Chapter 5: The Gospel of Insurance

The next morning, Kael lounged behind his stall like a lord on a throne. His pouch of silver sat beside him, spilling coins across the counter. The hatchling snored on its back, stubby claws twitching as it dreamed, occasionally squeaking, “Bok…”

Kael stroked his chin, eyes gleaming. “Bandages, tea, candles—these are good. But too small. Petty coins. I need… steady income. Residuals. Something that drains wallets every month.”

He stood, slamming his palm on the counter, startling the hatchling awake. “Insurance! Yes! That’s the future! Dragon Insurance!”

The villagers nearby turned their heads. “Dragon… what now?”

Kael leapt onto his stall, arms spread wide. “Imagine this, my loyal flock. Dragons are dangerous. Homes burned, crops destroyed, livestock devoured! Truly, the terror of our age!”

The villagers gasped and clutched each other. Someone whispered, “But Saint Kael, aren’t you raising a dragon?”

Kael pointed at the hatchling, which sneezed and rolled onto its face. “Exactly! Who knows dragons better than me? Only I, your humble saint, can protect you from such calamity! For a small monthly fee, I guarantee your homes, fields, and goats will never be burned by dragon fire!”

The villagers blinked. One farmer raised a hand. “But, Saint Kael… there aren’t any dragons in this region.”

Kael smiled sweetly. “And why do you think that is?”

A stunned silence. Then heads started nodding. “Ah… because of him!”

“He’s keeping them away!”

“Truly a miracle!”

Coins began clinking again. Pouches opened. Soon half the village was signing on to Kael’s freshly inked Dragon Protection Plan.

I nearly spat my drink laughing. “Oh, that’s brilliant. He’s selling protection from a threat that doesn’t even exist. Kael, you’ve officially invented anxiety as a business model.”

Kael raised a finger proudly. “Not invented—perfected. And wait until you hear about the premium plan.”

The hatchling wobbled onto the counter, flapped its stubby wings, and squeaked, “Bok!”

Kael grinned. “Exactly, my heir. Bok be praised… and profits be doubled.

The bell above Kael’s stall rattled weakly — though no one had hung a bell there. In fact, the sound came from the armored heap that just collapsed at the edge of the square.

The villagers gasped. A knight, dented helmet and battered breastplate, staggered upright. Dust and shame clung to him like a second skin. His voice was cracked but carried that stiff, knightly tone:

“Good… people… fear not. Sir Kriv of Darram yet stands… to protect the weak… and uphold justice…”

He promptly tripped over his own scabbard and faceplanted in the dirt.

Kael’s eyes lit up like a merchant spotting a dropped coin. An armored man? With credibility? He wasn’t seeing a knight. He was seeing a billboard with legs.

“Good sir!” Kael cried, sweeping forward dramatically. “What a tragic sight! A noble knight brought so low!”

Kriv, groaning, pushed himself to one knee. “I… am not low. Merely… temporarily bankrupt. My lands were seized, my order disbanded, my horse… repossessed.” His voice cracked at the last word. “But still! I have my honor. And my sword.”

Kael crouched beside him, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And… would you like a steady paycheck?”

Kriv blinked. “…Paycheck?”

Kael grinned, teeth glinting. “Yes! For you, noble knight, I offer not mere employment… but opportunity. Become the face of Kael’s Dragon Insurance! March proudly through the land as proof that even knights trust my miracles!”

The villagers whispered in awe. “A knight? With Saint Kael?”

“This is destiny!”

“Bok be praised!”

The hatchling squeaked proudly on the stall: “Bok!”

Kriv hesitated, torn between dignity and desperation. “…I… cannot cheapen my oath… cannot…”

Kael laid a hand on his shoulder, expression solemn, saintly. “Sir Kriv, think not of yourself. Think of the weak you swore to protect. Would they not sleep easier knowing their homes are safe under the wing of Dragon Insurance?”

The knight’s lip trembled. His empty stomach growled.

“…Very well,” he whispered. “For the people… I shall lend my blade.”

Kael’s grin stretched wider. “Splendid! Welcome to the team. Just sign here, here, and here—standard employee agreement. Oh, and of course, there’s a small enrollment fee for your exclusive employee insurance package.”

Kriv stared at the parchment. “…You’re charging me to work for you?”

Kael clasped his hand, eyes shining with fake tears. “Not charging. Investing.”

I nearly fell off my cloud from laughing. “Oh no. He’s done it. He’s found the one man in Eryndor dumb enough to pay to have a job. Kriv, my boy, kiss your honor goodbye—it’s about to be traded in for store credit.

By dawn the next day, the village square had a new attraction. Sir Kriv of Darram — once a proud knight, now very much an unpaid intern — stood tall in his armor.

Or at least, what was left of it.

Kael had “improved” the battered plates with paint, cloth banners, and hastily nailed-on wooden signs. Across Kriv’s chestplate, in bright red letters, it read:

PROTECTED BY KAEL’S DRAGON INSURANCE™

On his shield, Kael had scrawled:

ASK ME ABOUT OUR PREMIUM PLANS!

