The door slammed shut behind Lyenol; his black eyes glowering. He knew he ought to apologize for his behaviour but he was in no mood. He also knew Lord Merrick Tardis would scold him severely later for that. Then and there, however, he wanted nothing more than to hit something. His friend and sworn Prince was missing and that man’s own son was found murdered, and yet the old fool was intent on awaiting orders from the King. And to what end? His Highness, Peeta Ingsley had already received a note of ransom from the King of Bastards of Klimek. Why was he not amassing massive armies to march already? Does he not care for his son; his only heir to the throne! The thought only enraged Lyenol all the more. He had heard rumours as to how His Highness became known as, “the Empty”; all of them bone-chilling. So he had instead chosen to bring some reason towards one of the King’s most loyal and close vassals, Lord Merrick Tardis, in hopes that the lord could sway the king. Alas, he was wrong. The man was loyal to a fault and for that, Lyenol both commended him and condemned him.

“Those damnable fools! By the time they finally decide to take any action, Prince Freed will already be dead! And for what! Those damnable old fools!” he mumbled to himself as he came down the tower from Lord Tardis’ private chamber. Barviel was somewhat modest as far as the sizes of keeps and holds went in Sireen but it still echoed Lyenol’s steps as he stormed down the steps; each one of them bouncing off pristine white walls. He remembered people often said Lord Tardis was like his castle: nothing but pretty words. It was only now that he agreed with them completely. Lyenol being a knight and sworn to protect Prince Freed Ingsley meant he was privy to some information shared during councils. Even when he saw the man be nothing more than the king’s pet, he did not lend an ear to the rumours, but now he had the right of it. A sheep. That’s what that man really was; nothing more than a sheep, right down to his very core.

He spat a curse as he entered into the great hall of the keep. Much like the tower, it was also all pristine white walls decorated with flashy armour and weapons placed everywhere on display. For whatever the castle lacked in strength, it did more than enough to make up for it in flair. To the top of the hall, a great chair could be seen and hung over it was the pink lily on a flag of blue; the sigil of the royal family. There was also the green mermaid on a blue field; the sigil of House Tardis; directly beneath the lily. A show of fealty, loyalty, and obedience, but it was because of those very things, he was going to lose his closest friend. His only friend.

His scowl deepened as he stared at the two sigils; the lily and the mermaid. His own sigil was that of a budding lily on a brown shield, behind a gold spear. It was supposed to show his loyalty and protection to his Prince; Freed Ingsley. And he failed. His anger seethed through him so hot at that moment, he would’ve destroyed both the sigils in a fit of rage. Recalling how his father always told him he had his mother’s anger and it would be what kills him, he calmed himself.

After a deep breath, he ran his hand through his dark brown hair and closed his eyes, turning away from the sigils. He marched sternly across the great hall and towards the doors where he noticed two guards looking lazily towards him. One of them was stained in scents of fruits and sweets, while the other smelled of wine. Clear signs of both of them having spent the night before in the Velvet District, a street filled with nothing but gambling dens, brothels, and taverns within the town of Maegyr. It was one of the lands under House Tardis’s protection. The street was so named because of the countless brothels within it, all of them having a velvet carpet of red at the entrance of their doors. Lyenol had never been there himself, he might be twenty and one but he had never once touched a woman in such a way; there was the one time, but that did not count. Nevertheless, he hated how men at guard could indulge in such unsavoury acts. As a knight, he himself would never sully his honour nor his Prince’s by doing such things. And yet, it was that very same place that Prince Ingsley was taken from half a month past. He and his group were attacked according to witnesses and that was where Quesy Tardis and others were cut down.

“Ah! Sir Lyenol of Lockeheart! Finished speaking to Lord Tardis, have you?” called out the wine-sodden one. He never thought it possible, but Lyenol’s scowl deepened even further. Refusing to entertain the two, he gave them a curt nod and made his way between them. As the door shut behind him, he heard one of them spat a curse followed by such loud laughter; one might think it was a barracks filled soldiers instead of just two. It took every bit of restraint for him to not just kick open that door and beat the two guards bloody, but he was in no mood to spend any more time in Lord Tardis’ company; especially not in his dungeon. That went doubly so for mere guards who couldn’t hold a candle to him in character or combat; so long as he held his spear, there wasn’t any who could stand before himself undefeated, he was sure of that.

