Chapter 41: Demoted… Then Summoned Like a Weapon

Peace hits harder than a punch.

Apex Blade’s main hall stays spotless, like the stone itself has anxiety. White marble, straight banners, quiet boots, no screaming. The air smells like soap and ink. I stand in the middle of it, and my hands feel unemployed.

“Morning, Rian. You’re early.”

I turn toward the counter, and my body still checks corners first.

“Don’t sound surprised.”

The clerk keeps her smile small, like she learned the safe size for it.

“You’re usually… occupied.”

I hold up the thin folder I came here for, and it looks pathetic in my grip.

“I’m trying this new hobby. Being boring.”

Her eyes flick down, then up, like she’s reading me the way healers read bruises.

“Is it working.”

I glance at the empty benches, and my brain starts inventing problems to solve.

“Not even a little.”

The clerk slides a stamped badge across the counter, polished to death.

“Temporary access, as requested.”

I pocket it, and the metal feels cold, like it never met a living person.

“Thanks. I hate it.”

Her smile twitches, then she looks past me, toward the hall.

“They’re watching you again.”

I follow her gaze, and of course there are people pretending not to stare.

“Let them.”

A pair of Apex Blade rookies whisper near the quest board, loud on purpose.

“That’s him. Crimson Rose’s ex-boss.”

I keep walking, because my pride has a leash too.

“Ex. Yeah.”

The taller one shifts, testing me like a dog at a fence.

“So is it true. Your guild is imploding.”

I stop beside the board and read a random request, because eye contact is for people with hobbies.

“It’s not imploding. It’s free-range now.”

The shorter one snorts, half laugh, half fear.

“Free-range monsters, that’s wild.”

My mouth curls, and I hate that it looks like a smile.

“It builds character.”

The taller one leans closer, like we’re trading secrets and not talking about national threats.

“My cousin works supply. He said your replacement cried on day two.”

My fingers tap the badge in my pocket, once, twice, like I can ground myself with metal.

“Nice. Hydration is important.”

The shorter one winces, then tries to play it cool.

“Lowkey, I’d cry too.”

I stare at the neat pins on the board, all lined up. My mind replaces them with broken doors and scorch marks.

“Yeah. I made it look easy.”

The taller one whistles, like I just bragged about a trophy.

“So you miss it.”

My shoulders lift, then drop, because lying is tiring.

“I miss the steering wheel. I don’t miss the crashes.”

The shorter one nods, like he gets it, then he doesn’t.

“Why’d they take it from you.”

My jaw tightens, and the question lands too close to the bone.

“Politics. Also, liability.”

The taller one laughs, then realizes I’m not joking.

“Wait, dead serious.”

I flex my hand, like I’m testing if it still works.

“Dead serious.”

The clerk clears her throat, crisp and professional.

“Rian. There is an official courier.”

A cold thread slips down my spine, because official means no choices.

“Of course there is.”

A man in slate-gray steps into the hall, and the whole place goes quiet like a classroom.

“Rian Vale, by order of the Guild Council, you are summoned.”

He holds out a scroll with a gold seal. The wax looks bruised, like it got punched into obedience.

“I’m not a council asset anymore.”

The courier doesn’t blink. His voice stays polite, which makes it worse.

“This is not a request.”

My tongue tastes like iron. My brain runs through exits, like that matters.

“Tell them I’m busy.”

The courier’s eyes flick to the clerk, then back, like he’s checking witnesses.

“The summons anticipates delay.”

A laugh tries to crawl out of me, but it dies halfway.

“Wow. They wrote my personality into the paperwork.”

The courier’s grip stays steady. He offers the scroll like it’s mercy.

“Please accept and comply.”

I take it, because refusing is just slow suicide with extra steps.

“Congrats. You caught me being responsible.”

The courier inclines his head, then turns like a machine with manners.

“You will depart within three days.”

The hall exhales, and I feel every stare on my neck.

“Yeah. Sure. Totally my idea.”

The clerk watches me like she’s deciding whether to call a healer.

“Do you want a room.”

I stare at the seal, and my gut whispers Beatrice before my brain can.

“Give me a door I can close.”

She points me down a side corridor. The carpet is clean enough to eat off.

“Conference B is empty.”

I walk into the room, and it smells like lemon polish and rich people’s boredom.

“Perfect. I can die quietly.”

I sit, crack the seal, and slide the thick paper out. The letter feels expensive, like it was born in a palace.

“This is a leash with good grammar.”

I scan the lines, and every polite phrase means the same thing. Show up, shut up, don’t break anything.

“Respectfully required. Respectfully trapped.”

The door latch clicks behind me. The air shifts, like magic just leaned in close.

“Rian.”

My back straightens, and my heart does that stupid skip. I hate that it still reacts to her voice.

“Beatrice.”

The mirror on the wall ripples, then darkens. Her face forms in the glass, crisp and calm.

“You look rested.”

