“Are you sure that’s the creature?” A woman behind the baker asked. “It looks human.”

  “That’s the thing!” A man behind him growled. “I’ve seen it lurk about the past month with my own two eyes!”

  I’ve only been here yesterday…

  Anabeth crossed her hands. “Thing? Now that’s just rude. Sir Henry is perfectly handsome.”

  The baker jabbed the rolling pin toward my chestpte. “It’s been stealing iron! All our iron teeth! All our mill gears, our presses, our molds! My proofing rack colpsed because the bolts were gone! Gone!” His voice cracked. “And my apprentice was thrown clear across the shop!”

  That’s the invisible creature’s doing, I thought. It sucked along all metallic objects as it walked.

  The baker went on anyway. “It cwed at me just now! Left me bleeding in my own ovens!” He clutched his belly to prove a point. “I thought my guts were coming loose!”

  Now that was just btant snder. I didn’t even know what his oven looked like.

  The baker jabbed a finger toward the woman standing behind him. “See here! She saw it! She saw it move! She knows what it did!”

  A woman behind the baker jolted from the sudden attention, looking from my armor to her own hands. “This creature always shows up alone,” she admitted. “And it… it only takes iron, steel... things that are metal. I saw a glimpse of its metallic body once, and my husband’s gears are gone.”

  I took stock of the situation. A kind word, a steady hand, a willingness to listen had always worked in these types of situations. That was if I had my old tongue. What could I do now—

  Anabeth stepped forward, hands lightly csped before her as if addressing a minor inconvenience. “Now, gentlemen, dies. If I may ask... how exactly do you picture this ‘night-mor’?”

  A few gnces were exchanged. One man—a bcksmith’s apprentice, perhaps—spoke up, “It’s steel-colored, and shiny looking, like armor. Yes! With full chestpte, gauntlets, helm... all of it.”

  Anabeth then turned to the baker. “And you, kind sir, you mentioned cws. Sharp, dangerous cws that tore into your apprentice and left you bleeding in your ovens. Is that correct?”

  The baker puffed out his chest. “Yes! That’s right! Cws! Sharp as knives!”

  “Fascinating,” Anabeth tilted her head. “Yet that gentleman over there described this creature as wearing full steel armor. Would you agree with this assessment?”

  “Uh… yes! I… that’s what we saw! Steel armor, yes, full chestpte, all of it!”

  The way she had phrased the question... ah. She was fishing for the contradictions in their own statements.

  “And yet,” she extended a hand toward me, “look before you. A man in steel, with no cws at all. By your account, the night-mor is armored and cwed. Tell me, how does one strike with cws encased in steel, and vanish at the same time?”

  The baker stammered, “Well... uh... maybe... it’s fast and stealthy?”

  “Fast indeed,” Anabeth said softly, “but surely not so fast that your memory of steel, cws, and sudden strikes could remain consistent. Now, young man”—she pointed at the bcksmith’s apprentice who had first described the armor—“you know how this armor works, do you not?”

  The apprentice’s eyes widened. “Uh... somewhat, ma’am.”

  “Indeed. A gauntlet rotates, and the wrist ptes scrape against one another. Every joint produces friction. You would agree with me, would you not?”

  “Ah... yes.”

  She knew even more about my armor than me...

  “Exactly. And yet,” Anabeth gestured toward me, “the night-mor is said to have moved at incredible speed, vanished, struck with cws, and made no sound whatsoever. Do you not see, gentlemen and dies, how impossible this becomes?”

  A few vilgers lowered their pitchforks and fire pokers, exchanging uncertain gnces. Murmurs resounded through the crowd. Some eyes lingered on the baker, the disbelief in their gaze obvious.

  Yet, I could feel the simmering look in his eyes: shame. Ah, I thought, he’s not letting this go, no matter how exposed he is.

  Indeed, he didn’t. His voice rose, cracking under indignation as his head whipped around. “You—her! That woman there! When we came upon you two, she was giving him lumenlilies! That’s unnatural! They were close, working together!” His hands trembled on the rolling pin. “She dresses like a mage! She must be a dark mage! She even wears a choker! That’s evil. Taking teeth, iron... God knows what else! A necromancer! Mark my words!”

  The crowd stirred again, some stepping closer with whispers and worried gnces, some frowning at the baker’s intensity.

