Chapter 9: The Key to the City
Inigo walked beside Garrick in silence. Villagers paused as he passed, their tired, soot-smeared faces lit by flickering torchlight. The suspicion from earlier had faded—replaced by a cautious reverence.
He didn't smile. Not because he didn't want to—but because something about the weight of those eyes, those nods, those hushed whispers... it felt heavier than he expected. People had died. Families were shattered. And he had been the one to put a stop to it. Not a knight. Not a mage. A gamer with a Glock.
They arrived at the hall again—the same place where, just that morning, he was treated like a wandering nuisance.
Now? The two guards at the door straightened as he approached. One even stepped aside without needing a word from Garrick.
Inside, the elder stood near the hearth, speaking with two villagers. She looked up the moment they entered. Her eyes flicked to Garrick's injured leg—then to Inigo, whose hoodie was torn, blood-stained, and scorched at the edges. The Glock still hung from his hip.
"You," she said quietly. "You fought."
Inigo gave a small nod. "I did what I had to."
Garrick stepped forward with a stiff salute. "Ma'am, I can vouch. He saved over a dozen villagers, including myself. Killed more than half of the enemy force singlehandedly. If he wasn't here, Valebrook would've fallen."
The elder studied Inigo for a long moment. Then, without a word, she walked to a locked drawer in her desk. She opened it with a brass key and withdrew a small, polished wooden box.
She placed it on the table between them, opened the lid, and revealed a silver emblem on a chain—a small iron-forged key shaped with ornate engravings. It shimmered faintly in the firelight.
"This," she said, lifting the key from its velvet lining, "is the Key to the City."