Günther : Chapter 14

I wake up as usual, the dawn light barely piercing the thick fog over Blackwater Docks. The routine is automatic: wash, dress, drink bitter coffee brewed from the last of my supplies. But today, the air is different—tense, simmering. Before I can finish my cup, the noise begins: a gathering crowd outside the hotel, their voices sharp with anger.

"They brought the serpent!"

"First the storms, now this—their gold ain't worth our lives!"

The Sylvaris nobles are being blamed. Again.

I exhale, setting down the coffee. Time to work.

First, the report. My notes are meticulous: the Spiral Serpent's attack pattern, the gold horn's weakness (Sect-controlled, though I'd never write that word here—the townsfolk don't see the strings pulling their mayor). And my prime suspect: Cestmir. Too calm during the chaos. Too quick to redirect rage toward the nobles. His black-robed aide slinking through the wreckage last night, whispering orders no one else heard.

I seal the documents. The locals might call this a curse, but the truth is uglier: a calculated move. The Sect is using the serpent to destabilize the region, and Cestmir is their puppet. Elyria's unconsciousness spared her the worst of the accusations, but when she wakes, she'll face a town that sees her family as harbingers of ruin.

Gunther the guardsman wouldn't know any of this, of course. Just a lucky fighter, that's all. I adjust my coat, ensuring the hidden compartment with my real notes is secure. My cover's strained—too many close calls during the attack. One slip, and the Sect's hounds will scent me out.

Outside, the mob swells. Time to play my part.

The crowd's jeers grow louder as the Sylvaris entourage steps into the morning light. Donovan's jaw is clenched, his hand twitching near the hilt of his sword. Theron, ever the diplomat, wears a smile so sharp it could flay skin—but his eyes burn cold. If these people push further, blood will spill. And the Sect would love that.

I step forward, shoulders squared in my coat, voice pitched to carry.

"Enough!" The word cracks like a whip. The mob hesitates. I soften my tone, just enough. "I get it. You're scared. But this?" I gesture to the nobles' battered luggage, Elyria's pale face. "Chasing them out won't fix the docks. Won't stop the serpent."

A man spits. "Their gold cursed us!"

I lean in, lowering my voice to a growl only the front row hears. "And the Crown's armies? You think they'll care who started it when they come burning your homes for touching their precious nobles?"

Silence. The threat lingers—real enough to sting.

Behind me, Theron scoffs but herds Donovan toward the armored carriage. Elyria moves like a ghost, her usual fire dimmed. No speeches, no defiance. Just exhaustion. Good. The sooner they're gone, the sooner I can focus on the Sect's real game.

As the engine rumbles to life, a rock flies—aimed at Elyria's head. I catch it midair, crushing it to gravel in my grip. The thrower pales.

"Go home," I tell the crowd. "Before the real monsters notice you."

The armored carriage rattles along the coastal road, the sea a glittering mockery of the tension inside. For three hours now, Donovan and Theron have taken turns sharpening their spite like blades.

Theron taps his fingers against the window, lips curled. "I'll have Uncle strip Blackwater's charters. Salt tariffs, dock fees—tripled. Let them choke on their 'curses' while counting coppers."

Donovan cracks his knuckles, grinning. "Better yet: send the Iron Battalion. A week of 'peacekeeping' in that shit-stained town, and they'll beg to lick our boots."

I keep my eyes on the road, grip tight on the reins. Idiots. They don't see the trap. The Sect wants Sylvaris retaliation—more chaos to exploit.

Theron sighs, dramatic. "Honestly, Gunther, your 'mercy' was pathetic. Crushing a rock? They deserved worse."

Donovan snorts. "He's a chauffeur, not a knight. What do you expect? Though…" He eyes my back. "You did fight well during the attack. Almost too well for a glorified escort."

A chill creeps down my spine. Careful.

Elyria finally speaks, her voice hollow. "Stop."

The brothers blink.

