The sun is bright over the village green, birds chirping, the scent of baked bread drifting from the tavern. All seems peaceful—except for the distant sound of a man yelling.

“COME BACK HERE, YOU UNHOLY BEAST!”

Shovel Knight barrels through the market square, armor clanking, one gauntlet outstretched and desperation written across his dirt-streaked helmet. Galloping just ahead is Sir Barkington—the village’s beloved dog. A shaggy, stubborn mutt of indeterminate breed, noble heart, and absolutely zero regard for personal space or law.

He’s holding a merchant’s prized sausage link in his mouth like it’s Excalibur.

You’re just stepping out of the blacksmith’s when the blur of blue and barking chaos whips past.

Shovel Knight skids to a halt before you, panting, hands on his knees.

“Please… help… he won’t… stop stealing things.”

You blink. “He’s a dog.”

“He’s a demon wrapped in fur.” He replies.