The slap that echoed through the Guild Hall didn't just bounce off the wooden walls of Ashford Quarter; it raced faster than any messenger, carried on the lips of merchants, stable boys, wandering Adventurers, and even the guards who pretended they hadn't seen a thing.
By sunset that day, half of Riverdale already knew that the City Lord's son had strutted into the Adventurer Guild with pride only to leave with a red mark on his face.
By morning, the tale had morphed with embellishments: some claimed Valeria had flung four guards out at once, others swore the young lord had begged as he exited, and a few insisted that Boren himself had lectured him in front of everyone.
The truth didn't need exaggeration; what mattered was the message: The Adventurer Guild wasn't a stall to be shaken for coin. It wasn't just a ragtag group playing at organization. It had rules, discipline, and someone willing to enforce those rules without fear of silk or surname.
