Chapter 15: The List
Charles stood firm at the counter, every eye in the dining hall glued to him—and now to the man striding in with purpose.
It was Joren Tael, the fighters' supervisor, a guy in his early twenties with short black hair and a stare that could cut through steel.
His tunic matched Charles's in color, but a stitched emblem on his chest—a circle with a stylized lightning bolt—marked his authority.
He held a wooden board with parchments clipped to it, his face a mix of irritation and fatigue.
Joren stopped in front of Charles, sizing him up from head to toe.
The dining hall's silence shattered when he spoke, his voice sharp and clear.
"Rian Cole is not a fighter," he declared, raising the board like it was undeniable proof. "His name's nowhere in the records."
Laughter erupted instantly.
"Told you!" a servant at a table shouted, smacking the wood with his hand.
"He's a fraud!" another chimed in, laughing so hard he nearly choked on his bread.
The girl behind the counter covered her mouth, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.