"What in the world is this?" Jamie muttered aloud as he read the heading on the elegantly embossed parchment.

[Invitation: Tea Party]

He opened the letter without haste, drawing a deep breath as he pondered what this could entail this time.

Bard, I need to speak with you. Come to my tea party; there will be other interesting people.

Jamie flipped the letter over, searching for any additional messages or hidden meanings, but the back was blank. There were no formalities or signatures, just the terse summons.

'She's being awfully familiar,' Jamie thought, noting the lack of decorum. Not even an attempt at pleasantries. The bard shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 'At least she's straight to the point.'

"Well then," he said aloud, folding the letter. He handed it to Eliza, who stood nearby polishing a glass. She accepted it, glanced over the script briefly, and folded it neatly once more.

"If there's no formal invitation, perhaps the letter itself is the invitation," Eliza suggested as she handed it back.

"Perhaps," Jamie agreed, slipping the letter into his vest pocket.

"But what does she want this time?" Eliza asked.

"Last time, she was sizing us up," Jamie replied, settling himself onto one of the sturdy stools at the bar. "Perhaps gauging our power and behavior, maybe even trying to put a leash on the Golden Fiddle."

"This time, it's certainly related to the city," he continued, drumming his fingers lightly on the countertop.

"The Monster Rush?" Eliza suggested, her brow furrowed with concern.

"Yes," Jamie confirmed with a nod. "With only the resources the city currently has, we can't hold out much longer. Something must be done."

--

Jamie spent the rest of the day resting, though his mind was anything but at ease. In the solitude of his office, he sat at a modest wooden desk cluttered with parchment, ink bottles, and the remnants of earlier meals.

He was organizing his thoughts, striving to piece together the fragments of new information and possibilities that had emerged. There were avenues he hadn't considered before, strategies that could alter their course. Yet, he was cautious. Introducing knowledge from his own world too abruptly could draw unwanted attention.

"However, at the pace we're going, the city will be overrun before that," Jamie muttered to himself, jotting down notes in his weathered journal.

"I need a way to empower those with [Common Classes] to fight," he mused. "But without relying solely on my blessing." He tapped the feathered end of the quill against his chin, contemplating the challenges.

"That would be a massive problem," Jay commented from atop one of the couches. "If you actually managed to scale it up, it would completely change the whole class structure. You'd have enemies coming at you from all sides overnight."

Ideas flowed onto the pages. New equipment, training regimens, new formations, perhaps even rudimentary tactics. Yet, each plan seemed to present more obstacles.

A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts. The sound echoed softly in the confined space, drawing his attention to the door. It creaked open slightly, and Thomas poked his head inside. The guard wore a tired expression, clearly still recovering from the last days.

"They've arrived. Shall I let them in?" Thomas inquired.

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Jamie closed his journal, setting the quill aside. "One at a time," he instructed. "Let's start with Holz."

As soon as Jamie finished speaking, the heavy wooden door of his study swung open. The newcomer stepped inside.

Jamie had only a superficial knowledge of each of the new recruits. However, his aim was to identify those who could truly shine within the Golden Fiddle, especially given the limited number of available positions.

'I can hire more people for roles like tavern attendants,' he mused, his fingers lightly tracing the parchment bearing Holz's name. 'But for the fighters, it would be best if they could receive the benefits of my blessing.'

Holz crossed the threshold and slowly approached one of the seats. Jamie hadn't had the opportunity to assess his physique before, but for the young man to have reached this stage, he had proven himself, not only in combat trials but also in the test of guts.

The bard found himself impressed that someone from the outside village possessed such a well-developed and toned physique. Part of Holz's story was plainly written in his appearance. His long hair tumbled in unruly waves over his shoulders as if a comb had never passed through its tangled strands. His clothing was tattered—once white, now stained with dust and dried blood.

Yet beneath the threadbare garments, one could discern a body honed by hard labor, muscles defined and marked with a few faint scars. A strip of blue cloth served as a makeshift belt wrapped around his waist, and he wore grayish trousers made of lightweight material. His attire could easily suit a combatant or ease his work.

His face, though smudged with grime, bore a most striking feature: just below his eyes lay a thin scar that had begun to fade with time. It added a rugged persona to his otherwise youthful appearance. Resting on his shoulder was a dark wooden staff, serving in place of what might traditionally have been a sword.

'So many questions. I have so many questions,' Jamie thought, a slight smile playing on his lips as he contemplated all he wished to learn about the young man.

Holz eased himself into the chair opposite Jamie, the sturdy wooden frame creaking slightly under his weight. "Sir," he said respectfully, his voice low but steady.

"Hello, Holz." Jamie offered a warm smile. "Have you recovered?" His eyes flickered to the bandage wrapped around Holz's arm.

Holz nodded, lifting his injured arm slightly. "Yes, although there are still some parts that are healing."

"That's good to hear." Jamie leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled thoughtfully. "This will be the final stage of your assessment. I just want to get to know you a bit better, and I won't forget how you stepped up to help us during such a critical time."

"Thank you," Holz replied, his expression serious. Despite the gravity of the conversation, he had a calm, steady presence.

"Holz," Jamie began, leaning forward slightly, "what made you decide to join the Golden Fiddle Company?"

"Money," Holz answered bluntly. "I've known Thomas for a long time. He's a reliable and trustworthy person. When I saw that he could support himself without his daughter needing to work, that was enough to make me want to join." His gaze remained steady, unflinching.

Jamie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So you need more money?" he probed gently, sensing there might be more beneath the surface.

"Money is always needed," Holz said, pausing for a moment as if weighing his words. "Especially if you live outside the city." He looked down briefly, his fingers tracing a knot in the wooden staff. "My current situation is that I want my wife to be able to stop working."

"To take care of the home?" Jamie inquired, seeking to understand.

"Perhaps. It's about time for us to have children." A hint of vulnerability crossed Holz's face. "But mostly so she can leave her job. She works cleaning a mansion. The situation… it isn't good."

Jamie nodded slowly, comprehension dawning. With just a few words, Holz had revealed much. The strain on his wife's well-being and the desire for a better life were powerful motivators.

'That explains what I needed to know,' Jamie thought. 'Only one thing remains.'

He needed to glimpse into Holz's potential future to see the paths that lay before him.

[Legends of the Future]

Activating his blessing, he focused his gaze intently on Holz, waiting for the ethereal song to manifest. The air around them seemed to shimmer subtly, a barely perceptible ripple that only Jamie could sense.

Words began to form in his mind, a cryptic verse woven from the threads of fate.

A samurai cloaked in carpenter's guise, Shall fate grant him honor or blood as his prize?

Jamie read and reread the enigmatic phrase, his brow furrowing in contemplation. 'Wasn't it supposed to give me something more definitive?' he pondered. The prophecy was obscure, and its symbolism eluded him.

Before he could delve deeper into its meaning, a sudden tremor shook the room. The floorboards vibrated beneath their feet as a distant explosion reverberated through the air. A sharp scent of gunpowder wafted in.

"Fucking hell. I can't catch a break!" Jamie muttered, rising swiftly from his chair.

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