Her smile sits too casual, like she’s chatting over tea, not yanking my chain.

“I’m living my best demoted life.”

She studies me like I’m a report with margins.

“You are bored.”

I bounce my knee under the table. The motion feels like a confession.

“I’m chilling. No cap.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrow, amused in a way that never reaches warmth.

“Do not start lying to me in slang.”

I blow out a breath, and my fingers drum on the letter.

“Fine. I feel wrong.”

Her smile softens by a millimeter. That’s her version of sympathy.

“Good. That means you still function.”

I hold the letter up to the mirror, like she needs proof of her own work.

“You staged this timing.”

She doesn’t flinch. She never does.

“I arranged what was necessary.”

My thumb rubs the paper edge until it creases.

“You could’ve waited a week.”

Beatrice’s tone stays light, like she’s describing a meeting schedule.

“A week changes outcomes.”

I tilt my head, because she always plays chess while everyone else plays dice.

“This is about Crimson Rose.”

Her gaze stays steady, and that’s how I know I’m right.

“They are being monitored.”

I picture them without me, and my chest tightens like something is squeezing from inside.

“Monitored isn’t managed.”

Beatrice’s smile returns, small and sharp.

“Managed was your job. You were relieved.”

My fingers curl into my palm. My nails bite skin.

“Relieved. Cute word.”

Beatrice’s voice stays calm, but the room feels colder.

“Do you want a different word.”

I swallow, and my throat feels dry.

“Stolen.”

Her eyes flick once. That’s the closest she gets to guilt.

“You were reassigned.”

I laugh, short, ugly, then stop, because it sounds like pain.

“Yeah. To the nice clean hall.”

Beatrice watches me like she’s waiting for the joke to finish.

“And yet you look like you miss the dirt.”

I stare at my hands. They look too clean today. That makes me angry.

“I miss steering. I don’t miss begging them to stop biting people.”

Beatrice’s smile brightens, like she enjoys the phrasing.

“They are yours.”

My chest warms and aches at the same time. That possessive line is a wound I keep picking.

“They’re mine.”

Beatrice nods, satisfied, like I passed a test.

“And you are theirs.”

The words land heavy. My shoulder muscles tense like I’m bracing for a hit.

“So the capital wants its weapon back.”

She leans closer to the mirror. Her voice turns softer, which is the real knife.

“The capital needs you for something sensitive.”

I grip the edge of the table. The wood doesn’t give, so my anger has nowhere to go.

“Sensitive means messy.”

Beatrice’s eyes gleam, and I can almost hear her smiling.

“Sensitive means quiet.”

My brain tries to refuse, tries to build a wall, then remembers the wall is made of paper.

“I can’t do quiet.”

Beatrice tilts her head, patient, predatory.

“You can. You choose not to.”

I look at the letter again, at the dates, the escort notes, the lodging. It reads like a vacation plan written by a jailer.

“This is not optional.”

Beatrice doesn’t bother denying it.

“It is not.”

I roll my shoulders, like I can shake off the chain with a stretch.

“So what happens if I say no.”

Her gaze doesn’t move. Her voice stays gentle.

“Then the council finds other ways.”

My stomach flips. A memory flashes, a name I won’t say, a mistake that still stings.

“Other ways hit people I care about.”

Beatrice’s smile fades, and what’s left is pure control.

“Yes.”

I close my eyes for one second, because if I keep them open, I’ll hate her louder.

“You’re terrible.”

Her voice stays even, like she hears that daily.

“I am effective.”

I open my eyes. I meet her gaze. I let the anger settle into something usable.

“What do you need me to do.”

Beatrice’s smile returns, casual again, like she didn’t just tighten the leash.

“Arrive in the capital. Follow the escort. Speak only when spoken to.”

I snort, because that’s a joke, and she knows it.

“You want me quiet, that’s hilarious.”

Beatrice’s expression turns almost amused.

“Do not confuse quiet with weak.”

I glance at the mirror, and for a second I see myself in the glass too. Tired eyes, clean shirt, no chaos in reach.

“Yeah. I remember.”

Beatrice taps the mirror frame. The sound is soft, but it feels like a gavel.

“Dawn departure. Pack light.”

My knee stops bouncing. My body goes still, like it’s preparing for impact.

“Dawn. Of course.”

Beatrice’s eyes sharpen.

“And do not contact Crimson Rose yet.”

My fingers twitch. The urge to check on them hits like a craving.

“Why.”

Beatrice doesn’t hesitate. That’s the scariest part.

“Because the next part needs clean lines.”

I swallow, and my mouth goes dry again, because clean lines are how you cut people.

“You’re steering this whole arc.”

Beatrice smiles, small and pleased, like she likes being caught.

“I am steering. Try to keep up.”

I exhale through my nose. My voice comes out calm, because panic is for victims.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

Beatrice’s face starts to fade from the mirror, like she already moved on.

“Good. The capital is waiting.”

The glass goes still, and the leash pulls tight toward the city lights.