The Twice-blessed Paladin

Aldric stands before Guildmaster Dain, the weight of the previous day's mission still lingering. He had wiped out an entire goblin den alone, rescued captives, and uncovered evidence of a larger problem.

Now, he waits as the guild deliberates his reward.

The guildmaster sits behind a sturdy oak desk, flipping through a report written by the investigating team sent to examine the cave after Aldric's return. The rescued women had confirmed his story, and the money and stolen goods he recovered were being identified to return to the rightful owners.

Dain sets the report down and scratches his graying beard. "Goblins don't usually organize like this. A stockpile of weapons, coins, and supplies? Either they were preparing for something, or someone was supplying them."

Aldric nods. "It was too structured for common scavengers."

The guildmaster sighs. "We're launching a full investigation. If someone's backing goblins, we need to know why." He leans back. "That said—you did the guild a damn good service. You wiped out a growing threat, saved lives, and brought back valuable intelligence."

He gestures to the satchel of gold Aldric had recovered from the cave, now placed on the desk.

"As per guild policy, any loot found during a mission is yours to keep if no one can rightfully claim it." Dain nods toward the sack. "We checked. No surviving merchants reported lost gold."

The clerk beside him sets another pouch beside it—one heavier than the last.

"In addition, the guild is rewarding you extra for handling something way above the expected job. Fifty extra gold pieces."

Aldric inclines his head. "Generous."

Dain smirks. "Not really. You saved us a hell of a lot of trouble. And more importantly—you've proven yourself."

The clerk scribbles on the guild ledger. "Effective immediately, you are no longer ranked as a novice adventurer." She stamps a new insignia onto his adventurer's card.

"Congratulations," she says. "You're now Rank D."

Aldric takes the card. Progress.

"One last thing," Dain says. "Word is spreading about you. A lone adventurer taking out an entire goblin den? People are gonna talk. Use that to your advantage."

Aldric nods.

"Good. Let them talk."

The more people speak his name, the more his gods' names will return to the world.

He takes the gold, his new rank, and leaves the guild behind.

The Drunken Drake Tavern is loud, filled with adventurers and merchants swapping stories and drinks. Aldric takes a corner seat, his new armor making him blend in with the crowd.

He doesn't drink—he can't. But he orders a meal, letting it sit in front of him untouched. A ruse.

He listens.

His name is already being spoken.

"You hear about that new guy? Took out a goblin nest by himself."

"Yeah, I heard! Some knight or something. Damn impressive."

"Reckon he's blessed by the gods?"

Aldric smirks beneath his helm.

That's exactly what he wanted to hear.

Slowly, he begins steering conversations in subtle ways. When asked about his strength, he mentions the old gods—his gods.

"A warrior does not fight alone," he tells one curious adventurer. "My strength comes from the Radiant Dawn and the Veiled Reaper."

"Who?"

"Forgotten gods," Aldric says. "But not for long."

The man shrugs. "Well, whatever works. If they make me stronger, maybe I should pray to 'em too."

Aldric hides his satisfaction.

A single seed of faith planted.

One at a time, he will bring them back.

The next morning, Aldric heads to the Black Hollow Smithy. The forge is already burning hot, the rhythmic clanging of metal ringing through the air.

The blacksmith, the burly man from before, wipes sweat from his brow as Aldric enters. "Back again, knight?"

Aldric nods. "I have coin now. I want something better than the guild's iron."

The blacksmith grins. "You came to the right place."

Aldric steps forward and places a hefty pouch of gold on the counter.

"I want something impressive. A greatsword. Large, but balanced. Durable. Not just a weapon, but a symbol."

The blacksmith studies him. "You got a taste for fine blades, huh? Alright. I have just the thing."

He turns and opens a locked chest, pulling out a massive greatsword wrapped in cloth.

He lays it on the counter and pulls back the cloth, revealing polished black steel with intricate silver engravings.

"This," the blacksmith says, "is real craftsmanship."

Aldric picks it up, testing the weight. Perfect.

"The balance is flawless," he admits.

The blacksmith smirks. "That's what good gold gets you. That blade will cleave through damn near anything. Treat it well."

Aldric places more gold on the counter. "And armor."

The blacksmith nods. "Give me a few days. I'll get you something custom-made."

Aldric leaves the forge satisfied.

A new blade. Soon, new armor.

He is becoming more than just a nameless adventurer.

Step by step, his gods are returning.

And the world will remember.