Since his early boyhood days, he had dreamt to be a strong and powerful knight, even if everyone else his own age laughed at him, for he was born a commoner. It made no matter to neither him nor his father who supported his dreams. His father even went as far as asking guards and knights within their hometown to train him in the way of the sword, but all refused him, laughing at a commoner wanting to be a knight. In Sireen, knighthood was a title only those with money, power, and bloodline could attain and so, there were very few of them. Nevertheless, his father never gave up and neither did he. Eventually, he found a travelling warrior from Cavrik, one of the desert kingdoms in Southern Arincar, who was willing to teach him in the ways of the spear. It is the weapon of choice within the desertlands who did not have knights like other kingdoms, so it would be quite queer for a knight to use a spear. Nevertheless, a young Lyenol jumped at the opportunity and as it turned out, he had great talent with the weapon. Once he had reached the age of ten and five, he could best his teacher in combat and most other men, but he had yet to become a knight; that could only be attained by another knight, nobility, or royalty and with witnesses. It wasn’t until the tournament three years past at Falkirk, a town under the rule of Lord Trylles Strata, that he was rewarded with a knighthood by the Prince for winning. Since then, many had called him, “The Spear Knight” out of respect but even more said it out of spite and hate of him being a mere commoner that received not only a knighthood, but a knighthood from the heir to the Seastone Throne of Sireen no less. Everyone knew that a knighthood bestowed by royalty meant that the knight in question must serve that royal for all his days until their last; and he knew that from that, he’d be hated by them and commoners alike for just long.

Following that, he spent the next two years seeking out tutors to teach him his letters and proper manners. Now he could speak, write, and read better than any commoner and just as well as any noble and was taught that a knight should be just, proud, valiant, honourable, and loyal. To his credit, he held those teachings closer than most did and used it as a means to ignore the ill and jealous remarks of others.

Outside of the great hall of Barviel was much the same as the inside. Most, if not all of its walls were pristine white, though some traces of grey could be noticed here and there from age and wear. The only difference was that these walls were not adorned with decorative armour and weapons. Even the ground was paved fully in stone of light grey and white, though weeds reared their heads between some crevices. Its people fit the place as well; merry and relaxed as if there were no worries in the world; as if the kingdom wasn’t missing its heir and was on the brink of war. He spat a curse and regretted his decision to come here; the lack of alarm and carefree air of the town was tugging at his final nerves.

Annoyed, he made hurried steps towards the stables to leave this place behind him. Even the stableman smelled of flowers and fruits instead of horses and dung like a stableman should. It made for quite a bizarre thing, especially since this stableman was Lord Tardis’ chosen Master of Horse.

The man attempted conversation with Lyenol, but he merely clasped two tyle pieces into the man’s palm without a word and continued to his brown destrier. Amon was a great beast of an animal and not exactly bred for travelling, but he preferred to have a strong beast that would be able to handle any situation that may arise on the road, than a mare or gelding which were more likely to be crippled or killed. He found Amon in one stable and beside him was an immense spear made of gold, easily over six feet long to balance its weight. Its spearhead was of steel with a lily engraved upon the blade. This spear, Honour’s Call, was gifted to him by Prince Ingsley on the day after his knighthood and he had cared for it ever since. In truth, he was very particular with where and whom he left his spear with but his face and name were well known throughout Barviel and most parts of Sireen. Any man who would dare to steal from him knew that he would have their work cut out for them and would rather not. They would sooner speak ill of his name behind his back than do him ill to his face and risk his wrath.

He mounted his warhorse and left the stables at a steady pace, his spear in his left hand while holding the reigns in the other. He wasn’t exactly sure what his options were now that Lord Tardis had refused his advice. He could make his way to Maegyr’s first; it was a short journey on horseback and it was close to the hour of hunting in the late afternoon he wagered from the look of the sun. Nightfall wouldn’t be upon him for a while still and he was not keen on spending the night beneath the stars; especially during the month of chaos, Meqahn. An ill-omened time. The Cursed Moon and Evening Star could be seen often during the month, both of which were considered unlucky; his father had taught him as much.

It was also believed by many that it was during this time of year that the Purple Dawn occurred, a strange event that took place throughout the world that is the topic of much mystery. There are not many records of what happened during the event, but all of the Astaros’ earliest and oldest races agreed that it occurred. Whatever it was, the event lasted for some unknown length of time, but was called Year Zero and denotes the beginning of time for whatever reason; that is if the scholars were correct anyway.