  Anabeth, however, remained serene. She lifted a single finger. “Fascinating hypothesis. Ah, but we have testimony right here, do we not? A witness who saw the creature, and notes, importantly, that it always appears alone. Isn’t that so?”

  Everyone turned to the woman who had earlier provided the testimony. “Ah... yes.”

  Now Anabeth returned to the baker, calm and unwavering. “Then tell me, kind sir, is the night-mor truly alone in its deeds... or am I, by your account, its companion?”

  The baker’s hands shook on the rolling pin, and the crowd leaned in, sensing the trap. “I... uh... well... it—it was... I mean...”

  “Think carefully,” Anabeth prompted. “Must we believe the witness who saw it act alone, or the imagination that paints her as a dark mage?”

  His face reddened, sweat dotting his brow. The baker’s mouth opened again, but no coherent protest came.

  I knew, in the back of my mind, that one could, in theory, act alone and still be in collusion somewhere behind the scenes. However, Anabeth’s ex?cution… that was fwless. Even if my mind could trace the loophole, there was no way a baker with no training in formal rhetoric could refute her here and now. The art of persuasion, sometimes, lies entirely in the performance.

  Before the baker could force out another word, a shaking voice cut through the gathering.

  “That— that gentleman is not a bad person!”

  Heads turned.

  A woman pushed her way out from the edge of the crowd, clutching something to her chest with both hands. Even from a distance, I recognized the jewelry immediately: the recimed torque, cleaned as best she could, but the metal was still dark where blood had once been.

  It was her.

  “He saved me,” she said. “That thing you’re all afraid of—the metal thief—it attacked me. It stole from my home. From my husband’s tools. And he—” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “He slew it. In the alley by the canal. He brought this back to me himself.”

  A hush fell.

  The torque glinted dully in her hands, catching the mplight on the pitted metal. No one spoke at first. A few vilgers leaned forward, squinting at it. Then they started muttering again.

  Someone said, “Metal thief. Always just... metal. But not a night mor?”

  A man near the back scratched at his beard. “Could be a gutter-wight,” he offered. “Those crawl up from the drains when the rains are bad. Gnaw through pipes, filch nails and such.”

  “No,” another voice cut in, sharper. “Gutter-wights stink of rot. You’d smell them before you saw them. And they are too small to take whole gears. Just scrap.”

  “I seen something once,” he said slowly. “Years back. Down by the old spillway.”

  Several heads turned.

  “It weren’t human-shaped,” he continued. “Not properly. More like… a walking heap of filings.” He paused, eyes narrowing as if measuring a memory he didn’t much like. “Every nail in my skiff sang when it passed. Yanked clean out, one by one.”

  A chill crept through the listeners.

  “That sounds like—” someone began.

  “No,” another interrupted, hesitant. “Those aren’t supposed to come this far upriver.”

  Silence stretched. The baker swallowed audibly.

  The canal man nodded once. “Aye. That’s what I was told too. But the old lockkeeper called it something else.” He searched his mind, lips moving soundlessly. “A… ferro-something.”

  “Ferroskulk,” the woman with the torque whispered.

  Another voice followed, louder. “That expins the missing iron. Those things are a menace around these parts—creep in from the gutters, strip workshops bare.”

  A third vilger nodded slowly. “Aye. Took half the fittings off my cousin’s press st winter. Nearly ruined him.”

  The woman nodded quickly, encouraged now. “He didn’t ask for coin. He didn’t threaten me. He only returned what was stolen.” She hesitated, then added softly, “And apologized.”

  I didn’t remember apologizing, but that worked in my favor so I wasn’t compining. My good deed had, for once, returned its good karma.

  The word Ferroskulk passed between them like a key turning in a lock. Understanding spread—ugly suspicion giving way to embarrassed crity. Eyes that had once burned with certainty now slid, one by one, toward the baker.

  Someone cleared their throat. Another man lowered his fire poker entirely.

  “Well,” a miller muttered, “sounds like we’ve been barking at the wrong door.”

  A few vilgers murmured assent. One woman bowed her head toward me. Another offered a stiff, awkward nod.

  “We... may have misjudged you, sir,” someone said at st.

  “I’m sorry,” came another voice. Then another.

  No one looked at the baker anymore.

  He stood alone with his rolling pin, the crowd subtly, unmistakably angled away from him. Shame did what argument could not.

  One by one, the vilgers dispersed. Meanwhile, I suddenly found the night sky interesting and looked up to avoid accidentally triggering Silent Authority. By the time I lowered my gaze again, the canal was once again empty.