Donovan sneers. "Oh, the scholar graces us with—"

Elyria doesn't turn from the window. "The serpent targeted us. Not the town. Us." Her fingers trace the glass. "And you're too busy screeching about pride to ask why."

Silence.

Theron recovers first, laughing. "Gods, you sound like Father. 'Politics this, shadows that.' It's simple: peasants forgot their place."

I exhale through my nose. Keep playing your roles, little lords. The Sect's gold horn glints in my memory. They'll learn fear soon enough.

Elyria's gaze flicks to me—just for a second—like she's begging for backup. But no. I'm not jumping into this noble squabble. Let them play their games. They're just spoiled brats who think the world bows to their name.

The carriage rolls through Eldermere's iron gates, the grandeur of the kingdom dulled by the grim aftermath of Blackwater. No fanfare, no trumpets. Just General Aldric and a line of stone-faced soldiers waiting in the courtyard.

General Aldric steps forward, his voice clipped but polite. "Lady Elyria, welcome. Your quarters are prepared—rest first. The same goes for you, Lord Donovan, Lord Theron."

Elyria nods, handing him a sealed dossier. "Our investigation report, General. Though…" She leans in, whispering. "I'd prefer if our chauffeur remained. Just for a while."

Aldric's eyes flick to me—assessing. "Of course, Lady Elyria."

I'm already sliding back into the armored car, ready to disappear. But before I can shut the door—

Aldric strides over, his gauntleted hand resting on the frame. "Not yet. Come with me."

No room for refusal.

General Aldric leads me to what I assume is the royal troops' mess hall—simple wooden tables, the scent of roasted meat and ale thick in the air. My fingers twitch toward the door. I should be halfway to Ironhold by now. Seraphine's probably already sharpening her tongue for me.

But Aldric lingers, arms crossed, like he's waiting for something.

Right. The report.

I pull a folded parchment from my coat—slightly crumpled from the journey. "General, my apologies for the delay. Lady Elyria might've… dropped one of her documents." A weak excuse, but Aldric doesn't need to know I held onto it deliberately.

He takes it, scanning the contents with a practiced eye. "Hmm. Appreciated, Gunther."

Before I can bolt, a maid appears in the doorway, her posture stiff. "Master Gunther? Lady Elyria requests your presence in her chambers."

Aldric chuckles into his beard. "Best go. You really want her sending the Iron Battalion to drag you upstairs?"

I sigh, rubbing my temple. "Ma'am, just 'Gunther' is fine. I'm a chauffeur, not some lordling. We're all equals here."

The maid blinks, then smirks. "Tell that to Lady Elyria."

The door clicks shut behind me. The room is warm, lit by the soft glow of oil lamps, the scent of parchment and lavender lingering in the air. Elyria sits by the window, her posture relaxed yet regal. She pats the seat beside her.

"Gunther, come. Sit with me."

I remain standing, hands clasped behind my back. "With all due respect, Lady Elyria, I should remain standing. I'm just a chauffeur."

Her eyes narrow—not in anger, but in playful exasperation. "Say that one more time, and I will drag you here myself."

I exhale, relenting, and take the seat beside her—close enough to feel the weight of her gaze, far enough to maintain propriety.

"I never got the chance to thank you," she says softly. "I hope you'll accept my gratitude."

"I was just doing my duty, Lady Elyria. Your safety was secured by your own skill."

A pause. Then, she leans forward slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Gunther… come on. I saw you. I know what you did. Why are you hiding it?"

I keep my expression neutral. "There's nothing to hide. I'm just a driver."

She sighs, shaking her head. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But at least tell me this—where did I go wrong?"

"My lady, it's not my place to judge—"

"Oh, enough," she cuts me off, frustration creeping into her tone. "There's no Donovan here, no Theron. Just us. And this is for the kingdom, isn't it?"

I hesitate. Then, reluctantly, I relent.

"Forgive my bluntness, Lady Elyria… but from the moment you arrived, you were fixated on the dossier. You treated it like a checklist—capture targets, eliminate threats. But investigation isn't about force. It's about understanding. You needed to blend in, to listen, to learn why things were happening—not just what."