With his mind made, he set out to Maegyr through the north gate. After that, he could decide what to do from there or even head home to his father in Lockeheart, which would’ve been closer and a short journey. His ole’ man, Auran, was getting on in his years and had taken ill shortly after he was knighted. He had often visited him whenever he could from the capital, Ultear, but the journey was close to a full day’s ride and it made for hard travel. Instead, he would only cause his father more worry by showing up, knowing the arduous journey his son would have made to visit. It wasn’t unfounded either since you’d often find thieves and worst roaming around in forests and plains; waiting to jump unsuspecting travellers, regardless of night or day. But if nothing else, Lyenol was confident in his prowess with a spear and feared no man. Men were mortal. Men could be slain.

While travelling across the plains, leaving behind Barviel, he yet again noticed the lands of his home; how serene and beautiful it looked. The land made well for farming and the scent of the sea to the east could be found in the air if you were close enough, much like he was now. Despite the kingdom had been involved in all three of the Great Wars and even played a dominant part in the Three Hundred Year War, you would never believe these lands ever knew war and bloodshed. And now, Klimek threatened that; it threatened the future of this wonderful kingdom and its people. Why couldn’t they see that! Why couldn’t they see that their peace, their well-being, their very future hung in the balance of this! All of the kings of Klimek have been known to be conquest-driven warmongers, under some maddening belief that they were placed on these lands to unite the Eleven Kingdoms of Arincar. Many who were kings and commoners alike have all tried and have all failed; the Blazing Emperors of Klimek were exception. So how is it that no one but him could see that this was merely King Timmet Garnett’s attempt to blackmail Sireen into assisting Klimek start a war! They demanded a huge sum of crones and cavalry for the return of the Prince; how much more obvious could it be!

Lyenol puffed out some air and urged Amon onward, up and then down a small slope. If they wouldn’t defend these lands, as is their job, I will do it myself if I have to. He thought on that for a second; imagining himself against the tens of thousands of Klimek’s soldiers who would be sent against him and Sireen. Surely, he believed he could hold his own against plenty but every man had his limits and he was no fool. He wouldn’t get past the first thousand on his own if fatigue didn’t kill him first. No, he wagered he’d only be able to cut down only about half that before he fell to exhaustion. The only way was indeed to persuade some noble to rally an army to defend Sireen and rescue the Prince.

“Sir knight, sir! Sir knight! Help!” an old croaked voice called from a distance. An elderly lady wrapped up tightly in cloth and with a hunched back stood some ways to his left, off the main path and just some ways down from the crest of another small slope. Without a second thought, Lyenol stirred his steed towards the woman in distress. He was a knight; it was his duty to help those in need, especially the elderly.

“Yes? What’s the matter?” he said with great pride. As he approached the slope, the old lady seemed to be drifting further away.

“Quickly now!” she called back as he urged Amon faster. “It’s urgent! My husband’s horse was crippled as we were going by. Broke its leg clean it did in some hidden rut. The damn thing turned over our cart and crippled him too! Quickly, sir knight! We need your -” before she could finish, seven men emerged from beneath the slope, with crossbows in hand, and loosed their quarrels. Two of the shots missed, and one of them caught Lyenol in the shoulder, but the remaining four he quickly parried with a quick one-handed spin of his spear. He spat a curse all the same. Bandits. He should have known. What fool would ride a cart off of the main road anyway! And it’s not like you could hear the braying of a dying horse anywhere nearby either.

At that moment, the elderly woman dropped the cloth she pinned closely to her chest, to reveal she wasn’t much of an elderly woman at all, but yet another man with a sword to his waist.

“Heh. This one’s got some skill it seems”, he said in a coarse voice as he drew his sword. He gestured with one hand, and the other seven men worked in unison, dropping their crossbows and arming themselves with axes and swords, all the while circling Lyenol. “Makes no matter. We outnumber him seven to one. Get him, boys! Strip him bare of anything that can fetch us coin! Leave the rest to the wolves and crows! But don’t harm that horse! That beast is worth as much as the spear from the looks of him!” he finished with a shout. The other seven jeered back in response and moved in towards him; circling to his left, his injured left shoulder.