And dangling from his helmet plume, a tiny cloth dragon flopped in the wind, squeaking whenever Kriv turned his head too fast.

The villagers gathered, murmuring in awe. “Look! A knight, sworn to Kael!”

“Even warriors of justice trust the saint’s miracles!”

“Bok be praised!”

The hatchling, sitting on Kael’s shoulder, squeaked right on cue: “Bok!”

Kael clapped his hands. “Yes, yes! Behold my most loyal… brand ambassador! This noble knight, this paragon of honor, now walks as living proof of my benevolence. Truly, can you doubt the safety of Dragon Insurance when even he carries the banner?”

Kriv’s jaw tightened beneath his helmet. “This… does not feel dignified.”

Kael patted his armored shoulder, coins jingling in his pouch. “Nonsense! You are more dignified than ever. Why, before, you were a mere knight. But now? Now you are a knight of commerce. A shining paladin of profit!”

Kriv exhaled through his nose like a bull, but didn’t protest. His stomach was full for the first time in weeks, thanks to Kael’s “employee meal plan” (bread crusts and tea water). That alone was enough to keep him standing there while villagers admired him like a holy statue.

I floated above, cackling into my drink. “This is incredible. He’s turned a starving knight into a sandwich board with a sword. Oh, Kriv… honor is worth many things, but apparently Kael bought yours for the price of lunch.”

Kael threw an arm around Kriv’s plated shoulders, grinning at the crowd. “Remember, good people! If your homes burn, your crops fail, or your goats vanish mysteriously—don’t worry. Sir Kriv will personally uphold the honor of your Dragon Insurance policy!”

Kriv groaned. “…What does that mean, exactly?”

Kael leaned close, whispering in his ear. “It means if anyone complains, you handle it.”

Kriv groaned louder.

It didn’t take long. Barely a day after the grand launch of Dragon Insurance™, a farmer stormed into the square, red-faced and sweaty, dragging along a goat on a fraying rope.

“Saint Kael!” the farmer bellowed. “I demand you honor my policy!”

The villagers gasped. A complaint? Against the saint? Unthinkable!

Kael leaned casually against his stall, sipping Miracle Grass Tea from a dainty cup, utterly unfazed. “My good man, please. Lower your voice. You’ll disturb the sanctity of the marketplace.”

The farmer shoved the goat forward. “This demon ate my wife’s laundry right off the line! Half our clothes are ruined! And I bought your Goat Fire Coverage!”

Kael blinked once. “Ah. Yes. Goat Fire Coverage.” He turned to Kriv, whispering, “Did I… sell that?”

Kriv, mortified, nodded. “You… improvised it yesterday when someone asked if their goats could burn down a house.”

Kael snapped his fingers. “Right! Excellent plan, if I may say so.” He turned back to the farmer with the kindest, most benevolent smile in all of Eryndor. “Alas, friend, your policy clearly states: covered only in cases of spontaneous goat combustion.”

The farmer gaped. “Spontan—?!”

Kael tapped the goat’s head gently. “And as you can see, your goat is very much not on fire. Healthy, chewing, alive. Beautiful creature, really. Tragic about the laundry, but tragically… not insured.”

The crowd murmured. Some frowned. The farmer trembled with rage. “You—you swindler! This is fraud!”

Kael placed a hand on his chest, eyes wide with theatrical horror. “Fraud? Me? Sir, I am but a humble saint, offering peace of mind to all who seek it. If your expectations were… unreasonable, that is hardly the fault of the contract.”

He whipped out a parchment that definitely hadn’t existed ten seconds ago. In huge, looping letters it read:

Clause 13: Goat Fire Coverage is Null and Void if Goat is Not On Fire.

The farmer sputtered. “That’s— that’s nonsense!”

Kael raised his chin proudly. “Ah, but it is legally binding nonsense. And who, may I remind you, enforces these contracts?”

He gestured dramatically to Kriv, who stood there like a knightly statue covered in advertisements.

The farmer looked between them, pale now.

Kriv, mortified, muttered under his breath, “This… this cannot be honor.”

Kael clapped his armored back so hard his helmet rattled. “Nonsense, my good knight! You are the shield of justice for all paying customers! If this man refuses the word of the contract…” He leaned in close, voice dripping shameless glee, “…you may consider him a threat to our business integrity.”

The crowd gasped again. Kriv froze. The farmer stammered. The goat chewed laundry.

And I? I nearly choked on my wine. “Oh, Kael. You’ve turned a knight into a debt collector. This isn’t honor—it’s… it’s capitalism in armor! Hah!”

Kael raised his arms, radiant, smiling wide enough to blind the sun. “Remember, good people! Saint Kael’s Dragon Insurance protects all—except those who cannot read the fine print. Bok be praised!”

The hatchling squeaked proudly: “Bok!”

And the villagers, gods help them, echoed: “Bok be praised!

⸻

End of Chapter 5.

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