing his large top-hat, Hannibal Dextrous flourishes a bow to those present. His movement is perfect, refined and eye-catching. When he returns the hat back atop his head, no sound can be heard and all eyes are solely focussed on him.

“For those who do not know who I am, I am the current [Guildmaster] of the Gentlemen’s Guild, Hannibal Dextrous,” he says eloquently, respectfully, and with a gaze that promises a dread and mannerly disposal should anyone dare to interrupt him, “and I am here this very day to inform the council in its entirety that the [Gentlemen] found these ruffians, or [Assassins] as you call them, most insufferable after their boorish attempt on the life of someone close to one of our members.”

He smiles benignly at the councilors, some of whom attempt to speak but no sound escapes their lips. They panic as they try to shout into the deafening silence.

“We took grave offense at the failed attempt, and thus, we punished the actions of those who tried.”

Hannibal’s smile grows.

“In short, we disposed of your trash.”

He bows again and takes his seat.

Then, like a switch being flipped, sound resumes. Tapping feet, people shifting in their seat, breathing… the heightened beating of the heart. But no words are said. The silence continues after the revelation. Even Aodean, who was told beforehand, is left dumbstruck.

The [Hero] glances at those near him. Cornelious is pale, Atolm Desai is fully awake, Thallom Yesmys is touching his gauntlet defensively, Vivian stares at Hannibal curiously, and Donovan Fortis smiles with a borderline manic grin. The [Warfare General] seldom ever comes to these meetings where all they do is talk. It bores him to the extreme. He would rather be back at his academy, training the [Hero].

But even he can’t ignore a summons right after an explosion goes off on the island. So here he came, expecting another boring meeting, only to instead be met with-

“So, the entirety of the [Gentlemen]’s Guild is capable of destroying a base of [Assassins],” Donovan says with a smile turning bloodthirsty as he stares at Hannibal.

Hannibal does not bother answering, not even gracing the [Warfare General] a glance.

This only makes Donovan smile wider. “C’mon old man, share with us how your guild did it,” he taunts.

Aodean, concerned the discussion could get needlessly heated, interrupts. “[Spymaster] Spehon, please give us some information regarding the destruction.”

The [Spymaster], not part of the council, but a servant, steps forward from the gallery and gains the council's attention.

“From my investigation, we determined that the explosion was a result of solely a single skill.”

A snort. “That's not possible.”

“It can't be! Only one person with just a skill?”

“Was it a named being?”

Once again, the information causes many to speak.

“Silence!” Thallom yells with a twinge of panic. He is arguably the strongest spellcaster in all of Camelot, but even he could not cast a single spell and destroy a warded underground base of operations.

“Spehon, do we know the individual in question? Their level? Skills? Class?” The elf asks.

Spehon shakes his head and glances at Hannibal. “All we know is that they are a [Gentleman] and a member of the Gentlemen's Guild. [Guildmaster] Hannibal refuses to divulge any further information about the individual.”

“Then we can make him,” Donovan says with a smile.

“No, we cannot.” Aodean quickly interrupts, “The [Gentlemen]’s guild does not need to divulge any information about a member except for their location, which they, unfortunately, do not know.”

Donovan snorts in annoyance at the reprimand and leans back into his chair.

Aodean glances at Hannibal. “I hope you realize that this puts a target on your guild’s back. The Assassins’ Guild will not take this lying down.”

Hannibal places his gloved hands on the table and interlocks them together. “I would very much hope so.”

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

“Brock, you idiot! You could have been killed! What were you thinking?!”

“They were bandits!” Brock argues.

A tall, skinny woman wearing a black dress steps forward. She swings her arm quickly and her weapon flies towards her son.

Brock raises his shield, but the trajectory of the ruler curves without warning, striking exposed skin with a loud smack.

“Ahhhh! Mom, please! What was I supposed to do?”

“You,” she directs her ruler, easily finding openings no matter how Brock attempts to dodge or block, “are supposed to travel in a group and not,” she swings again, the sounds racking up in tempo, “with that perverted idiot of a dwarf!”

“Mooom, please. I’m fine, and I even bought a new set of armor too. So just rela-”

The woman pauses as she hears knocking outside her empty classroom. Brock releases a sigh of relief. His mother’s strikes may not leave a mark on his skin, but they do still hurt, especially since he is only wearing his academy uniform.

“[Tactics Professor] Amanda, are you available? May I enter.”

Amanda, his mother, recalls her ruler into a scabbard on her side.

“Yes, I’m here. Please come in.”