Lyenol’s response was a frown, but it slowly changed to a sneer. “I’ve been in a sour mood and dying to hit something all day long. Thank you for the chance”, he said. At that, two men leaped towards him with swords brandished and poised, looking to strike his left arm to ribbons. But like a serpent, his spear flashed out with the same injured arm and parried one strike and struck a man square in the face before he could even bring down his blade. That gave a pause to the remaining six, but only for a moment. A third lashed out at him, from the right side this time; thinking he could finish him while his weapon was on the wrong side. But after he took one step forward, Amon reigned up while braying loudly. The warhorse knew well enough what to do in such a situation, and kicked the man square in the jaw as he yanked his spear free. Before the great beast crashed to the ground with a thud, the man scrambled away clutching his bloodied mouth. Another man came up then and took a stab at Lyenol’s legs, but he parried that with the length of his spear easily enough. Turning Amon to the left, he exposed his spear arm to an unexpected man and struck out so quickly, the man had no time to react and the thrust found its mark in the man’s chest.

“Two down, six more to go” he said aloud to the bandits as he pulled the spear free again. “Come now. Entertain me more, why don’t you? I have plenty of steam to blow off!” he shouted towards them. More cautious of his spear and his tenacity despite his injured shoulder, the men drifted back to get out of his range, but it was futile. He was, after all, on the back of a massive warhorse; a beast bred for fighting. Before he noticed it however, it was too late; he had already spurred Amon into a gallop towards the first man. The distance wasn’t enough for Amon to reach his fastest gallop, but it was more than enough for Lyenol to land the spear into a man’s throat, gushing blood across Amon, the ground, and his spear arm as he ripped it free. He was out of the encirclement now and gaining speed still, as he charged the man who was their leader. The man’s face paled as he dropped his sword, turning around to flee, but Lyenol only urged his mount on before spinning his spear and thrusting it towards the man’s back. Luckily, the man stumbled and rolled down the slope, missing death by a hair’s breadth.

Spinning Amon around, he looked towards the bandits and saw them fleeing in the opposite direction. They had yielded, that was clear to see. But Lyenol wanted more than that and mercy had always been a stranger to him. So he gave chase, slaying each of them one by one, leaving a trail of corpses along the plains on either side of the cart road.

After finishing the bloody task, he dismounted and cleaned his spear until it shined as good as new again which took quite some time as he checked every aspect of it with the utmost care. It was only after that, that he then tended to the wound in his left shoulder. The quarrel had pierced the flesh some ways in but hardly posed much for him to remove it. As a matter of fact, it had barely even scratched the muscle. The man probably hadn’t cranked the crossbow fully with the quarrel, so it lacked the needed power to do much damage, he thought. He was lucky but he still soaked a cloth in wine which he travelled with and bandaged it, just to be safe. He’d have to seek a healer when he got to Maegyr, first thing. He looked to the corpses strewn all about and spat on them.

“Seems it’s you lot who’ll be left for the crows and wolves” he said, as he mounted up again and set off anew for Maegyr.

Thanks to his earlier encounter on the trip, he arrived in the stone and wooden city of Maegyr just around the hour of dusk; when the sun was setting. The guards at the checkpoint recognized him immediately as the Spear Knight and allowed him entry without even bothering to search him. His shoulder’s ache was noticeable by then with the rush of fighting completely gone now. His jerkin also had dried up blood and a hole from where the quarrel had pierced it and annoyed him for the remainder of the trip. The jerkin was one of his favourites and now it was damaged because of some foolish bandit. He would be sure to change into something else before the night was out, but first, he had to find a healer to tend to his wound.

Leading Amon by the reigns, he walked around the town in search of some stables with a sour taste in his mouth. The Velvet District was now starting to come alive, with patrons of all sorts causing a raucous of laughter from the west and their various lanterns of different shapes, sizes, and colours were being lit. During the day, Maegyr was possibly one of the most peaceful and quiet of towns but once night fell, the Velvet District’s hours of business began and the city would be louder than even the masses of a tournament. The town might be equally divided between buildings made of wood and straw and stone and shingle, but it was by no means a sign of poverty. As a matter of fact, all of Maegyr’s income was generated solely from the Velvet District; that was how the city prospered all of its years. He had never liked the place because of that; because of how they so proudly and openly indulged in such shameful acts. Now, due to recent events, that disgust was even stronger.