Her lips part slightly, as if struck by the truth of it.

"…I was naive, wasn't I?"

"No," I say, softening. "Just inexperienced. You have the intellect and the will—you just need to read more, observe more. The mission isn't about glory. It's about the truth hidden in the details."

She stares at me for a long moment—then, unexpectedly, she smiles. A real one, not the practiced noble grace she wears in court.

"You're right. This… this is a lesson I won't forget."

There's something in her eyes now—respect, curiosity, maybe something warmer. But I don't linger on it.

I stand, bowing slightly. "If that's all, my lady, I should return to my duties."

She doesn't stop me. But as I turn to leave, I catch her murmur under her breath—

"Just a chauffeur… as if."

General Aldric's Office – The Weight of Incompetence

Aldric tossed Elyria's report onto his desk with a sigh. The pages fluttered like dead leaves—full of grandiose assumptions, half-baked theories, and the kind of arrogance only noble blood could breed.

"Children," he muttered, rubbing his temples. "I sent them to gather intelligence, not pen a bard's tragic comedy."

Had he made a mistake? Duke Ironhold's operatives were blunt instruments, but at least they understood the filth they waded through. The Archmage had insisted the Sylvaris heirs were "the kingdom's brightest jewels"—yet here they were, dulled by their own privilege.

A knock.

"General, Lord Donovan Sr. and Lord Valebright await you in the lobby."

Aldric exhaled through his nose. "Of course they do."

Barracks Lobby – Noble Demands

Donovan Sr. stood like a stormcloud in polished boots, Valebright at his side—a man who'd never seen a battlefield but wore a sword like a trophy.

"General," Donovan's voice was a blade wrapped in silk, "you must deploy the Iron Battalion. Burn Blackwater Docks to the ground for this insult."

Valebright nodded, jowls quivering. "Their rabble dared raise voices against Sylvaris blood. The Crown cannot let such… vermin forget their place."

Aldric's fingers twitched toward the dagger at his belt. Patience.

"Unnecessary," he said, tone flat. "The situation is under—"

His gaze flicked to the maid nervously straightening papers on his desk. Among them—Elyria's second report. The one she'd "dropped."

"—control. Excuse me."

Back in My Office – The Second Report

Alone again, I toss Elyria's useless report aside and reach for the second dossier—the one Gunther "found." The seal is unbroken, but the weight of it feels different.

I slice it open.

Inside: a sketch of the Spiral Serpent's gold horn, annotated with symbols I recognize from old Sect intelligence briefings. A list of Blackwater's "reconstruction" shipments—excess iron, alchemical reagents, all signed off by Mayor Cestmir.

Blackwater's True Threat: Not superstition, but orchestrated chaos. The serpent's attacks timed with the mayor's "rebuilding" projects.

Sect Symbols: Sketched in the margins—a goat's head hidden in the dock's new sigil.

The Gold Horn Weakness: Not just a vulnerability, but a control mechanism.

Aldric's breath stilled. This was intelligence. Not the blathering of spoiled heirs, but the work of someone who'd stared into the abyss and taken notes.

And at the bottom, a single line:

"The enemy wears many faces. Even those we trust."

Aldric carefully folded the second report and secured it inside his breastplate. The pieces finally fit together - the serpent attacks, the mayor's suspicious behavior, the Sect's movements. This was the quality of work he'd expected from a Sylvaris heir.

"Remarkable," he murmured to the empty room. "Elyria, you've surpassed my expectations."

His satisfaction was short-lived as the implications settled in. If the Goat's Head Sect had infiltrated Blackwater's leadership this deeply, the rot likely extended further. He needed to act carefully.

Armored Car - Gunther's Journey Back to Ironhold

The engine's steady hum was the only sound as I guided the armored car down the coastal road. Finally, blessed silence. No Theron's whining, no Donovan's posturing - just the open road ahead.