  Current Reputation: C+ (Mild Infamy) → D- (Mild Fame)

  Reputation Note: Honorable Protector of the People

  Sphere of Influence: Elderstead

  Estimate Duration: 12 days

  Ah. It felt good to finally be recognized for your good deeds.

  “Ohhh?” Anabeth drawled, casting me an appraising look. “So our taciturn knight moonlights as a galnt rescuer now. I wonder... was this before or after you decided to remain so mysteriously silent?” She smiled. “Tell me, Sir Henry. Do you make a habit of saving unfortunate dies, or was she simply... irresistible?”

  [TASK COMPLETED: Chivalric Etiquette I]

  Boon: +125 EXP

  +25 EXP (Bonus Objective met)

  EXP: 2609/2750

  [Pathway Task Progress: Echoes Beneath the Charter]

  Bonus Objective met

  Note: Bonus Rewards will only be realized once the Primary Objective is met.

  I stayed silent. The quests had been completed, and I had halted her romantic advance at me, so there was no reason to linger.

  By the time I had secured the reins, she was already mounted. A moment ter, I felt her lean back against me. It was... close.

  I catalogued the warmth through my backpte and the scent of dried herbs and lumenlilies carried by the night air instead of reacting to it. This was intimacy I had not asked for and had not explicitly refused. Anabeth, I suspected, interpreted silence as consent.

  The horse began its slow rhythm along the canal path. On the ride back, Anabeth kept at her light jabs about how I must’ve found it excessively galnt to help every single dy in need. She tried teasing. Then implication. Then mock analysis, as if turning my silence into a puzzle she could solve with enough words.

  When none of it nded, the amusement drained from her voice. At st, she sighed, decred me ‘hopelessly stoic’, and let the subject drop.

  After a time, she spoke again, voice quieter now with no audience left to perform for. “Are we just going to hop from town to town, Sir Henry? Or is there something you’re searching for?”

  I did not answer. Silence, I had learned, was safer than the wrong words.

  “You’ve taken the flowers, Sir Henry,” she murmured. “We cannot very well sustain a cooperative partnership if you refuse to share even a hint of purpose.”

  I weighed the cost of speech, then I let out a single word. “Mostenstein.”

  Her voice brightened at once. “So our purposes do align, Sir Knight! I knew there must have been a reason you entertained this little arrangement. But where should we go next, if we are to find this lost town?”

  “Aurelienth.”

  Silvermane took two steady steps. Anabeth fell silent, long enough that the quiet became noticeable.

  Then she ughed, a light, almost self-amused sound. “Aurelienth? Truly?” She shook her head. “Oh, whatever would you want there? It’s far too bustling for a man like you. There are markets and barking dogs everywhere! I should think you’d find it unbearable.”

  Oh? She was hiding something. Now I must go to Aurelienth at once.

  She continued, as we approached the tavern from afar. “And the rain this season is relentless. The mosquitoes are thick enough to form battalions once night falls. Awful creatures.” Then she added a performative scoff. “Hardly a destination for someone who values solitude. How about we go south instead? Toward Brindleford, perhaps. Quiet roads and gentle hills should suit you well.”

  “Aurelienth,” I (Ceralis) turned and said. “Or you become irrelevant to my journey.”

  “Ah…” She drew in a sharp breath. For a second, I could see the hurt in her eyes. That was the st thing I wanted to say to a dy so fond of me and had just publicly defended me in front of everyone, but Ceralis seemed to take pleasure in emotional torture.

  Then it was gone—packed away with the same efficiency she had used on the crowd.

  Anabeth cleared her throat. “I see. If that is your wish, then all the more reason we should travel together. You see, Sir Knight, you possess a certain... presence. Impressive, certainly, but blunt. I, on the other hand, have a way with words.” She cleared her throat again, and her voice resumed its cheery cadence. “With my company, you will never find yourself mired in these unfortunate social entanglements again!”

  The tavern door smmed open so hard the hinges screamed, and a woman stormed out into the mplit street. Her face was red with a fury that had clearly been simmering for hours and had finally boiled over. “You two! Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my room? My desk is firewood. My wall has a hole in it rge enough to rent out. And there is stone dust in pces stone has no business being.”

  I turned my helm slowly toward Anabeth. Anabeth ughed nervously. “Ah... Yes. About that...”

  Never mired in social entanglements again. Right.