Eventually, he found a stable boy and an inn which pointed him towards a nearby healer. Leaving behind his spear and Amon at the inn, he made his way to the building, following the innkeeper’s directions, not before making himself particularly clear with the innkeeper on what would happen should any of his belongings go missing. He even made a point of explaining what happened to the last people who tried to rob him. That had made the man more than forthcoming with not only the healer’s location but ensuring the safety of his belongings.

Soon enough, he found himself outside the healer’s building, at least according to the innkeeper’s instructions. Before he could open the door into the place and confirm it for himself, a young boy barrelled into him exiting through the door in quite some hurry. The boy was so tiny that he bounced off of Lyenol and fell onto the grey stone ground while he hardly even budged.

“Ah! Sorry, sir!” he called up quickly to Lyenol as he picked himself up and rubbed his elbow. The boy seemed to be covered in mud from head to toe and looked like a beggar. His bright blue eyes shone in the dimming light with such brilliance that Lyenol was drawn to stare at them without realising. They were queer, but not completely uncommon. There have been some people of Vayan and Ducalyn descent to have extremely blue eyes; one of his tutors had taught him as much. But this was the first time he had seen any with it; they were truly like gems.

After a moment’s pause, the boy quickly scampered away, leaving Lyenol to only follow behind him with his eyes. Only when the boy disappeared from sight did he enter the building.

“Damn beggars!” he heard a man inside shout as he tossed something through a nearby window. “Who’d think they’d come to a healer to beg for anything. This ain’t no – “

He turned around and only then noticed Lyenol looking at him blankly. There was a moment of silence with the two only looking at each other until Lyenol broke it first.

“I have a wound I need looking at” he said, approaching a bench as he undid his jerkin.

“Oh. Yes. O’ course, o’ course! Take a seat, good sir!” replied the healer, scurrying towards him. “What exactly happened?”

“A quarrel is what. Pierced the flesh but the fool didn’t crank the crossbow fully. He paid for that, I assure you” he replied while sitting with his bareback and chest exposed. The bandages around his shoulder still smelled of wine, which was a good thing. The smell of infection wouldn’t nearly be as sweet. Other than the bandage, his entire back and chest were covered with numerous scars both old and recent. Most of them he acquired while training with the spear in his youth, but there were also quite a few he earned in fights and tournaments.

“Yes, yes. I’m sure he did. You did well to bandage it on your own as well, you did. Now, let’s see here...” the man responded as he began unravelling the bandages. After a few moments of looking, poking, prodding, and humming, the healer left him alone on the bench and went to a shelf filled with bottles of all shapes, sizes, colours, and labels. Another moment passed with the healer rummaging through one particular part of his shelf before he returned with a small blue bottle with no label and soft cloth of leather.

“Now, this may sting a bit, but it’ll help you for sure.”

“What is it?”

“Escellera seeds, tyrout, and fox tail all crushed up and blended together to make a salve. It’ll help heal the wound and clean it without adding another scar on you. You might be a bit stiff in the area, but don’t worry about that too much” he said as he dabbed the liquid onto the cloth. There was no noticeable wetness on the cloth, but there was quite the strong smell of dirt and grass from it.

Without warning, he clasped the cloth onto the wound, causing Lyenol to clench his teeth a bit. The sting wasn’t just a single one, but a continuously stinging and itching that didn’t seem to cease. As if a hive of bees were disturbed and were now attacking his left shoulder relentlessly without pause. Without even an apology, the man began wrapping the shoulder in new bandages and when finished, he placed the bottle on the bench beside Lyenol.

“Change the bandages once daily and always be sure to use that salve. It should be completely healed after about ten days or so. If you run out of the stuff by then, you can always get more here. Three tyles for the first bottle, five for any after that” he said as he looked down to Lyenol with questioning eyes.

Without a word, Lyenol reached into a small pouch on his waist and placed three tyles on the bench. He looked down at one of the coins, staring at the five groves spiralling inward towards the four-pointed star in its centre, contemplating if he should pay such a price for a simple salve. Eventually, he decided that healing his wounds was more important and clasped the tyles down onto the bench, taking up the medicine. The healer’s eyes lit up as he hurriedly picked them up and biting each individually. Fixing his jerkin back on, Lyenol left the healer like that, opting for the comfort of the bed he had waiting for him back at the inn while the itching continued spreading throughout his left shoulder.