My fingers tightened on the wheel as I replayed the day's events. Elyria's probing questions had come too close to the truth. I'd slipped up during the serpent attack, showing too much skill. Now both she and Aldric were suspicious.

The setting sun painted the Ironhold mountains in hues of orange and purple. Almost home. Almost to Seraphine's sharp tongue and sharper knives. The thought almost made me smile. At least with her, what you see is what you get - no noble games, no hidden agendas.

I rolled my shoulders, feeling every hour of the journey. The nobles' constant bickering had been worse than the actual battle. Children playing at war, never understanding the true cost.

As the first Ironhold sentries came into view, I allowed myself one weary sigh. Tomorrow would bring new problems, new dangers. But tonight? Tonight I'd sleep like the dead.

General Aldric's Barracks – A Meeting of Minds

[Aldric POV]

The dossier lay spread across the oak table, its contents a damning web of connections. Aldric traced a finger over the sketched sigil—a goat's head hidden in Blackwater's new crest. So obvious, once you knew where to look.

He snapped his fingers at the maid lingering by the door.

"Summon Lady Elyria. But if she's resting, let her take her time."

No need to rush. The pieces were moving.

[Elyria's Quarters – An Unexpected Summons]

The maid bowed low, hands folded. "My lady, General Aldric requests your presence at the barracks. Though he insists you needn't hurry if you're fatigued."

Elyria set down her book, brow furrowing. Aldric never summons me personally.

"No, it's fine. I'll go now."

She swapped her silk robe for a practical tunic and trousers—no frills, no noble pretense. If the general calls, it's for work, not tea.

[Barracks – The Revelation]

Aldric rose as she entered, gesturing to the scattered documents. "Ah, Lady Elyria. My apologies for cutting short your rest."

"If you're calling me, General, it's never without reason."

He tapped the dossier. "Your report is exceptional. Exactly what I'd expect from the kingdom's brightest." A rare smile. "Mayor Cestmir as the prime suspect—I'd suspected him, but your evidence confirms it."

Elyria froze. "I… don't recall naming him in my report?"

Aldric blinked. "Wait—this isn't yours?" He flipped open the file. "Gunther delivered it, said you'd 'dropped it.'"

A beat of silence.

Then—Elyria's lips curled. "Oh. Right. How careless of me." She took the papers, thumbing through Gunther's precise notes. "I must've forgotten this part."

Liar.

Aldric studied her. "You didn't write this, did you?"

Elyria met his gaze, smile unwavering. "Does it matter? The intelligence is sound."

Aldric studied the dossier, then Elyria's face—searching for tells. She kept her expression smooth, but her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the papers.

"You didn't write this," he stated.

Elyria exhaled, as if resigning herself. "Not… entirely." She gestured to the notes. "The observations about the mayor's movements and the Sect's symbols—those are mine. But the tactical analysis of the serpent's weakness? The structural vulnerabilities in Blackwater's new construction?" She shook her head. "That was input from my… associate."

Aldric's brow arched. "Associate?"

"A local informant." She met his gaze squarely. "One who prefers anonymity. But the intelligence is solid—I verified it myself before including it."

A pause. Then Aldric chuckled, leaning back. "Smart. Using ground-level contacts instead of relying solely on noble privilege." He tapped the dossier. "This is exactly the kind of thinking we need. The Crown doesn't care where the information comes from—only that it's accurate."

Elyria relaxed marginally. "Then you'll act on it?"

"Immediately." Aldric's smile faded. "But next time, don't hesitate to credit your sources. Loyalty like that is rare—and worth protecting."

Elyria's Quarter – Flashback to Gunther's Words

As Elyria left the barracks, the memory of Gunther's voice echoed in her mind—"The mission isn't about glory. It's about the truth hidden in the details."

She had dismissed it at the time, too focused on proving herself. But now, holding the dossier that could save countless lives, she understood.

Gunther hadn't just given her information—he'd shown her how to see. How to look beyond the obvious, to question what others took for granted.

A smile tugged at her lips. "Just a chauffeur," she murmured, shaking her head.