Chapter 81: Guild Summons

The royal messenger arrived at midday.

Emeric heard the horse first—hooves pounding against the dirt road, slowing as they approached the small house. Then a knock. Sharp. Official.

He opened the door to find a man in royal livery, holding a sealed parchment bearing the Magenta crest.

"Emeric Halden?"

"Yes."

The messenger handed him the scroll. "From His Majesty’s Royal Court. You are commanded to attend."

Emeric took the scroll. It was heavy. The wax seal was intact.

The messenger bowed and left without another word.

Emeric closed the door and stared at the parchment in his hands.

Isolde wheeled into the sitting room. Her eyes found the scroll.

"What is it?"

He didn’t answer. He broke the seal and read.

[ROYAL SUMMONS — OFFICIAL DECREE]

To: Emeric Halden, C-Rank Vessel, House Halden

You are hereby summoned to the Vessel Guild for an official nomination. The Trials of Valor shall commence in two weeks. Your presence is required to accept or decline the nomination.

By order of Her Majesty, Queen Sylvia Magenta.

Emeric read it twice. Then a third time.

The Trials of Valor.

He had heard of them. Everyone had. The Crown’s grandest tournament. Held once every five years. Strong fighters from across the continent gathered to compete. The prize was a title. Land. Wealth. A place among the nobility.

He looked up at Isolde.

"What does it say?" she asked.

He handed her the parchment.

She read it slowly. Her expression shifted from curiosity to understanding.

"The Trials," she said. "You’ve been nominated."

"Apparently."

"By who?"

"I don’t know. The summons doesn’t say. But it says to report to the Vessel Guild today."

She set the parchment down. Her eyes met his.

"Are you going to accept?"

He looked at the scroll. At the royal seal. At the weight of expectation pressing down on him.

"I don’t know yet."

---

The Guild was busy when Emeric arrived.

Midday. Vessels crowded the hall as usual, going about their business. The smell of ink and old parchment hung in the air. Clerks shuffled papers behind the counter. A queue stretched toward the transaction windows.

Sera was at her usual spot.

She looked up as he approached. Her smile widened. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter.

"You miss me don’t you," she said. "People will start to talk."

"They already talk."

"True." She tilted her head. "What can I do for you, Mr. Halden?"

"I received a summons."

"I know. Aldous told me." She reached under the counter and pulled out a small brass key. "Third floor as usual. End of the hall. He’s expecting you."

Emeric took the key.

"Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet." She paused. "I don’t have a good feeling about this."

He turned to walk toward the stairs.

"Emeric."

He stopped.

She was watching him. Her smile was still there. But something else flickered behind her eyes.

"The Trials," she said. "They’re dangerous. More than people realize."

"I know."

"Do you?" She tilted her head. "Most candidates don’t make it past the qualifiers. The ones who do are the best of the best. They’ve been training for years. Some for decades. You’ve been Awakened for a few months."

Emeric said nothing.

"I’m not saying you can’t do it. I’m just saying—" She paused. "Be careful."

He nodded.

"I will."

He turned and walked toward the stairs.

The third floor was quiet.

Emeric walked to the end of the hall. Knocked once.

"Enter."

Aldous Crane was behind his desk.

The old man looked up as Emeric entered. His eyes looked tired.

"Halden."

"Guild Master."

"Sit."

Emeric sat.

Aldous studied him for a long moment.

"You received the summons."

"Yes."

"Good." He leaned back in his chair. "Then let me explain what you’re getting into."

He paused.

"The Trials of Valor are not just a tournament. They are a political tool. The Crown uses them to find new talent. New nobles. New weapons. But also to remind the old nobles that their power is not absolute. Anyone can rise. Anyone can fall."

Emeric listened.

"The Trials are held once every five years. Strong fighters from across the continent gather to compete. The prize is a title. Land. Wealth. A place among the nobility."

He paused.

"You have been nominated. By me."

Emeric blinked.

"Why?"

"Because you’re interesting. Because you’re strong. Because you have something to fight for." Aldous leaned forward. "And because the Crown needs new blood. The old nobles are stagnant. Corrupt. They need to be reminded that their power is not absolute."

He paused.

"You don’t have to accept. But if you win—if you even place well—you will be granted a title. Land. Protection."

Emeric absorbed this.

"Protection," he repeated.

"Yes." Aldous studied him. "A title means you cannot be touched by minor nobles. It means you have the ear of the Crown. It means you can protect what matters to you."

He paused.

"I know about your wife. I know this would mean a lot to you. We both know about the enemies you’ve made."

Emeric’s jaw tightened.

"A title won’t solve everything. But it will give you resources. Influence. A place to stand." Aldous leaned back. "The choice is yours."

Emeric didn’t hesitate.

"I’ll do it."

Aldous nodded.

"Then prepare. The Trials begin in two weeks."

Emeric stood up to leave.

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks. You’ll need to train. Rest. Get your affairs in order." Aldous studied him. "Do you train with your party?"

"Yes."

"Good. They can help you prepare. But they can’t fight for you. The Trials are individual combat. One-on-one duels. You’ll be on your own."

Emeric nodded.

"I understand."

"Good." Aldous picked up a folder from his desk. Handed it to Emeric. "This contains the rules. The format. The list of confirmed competitors. Study it."

Emeric took the folder.

"Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet." Aldous’s eyes were sharp. "You’re going to be fighting against the best. Elites. Champions. Legends. Some of them have been training since before you were born."

He paused.

"Don’t die. You’re too interesting to waste."

Emeric left the Guild.