Nightfall was completely upon the land now and the Velvet District had come alive in earnest and made it impossible for him to sleep. So, he got out of his bed and went to the dining area of the inn instead. Few enough patrons were there as most of them were most like to be in a brothel or bar. Still, here and there, he heard some laughter and talking between small groups. Ignoring them, he took a seat at a table by himself in the corner of the room.

His thoughts were muddled as he tried to figure out what to do next. Lord Tardis had refused him and Lord Strata and Lord Corvin could not be trusted, as the two nobles often sided against any ideas placed towards them during council meetings. Lord Longheart, the ruler of his own hometown, vehemently hated him as well, so that would be a wasted trip. He was after all, the one who most strongly detested Lyenol’s knighthood and refused any meetings with him since. So where was he going to find an army capable of going into Klimek and rescuing Prince Ingsley?

“Oi! You listening to me or what, stranger?” a voice said from in front of him. Paying more attention to his surroundings, he only just noticed the innkeeper’s wife and cook standing in front of him at his table. She was an ugly woman with considerable size and huge pimples covering her fat cheeks and a double chin to top it all off. Had she been older, he’d believe her to be that bandit who dressed like an elderly lady if he wasn’t already sure the man was already dead.

“Tch. Take your damn head out your ass and listen when people are speaking to you!” she said, placing both her hamlet arms on her hips while glowering at him. “I asked you if you want any of the gruel and bird we’re serving. It’ll cost you five pieces and I ain’t want to hear nothing ‘bout no robbery either. That’s the price. Take it or starve for all I care” she puffed. Lyenol reckoned if she puffed up any more, she’d explode and there’d be plenty ham to eat for free instead of the ludicrous price. For the moment however, he just wanted the woman to go away so he gave her the five coins. At this rate, he’d likely go broke before the night was done – Damn Maegyr.

“Hm! If you’d stop thinking so damn hard on whatever it is your thinking on, you’d see the more obvious things right in front your face. Next time, I don’t care if you are paying to stay here or some big and flashy knight! I’ll clot you upside the head if you ignore me again!” she bellowed as she stormed off with his money.

Lyenol paid the walking pig no mind as it waddled away and was just thankful it had left him alone. He went back to his thoughts, his face becoming contorted as he struggled trying to think of a solution. Some might even say he looked as if he was in great pain, with how often he was also scratching at his shoulder.

“Say! Did you hear! There’s to be a massive expedition soon!” shouted out a voice nearby. By pure chance, Lyenol overheard the man and stole a glance towards the table where he saw three men seated around each other.

“Quiet, you dolt!” said another person, in a forced whisper that was still far too loud. “If you go telling everyone in here, there’ll be less treasure to be gained!” he said while scanning around the room. Somehow, their eyes never seemed to have found Lyenol’s staring right at him, so he continued listening.

“Right, right, sorry Earl”, said the first voice in a softer tone, though not nearly soft enough.

“Now what’s this ‘bout an expedition, eh?” said the one who must be Earl. The third man responded but he was the only man backing Lyenol and the words were lost to him. But the first man agreed with a great shake of his head.

“Aye! That’s the truth of it! Seems one of them bookies from the lands of sin stumbled across some ruins in Terindale! Now some noble over there’s launching an expedition to explore the place. All the big-name guilds are joining in too, me hears!” says the first man excitedly.

“Even the Twelve Sinns? Really? Don’t they only move on the King’s orders?” replied Earl.

“Aye, that they do. Shows just how important them ruins got to be! So we should make quick and sign up. We could be rich!” said the man far too loudly.

“I told you be quiet!” said Earl as he smacked the man across his head. “And there ain’t no way I’m going there now! If the Twelve Sinns are moving, that’s serious business! ‘sides, going into those ruins are dangerous. Who knows what monsters and beasts are down there lurking. I say, let them have their expedition. Them nobles only pay those guilds to do their heavy work for them and get killed in the process! I’ll save my own skin” he finished.

It was at that moment that Lyenol slapped himself for having not realized it sooner; a solution to his problem. Who would’ve guessed – the pig was right. The solution was obvious enough and yet, he didn’t think of it sooner. He had been thinking about this whole thing wrong the entire time.

What he needed wasn’t an army; what he needed was money and supplies for travel. With enough of that, he was sure he could easily employ the services of a guild. And he knew just the one to hire!