The Wyvern Lord's corpse had barely cooled when the guild hall erupted in cheers. Adventurers pounded their mugs, the air thick with ale and the smell of roasted meat.
"Can you believe it? A Wyvern Lord slain!"
"And by that new party!"
"No… by that black-haired spear-user. Did you see him switch weapons like that? Damn near suicidal!"
Damian sat quietly at the corner table, Rowan laughing thunderously beside him, Elara grinning as she stacked her winnings from a drinking bet. But Damian's gaze remained distant, his hand brushing the haft of his spear.
[Observation: Reputation increase significant. Probability of attracting high-level attention: 93%.]
He exhaled. Great. Just what I don't need right now.
The guild doors burst open. A man in silver-trimmed armor entered, the emblem of the royal crest gleaming across his chest. The hall went silent.
"Which of you is Damian Arkwright?" the knight asked, voice carrying authority.
Whispers spread like wildfire. Damian rose slowly, meeting the man's gaze.
"That would be me."
The knight nodded once. "By decree of His Majesty, King Aldros the Third, you are summoned to the royal capital. A banquet shall be held in honor of those who felled the Wyvern Lord."
Rowan blinked, then leaned toward Elara. "A banquet? For us?"
She smirked. "Guess we're moving up in the world."
But the knight's eyes lingered on Damian longer than the others. "His Majesty wishes to speak with you personally. He has questions about your… origins."
Damian's expression didn't flicker, though his heartbeat quickened. The King himself? Already?
[Warning: Exposure risk rising. Recommend maintaining cover identity. Probability of interrogation—78%.]
Rowan slapped Damian's shoulder. "Cheer up! Food, drink, and a King's favor—we'll be set for months!"
Elara leaned in, her smile sharp. "Or we'll be walking straight into the lion's den."
Damian forced a small smile. "Either way… looks like the Maker's path just got a lot more complicated."
The knight handed him a sealed scroll, the wax bearing the royal crest.
"Three days' time. Be ready."
The guild hall erupted into murmurs again as the knight departed. Damian stared at the scroll, the weight of it far heavier than the parchment suggested.
For the first time since he'd arrived in this world, it wasn't just monsters watching him.
It was the crown.