After thanking Ezekiel and saying their goodbyes to Johann and Whitefang, Ronister figured they should try and seek an audience with King Charlon early, since they arrived in town way earlier than they originally planned. According to him, the crown provides free lodgings to any hero and their party while they stay in Gran Tidel, and if they avoid any of the local inns, they can save a good chunk of money doing so.

Courtney was, admittedly, a little leery about meeting royalty when she came across as a broke hobo-version of an armored cheer captain, especially after trekking all the way to Gran Tidel. She smelled like crap and looked like a bear fist-fought her. Not a great first impression.

But then Ronister showed her the actual prices of the inns. Courtney might not have the monetary value of things completely down pat, but five gold pieces for one night seemed frankly insane, no matter what universe you're from. The city as a whole is a dead ringer for places like New York or London or Paris: a huge metropolitan area with every tourist trap imaginable and, most likely, less-than-agreeable locals. No wonder the prices of the motel-equivalents are jacked up.

So they're gonna try and cop some free room and board with the king, and hopefully a hot shower. All good and well, and Mr. "I would trade my sumptuous repast for hero trading cards" seems to think it'll work out, so Court's just gonna go along with it. Now, the issue is actually getting in.

Walking past a giant marble statue of a spiky-haired knight in shining armor, the duo meander up to the big gated bridge leading up to Castle Diviner. They stop before a small guardhouse in the center of their end of the bridge.

"P-Pardon me, sir!" Courtney's full-armored squire squeaks.

"State your names and business." A stoic guard in gold armor drones off, the blue plumes of his Roman-looking helmet nearly brushing the top of his station's doorframe. He's built like a brick shithouse.

"Oh! I am, ah, Ronister of Smallwood. This is Courtney Cross, she's from another world! We're here to become heroes." Ronister declares, rattling in excitement. Courtney can see the stars in his eyes from under his visor. He says it like the world spins around the very concept of heroism. Which, around here, it probably does.

"One moment. [Scan.]" Something in the air reverberates and shudders when the guard says the word, before a floating blue magical circle erupts in front of his left eye. Courtney startles, before reminding herself that magic exists in magic-land, and this is probably just… that.

Then, he starts appraising Courtney. Honestly, she's kinda miffed that her first encounter with actual goddamn witchcraft is basically a TSA check. Why couldn't it have been a fireball, or y'know, some healing for her head injury? Wasn't Whitefang's mom a healer? Well then again, Courtney's mom is a nurse, and she's totally not doing that.

"You leveled up already?" He suddenly asks, and it catches her off-guard.

"Whuh?" Courtney replies intelligently.

"I see."

The magic circle fades away, and the guard nods, before putting two fingers to his throat.

"[Message.]" The air shudders again. "I have a Code H. Blonde teenage girl. Party of two. …Yes, verified. Yes, the hero is the blonde teenage girl. No, the mousy boy with her is not the hero. Yes, verified."

Oh, they have a radio spell. She should learn that. Ronister starts practically vibrating the moment the guard sends the message, and Courtney raises an eyebrow at him.

"Code H! Th-That's the code for a new hero! I've always wanted to hear it…" Ronister explains, as if it wasn't completely obvious.

"That's completely obvious." Courtney deadpans, bursting his balloon. Ronister stops bouncing on his heels and subdues his childlike joy and wonder, slowly curling into himself a little. Tough luck, you'll get no sympathy here. Still, that does beg the question… "How often does it happen?"

"Well, they could be days apart or decades apart, really – the last recorded hero was found five years ago right here, lying unconscious in the Savior's Garden!" Ronister's energy picks back up. "Alack, that must have a fright for just about everyone…"

Ronister looks backwards at the courtyard – the Savior's Garden, apparently, even though it's more of a plaza and not much of a garden – and starts daydreaming, probably envisioning the scene unfolding right in front of him. He's probably imagining a handsome actor-type in everyman clothes slowly picking up his head to a buxom, overpowered traveling companion. Usual teenage daydream stuff.

Courtney also starts imagining it. If it was anything like hers, then there was a lot of screaming and pig slop. Probably banged his head, and then they had to drag him into the castle for medical attention. But man, that'd be nice – to be dropped off right where the adventure began. She had to make the trek like an asshole.

"Lady Cross? Sir Ronister?" A different guard calls their attention. Courtney immediately turns around, but she has to quickly rap on Ronister's helmet to snap him back to reality. Clumsily, the boy shuffles into place and salutes, clacking his plated heels together and everything.

"Yes, ma'am!" Ronister puffs his steel-plated chest, clearly hyped up.

The guard clears her throat. "Right. Please follow me as I escort you to the king."

Sorry, what?

"I thought –" Courtney immediately tries to hit the brakes, before fumbling for what the hell to say. "– I thought we'd get time to at least clean up, I mean Jesus Christ, I might be nursing a concussion here –"

"It is standard protocol for all heroes to see the king as soon as possible. Their arrival has high priority over all other matters."

"Ronister –"

"She's right, you know!" The traitorous little garbage-bin of a boy blurbles, pulling Courtney by the hem of her skirt and forcing her to walk alongside them. "Since the very first hero, the crown has always welcomed those brave souls posthaste, and with great celebration! It'd be such a shame to keep them waiting!"

