The Guildhall vibrated with restless activity. Seasoned adventurers, their faces grim, pored over maps, double-checked gear, spoke in hushed, urgent tones. The Lumenar Expedition, Aver's last-ditch gamble, was coalescing, and William found the organized chaos amplifying the knot of fear, fascination, and stubborn, analytical determination in his stomach. Julia had dismissed William’s wild suggestion immediately, heavily implying that the mission involved dangers he wasn’t ready or suited for. But William knew he would be able to contribute. I have to be part of this.

  It wasn't just loyalty to Julia, though the image of her heading into the shadowed depths of Tallenwood, facing unknown dangers both goblinoid and elven, triggered a spike of pure, unquantifiable alarm within him he couldn't just ignore. Nor was it solely the allure of Lumenar itself, whispered repository of ancient artifacts and, if the most obscure texts were to be believed, potentially saturated with ambient mana. Mana rich environment? Potential for exponential growth in personal capacity and EMMA operational efficiency. ROI calculation... tempting, even accounting for the non-trivial 100% loss scenario, i.e., becoming goblin chow.

  No, the core driver was EMMA. His bizarre, internal, reality-bending data engine. He knew, with the unsettling certainty of a perfectly correlated dataset pointing towards a cliff edge, that EMMA could be the difference between abject failure and… slightly less abject failure.

  Tallenwood navigation? EMMA can model Jett's routes, analyse terrain contours for choke points and hidden ambush vectors. Goblin patrols? Potentially detectable via subtle environmental shifts picked up by EMMA's sensing. Diplomacy with the notoriously inscrutable elves? EMMA might provide a real-time feed on micro-expressions, vocal tone fluctuations, physiological responses... a shaky foundation for first contact, but better than nothing.

  Confidence level on elven emotion reading currently near zero. Requires substantial in-field data gathering. Potential upside: priceless. Potential downside: starting an inter-kingdom war based on a misread eyebrow twitch. Wonderful.

  This mission was drowning in unknowns. Leaving EMMA behind felt like sending a team into a hostile takeover without their lead strategist, armed only with a vague hunch and a pocket knife. He needed to make them see it.

  His first, and most significant, hurdle was Julia.

  He found her near the Guild’s training yard, watching Roland drive a squad of recruits through punishing drills. Her expression was distant, her gaze unfocused, likely mapping goblin patrol routes in her mind or replaying Borin’s counter-arguments to her own valid objections from the meeting. The air around her vibrated with unspoken worry.

  “Julia,” William began, carefully low, keeping his voice below the clang of steel. Phase one: Stakeholder buy-in. Initial contact made.

  She turned, offering a fragile smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “William. Still here. Still… persistent, I gather?”

  “I need to talk about the Lumenar mission,” he stated directly, skipping the pleasantries. Direct approach. Time is a finite resource. “I need to go with you.”

  The smile vanished, replaced by a predictable surge of concern. As anticipated. High emotional resistance. “William, we’ve been over this. It’s insane. This isn't a classroom. You're barely trained, barely F-Rank…”

  “I know my limitations,” he interrupted, keeping his tone firm but gentle. Acknowledge concerns. Demonstrate self-awareness, highlight areas of strength. “I’m not a swordsman like Roland. I can’t smell goblins like Jett. But I’m not useless. Remember sparring with Edward? That one, flukishly landed hit? It wasn't brute force. It was… pattern recognition.” He leaned in slightly, trying to convey the urgency crackling within him. “Remember the Light spell? Days of failure, then suddenly I had it? My learning curve is exponential. I adapt. Quickly.”

  He saw the internal struggle behind her weary eyes. The pragmatist weighing his lack of combat experience, the strategist considering the potential value of an unknown variable, and the friend wrestling with the urge to protect him.

  “This isn’t a theoretical exercise, William. That one lucky blow, that one barely controlled spark of light… it won’t save you in Tallenwood. Or persuade an isolationist elf lord. We’re talking about survival against trained killers and ancient prejudices, not passing a test.”

  “It’s not just about fighting,” he pressed, calibrating his words carefully, offering just enough detail to intrigue, but not enough to trigger disbelief. Offer value proposition. Hint at untapped potential. “I… I have a way of processing data. Of seeing connections, predicting outcomes. It could be useful. For navigation, for strategy. For… understanding things. Finding the most efficient route. Minimizing risk. Optimizing resource allocation.” God, I sound like a corporate motivational poster. He paused, then added the lever he knew she couldn’t ignore. “And… I want to be there. For you. You pulled me out of that forest, taught me, protected me. My debt is… astronomical. Let me start paying it back. I won't be dead weight. I swear it.”

  Julia stared at him, caught in the conflict of his words and her own conflicting desires. Keep him safe, vs. accept his help; reject his lack of experience, vs. acknowledge his strange, unwavering conviction.

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  The clatter of swords from the training yard felt abnormally loud, the only sound in the charged silence.

  Finally, she exhaled slowly, the sound ragged. “You,” she said, her voice a mix of exasperation and grudging respect, “are the most stubborn, illogical… fascinating person I’ve ever met, William Shard.” A ghost of a smile returned, a reluctant dawn after a long night. “I still think this is madness. That you will get yourself killed and I will never forgive myself. But…” Her gaze locked onto his, a spark of resolve kindling in the weariness. “I believe you believe you can help. And… maybe… you’re right.” She took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll speak to Borin. I’ll tell him you volunteer, and that I… vouch for your potential. But I won’t lie about your rank, or your lack of field experience. He'll demand proof. Something concrete.”