“Ah, perfect.” The door slides open. “I wanted to talk to you about small group combat theory and th-”

The man pauses, his eyes going wide in recognition. “Brock?” he says.

Brock gulps and then smiles. “Franky… What are you doing here?”

He then notices the same uniform. “You’re a student?”

Franky enters the classroom. “As of two days ago. I heard you left Camelot with Turnock. Did you just return?”

“Actually,” he begins, taking a glance at his curious mother, “we’ve returned over a week ago. Maybe two weeks.”

His mother’s gaze regains its chill. She’d thought Brock had only recently returned.

“Really? Damn, if I would’ve known, I’d have invited you to the barbecue.”

“Barbecue?” Brock asks curiously.

Franky laughs lightly. “It’s, like, an outdoor food party with alcohol.”

“Alcohol, eh? Turnock would love it then.”

Franky brushes some dust off his sleeve. “Well, Aodean’s having one again late tonight. I and the girls are going.”

“Wait… girls? Did Jessa actually find you?”

“Yup, both Serena and Jessa are with me. Man, we’ve got so much to catch up on!”

Brock nods. “Yeah, it’s going to be nice to have the whole group together again.”

Amanda loudly clears her throat and then glares at Brock.

“Oh!” Brock waves his hand at Franky. “This is Franky, the [Hero] I told you about. He’s, uh, here.”

Amanda sighs and shakes her head at her son and then turns to Franky. “So, you’re the kid that saved my son’s life two years ago.” She bows. “Thank you for that.”

Franky raises his hands in a placating gesture., “It was nothing, really.” He blushes and glances at Brock, who can only shrug.

When she rises from her bow, she looks at the both of them. “Well, since this is quite a reunion, I think it would be best for you two to catch up. “ She smiles at Franky. “If you wish to speak to me about class subjects, there will always be other times.“ She then frowns at Brock. “Our conversation isn’t over.”

Brock very noticeably avoids looking at her as she nods once more and walks out of the classroom.

Franky raises an eyebrow and Brock quickly shakes his head.

“Well,” Franky starts, “since we have the day off now, should we go pickup Turnock?”

The big man nods. “Yeah, let’s do that. He should be at the Mercenary Guild right about now, picking up the rest of our pay.”

“Pay?”

Brock starts walking and waves his arm. “I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”

 

________________________________________________________

 

“Trinity, must we really wait for this Bone guy? I don’t see why we even need him and his Merry Marrows team anyway.”

“Yeah, we’re a Silver-Four ranked team. I don’t see how another Silver team would even be helpful.”

Trinity glances at her team of thirty women and whole-heartedly agrees with them. A joint mission with a team that has male members… The thought is sickening. Men will just mess around and flirt with her team, leaving her to pick up the slack. They are ungainly, ugly, and they have body hair! DISGUSTING.

But, unfortunately, she will have to go through with it.

She sighs. “The [Guildmistress] asked this of us and I gave my word as an Amazon that I would accept it.”

Her oaths, oh how they strangle and restrict her.

She leans back into her chair and looks around the large hall of the Mercenary Guild. Dozens of teams mingle and chatter, ordering food and drink, while constantly ogling the members of her team with unadulterated lust. Thankfully, the men know better than to try anything. Otherwise, she’d have to make an example of them. Again.

Today, they only had to crack seven skulls before the remaining mercenaries realized the long table her team occupied was full. Often her girls have to lay out twice as many men before tavern patrons take the hint, but waking up the intrepid, chauvinist bastards by crushing their feet so they can crawl away has been working wonders.

“Ladies,” A dwarf man with a lusty smile walks to her team’s corner. As one, every girl gives the approaching man a glare, but the dwarf pays it no mind. Instead, he seems emboldened as he arrives at her table.

He reaches into his back and pulls out a very well-crafted guitar.

“You ladies glare, you rime your hearts in ice, but as a [Bard], I see beneath your cold exterior. I see your inner beauty.” He strums the instrument. “I say this because I know your pain. You fear to love another, “He strums again, more gently this time, “but that blindness can ruin you.”

He starts a tune, a soft one, “Let me tell you a story of a lost love of mine,” The tempo slows, “A love named Matilda.”

Reaching to her side, Trinity grabs her enchanted spear and places it on the table. “Shorty, you will either leave, or I will make you.”

The dwarf winks. “Depends,” he leans on the table, “on what you mean by making me.”

Another idiot.

Unamused, she grabs her spear and prepares to stand.

“Turnock, is that you?”

Before she can, the Dwarf startles and quickly turns around. His eyes widen.

“Franky!” he yells in surprise.