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"Ronister, I didn't fucking ask you to explain, we look like dog shit –"

"Open the gates!"

Any other objection that Courtney has is cut off by the loud screech of thrice-reinforced armored gates scraping open, kicking up dust and forcing her to hack and cough and try to wave it away from her face. As the rest of the grandiose castle is revealed to Courtney, she's forced to dip her head and slip into the castle grounds, whether because of Ronister's grip (unlikely) or because of the societal expectations that she should probably get in the gate while everyone else is walking forward (definitely).

The sheer scale of Castle Diviner up close is the next item to silence Courtney. She could crane her neck up so far she'd topple backwards, and she still wouldn't be able to spot the very top of the towers that made up the superstructure. It was, honest-to-god, a skyscraper in medieval form. At most, she could spot the bells of the clock tower, inasmuch as their silhouette stood out against the sunlight.

Walking inside only added to the effect. She'd only visited New York once, but it was like if you turned the entire Empire State Building into a state capitol. Marble pillars that spanned high enough that you couldn't see the top, paintings of old kings and governors across every wall, and – oh, those were magic elevators. Fantasy-era office workers and clerks and white-collar workers all walk and talk and systematically clumped into the elevators, before they shot up and down the various floors of the castle at breakneck paces.

It's just now that Courtney's realizing she's stumbled into a very busy government building. Like, duh, it's a busy government building, it's the main castle of the biggest city in the region, right? But the breakneck pace of it all is what hammers it in – the brisk speed at which they're walking, the razor-sharp fashion of all the inhabitants, even the laser-guided apathy in which they treated their surroundings as they marched from point A to point B. Only a few people stop and stare at the two dirty mutts tracking mud onto the nice floors, and then they turn their nose up and walk away.

Looking to her side, Ronister's eating all of this up. The small town boy has probably only ever seen the inside of his sleepy town hall, and even then, no more than once or twice in his life. Making a beeline to the main castle and getting escorted through it like he's some sort of VIP? He's clearly living the dream. Courtney still has half a mind to speak up and demand a goddamn bed and shower, but she's too distracted by Ron's starry-eyed wonder that she doesn't have time to act on it –

Until she's shoved into an elevator with the other two guards and Ronister. One of them hits a button with a crown on it, and oh, God, it's happening.

It's midday, or just about. Business hours. And if the button is any indicator… that means they're heading to the throne. Courtney didn't know jack about kingly councils or historically accurate governing bodies, but she did know that in all the fantasy settings, from the goofy Saturday morning cartoons all the way to the live-action TV series, the king or noble held court for whatever person to petition or present a gift or get beheaded. Or all of the above.

A pitfall starts to grow in her stomach – and is immediately made twice its size when the elevator door opens, and yes, they are standing in front of a royal court. There's no turning back. Why didn't they turn back?!

Nobles of all colors and luxurious satin outfits gasp and stare at the two complete tramps dirtying their carpets. Some of them are in the usual European medieval get-up, powdered wigs and frills and all. Others are in more reasonably modern clothing: top hats and headdresses, yes, but the tuxedos and more typical dresses of the 1800s were familiar to Courtney. A fair few are clearly dressed in the Japanese style, with kimonos and topknots and weird black hats that Courtney couldn't even try to name.

The obvious eyecatches are the king and the princess.

Sitting on a golden throne, with a red carpet unfurled underneath and everything, is the man that Courtney has to assume is King Charlon. The head honcho. The big man. He's every bit what Courtney expects a king to look like – big, gold, jeweled crown and scepter, flowing hair, majestic beard. He's got crow's feet around his eyes and quite a few wrinkles. He's not all that old, though: he's got salt and pepper hair and is still holding onto some musculature under all those layers of royal clothing.

The princess is also, stereotypically, a princess. Gold tiara, expensive earrings, ruby necklace. Impossibly bright gold hair – Courtney's blonde, sure, but this girl looks like she's got a costume wig on. And wow, big, sky blue eyes, along with perfect, unblemished skin, almost porcelain in texture. Another anime girl type. The big, white poofy dress and the pink cravat only add to the effect, as well as her daintier, cuter little throne next to her dad's.

"Hero!" King Charlon booms, his voice echoing across the marble halls of Castle Diviner. It reeks of a well-practiced spiel: just the type that grinds on Courtney's gears. Especially after endless hours of roughing it, and especially after nursing a throbbing migraine for-fucking-ever after that goblin attack. "Welcome to the world of Septgard! What might your name be?"

She steps forward. Standing at cornfed American height, this fun-loving teenager is a lanky mess of chainmail, second-hand leather armor, and bandages. Her ponytail has dried blood caked in it, her temples are wrapped up in a headband that makes her look like she got hit face first by a pickup truck, and the only colors left on her body are the remains of her original cheerleading outfit that she tried to fit around her armor. Glorious red, white, and blue, all stained with dirt and sweat. And she feels like shit, by the way, if she hasn't hammered this in already.

"Courtney Cross." The cheerleader bites out. "I'd like a weapon and a goddamn shower, please."