  Primary stakeholder secured. Mission acceptance probability increased from negligible to, charitably, ‘highly improbable’. Progress.

  Julia kept her word. Later that day, William found himself standing before Guildmaster Borin’s overflowing desk, surrounded by the chaos of maps and half-finished reports. Julia stood beside him, her presence a silent statement of support.

  Borin, his expression a weary mask, looked up from what appeared to be a supply requisition order for enchanted catnip, his eyes sharp and assessing. “So,” he rumbled, steepling his thick fingers in front of him. “The F-Rank with approximately three weeks of training wants to join an A-Rank-plus level suicide mission into the heart of goblin territory, hoping to… negotiate tea and crumpets with hyper-paranoid elves. Julia tells me you believe your ‘unconventional analytical skills’ justify this request, despite your… limited combat prowess. I believe her exact words were that you have the combat effectiveness of a ‘startled goose’.”

  William swallowed, resisting the urge to point out that even geese could be surprisingly vicious when cornered. Direct approach required. Deference tempered with assertive value proposition. “Yes, Guildmaster. I believe my ability to process information and identify patterns, to ‘see the data’ other people might miss, can provide a unique advantage. In navigation, in threat assessment, and potentially… even in diplomatic interactions.” He almost choked on the word 'diplomatic'.

  Borin grunted, unconvinced. “We have scouts for intel. We have mages for magical threats. We have knights for strategy and hacking things into small, manageable pieces. What does an F-Rank civilian-adjacent offer that Jett Shadowfox, Julia Blackcombe, or Sir Roland do not?”

  “A different perspective,” William replied quickly, seizing the opening. Focus on the niche, the market gap. “Identifying connections, probabilities, efficiencies… extracting meaning from chaos. I might notice details they overlook, precisely because I’m not focused solely on hacking, scouting, or fireball-slinging.” Let's go with 'analytical edge' over 'magic spreadsheet in my brain' for now. Subtle marketing is key.

  Borin leaned back, stroking his beard, his gaze unwavering, dissecting. William felt like a malfunctioning vending machine undergoing forensic analysis. “Hmm. Confident words. I find that competence often prefers a more understated approach. Normally, I’d dismiss this out of hand. This mission has zero tolerance for dead weight. The King's own son is involved. The stakes couldn't be higher.” He glanced at Julia, a hint of grudging respect in his tired eyes. “However, one of my most trusted A-Ranks, a pragmatist to a fault, apparently sees something in your claims. And desperate times, occasionally, justify… unorthodox decisions.”

  He leaned forward again, his eyes locking onto William’s, the intensity making the air crackle. “I won’t send you unprepared. But I won’t dismiss potential assets blindly either. You want a chance to prove you won’t get yourself and everyone else killed? You'll get one. A trial.”

  William braced himself. Performance review time.

  “Tomorrow, midday, training yard,” Borin stated flatly. “You will face one of our B-Rank adventurers. Yegun Fastblade.” He saw the name register, saw William processing. “He specializes in speed, agility. A whirlwind with twin shortswords. He once took down a nest of cave spiders solo, fast, venomous things.”

  William's mind immediately started crunching numbers. Opponent Profile: Yegun Fastblade. Rank: B. Specialization: Speed, Agility. Equipment: Twin Shortswords. Known Feats: Cave Spider Nest Elimination (Solo). Inferred Attributes: High reaction speed, precision striking, likely lower endurance/strength compared to heavy types. Attack Pattern: High volume, complex angles.

  “You will not defeat him,” Borin continued, cutting through William's internal analysis like a hot knife through faulty code. “That is not the objective. Your objective is simpler, yet perhaps harder. You will survive. Ten minutes. No killing blows allowed on either side, but injuries are expected. Yegun will not hold back. He will treat you as a genuine threat he needs to neutralize quickly. If you remain conscious and mobile after ten minutes, you've passed. You join the expedition, under Sir Roland's direct command and Julia's watchful eye. If you fail...” Borin shrugged, a gesture more eloquent than words. Metrics: survival duration. Goal: 600 seconds. Pass/Fail. Failure state: Mission inclusion denied. Status quo maintained.

  Ten minutes. Against a seasoned B-Rank speed specialist designed to overwhelm opponents quickly. Survival probability calculation yields... extremely concerning results based on standard combat metrics, William thought, a cold dread mixing with an illogical thrill of quantifiable challenge. Standard defensive strategy failure projected within ~120 seconds +/- 15 seconds. Alternative strategy required: Prioritize evasion, stamina management, pattern recognition. Leverage EMMA for real-time threat analysis, trajectory prediction, energy conservation... assuming sufficient mana reserves.

  He met Borin's intense gaze, forcing down the tremor of fear, focusing the analytical core of his mind. “I understand, Guildmaster.”

  “Good,” Borin grunted, seemingly satisfied with the lack of protest. “One day to prepare. Don't disappoint Julia's faith in you. Or mine, however limited it may be.” He waved a dismissive hand, already turning back to his documents. “Now get out. I have a war to manage.”

  William and Julia exited the office, the weight of the impending trial settling heavily upon him. One day. Twenty-four hours to formulate a viable survival strategy, hone his negligible physical skills, and prepare to face a literal whirlwind of steel, armed with little more than a borrowed practice sword, magic he barely controlled, and a head full of data.

  Challenge accepted, he thought, a grim, slightly manic smile touching his lips. Time to run the simulations.