CHAPTER 107

  A RECRUITMENT OFFER

  Someone getting a one-up on him, it was unacceptable for Hans. It was his true nature that didn’t allow anyone to walk over him. It made him furious.

  The kind of cold, calculated rage that didn’t shout or burn—but simmered. He’d been humiliated once, knocked out and bested. Theodred would’ve not minded. But Hans ran on pride and he wasn’t about to let that go unanswered.

  Then, finally, the trap he set bore fruit. Three of them—his original target and two more. It wasn’t a full nest, but enough to break the chain.

  This time, he had designed the trap. And this time, heads were set to roll.

  He struck fast. Swift, clean, efficient. The three robbers barely had time to realise what was happening before they hit the dirt, unconscious. Hans signalled the nearest guard post. Though far from the capital, this barony still respected order—and more importantly, the sword he was carrying.

  Being Queen Reina’s student gave him authority higher than the local lord.

  He’d been away for over ten days now. Long enough that Chris and Delimira were probably already back. He cursed under his breath, thinking the possibilities of Nym and her new minions might steal this thunder from him.

  After the guard knights dragged the culprit, Hans followed.

  A creaking iron door slammed shut behind him as he went into the prison’s lower level. The air was thick with sweat, piss, and fear.

  He pulled up a chair in front of the first captive, turned it backward, and sat.

  His voice was low, controlled, and dangerous.

  “Name. Address.”

  The thug gulped. He saw the chain of events unspooling behind Hans’s dead-white eyes and chose to comply.

  “S-Simon. North quarter, Dock Lane—”

  CRACK.

  Hans’s aura-laced slap threw the man sideways in the chair, blood smearing down his lip.

  “I don’t give a shit who you are,” Hans growled. “Who. Hired. You?”

  Simon froze, mouth shut.

  “Wrong answer.”

  Without blinking, Hans stood up, unsheathed Reina’s sword, and split the man next to him from shoulder to waist in one merciless stroke.

  The blade didn’t even slow down.

  Blood sprayed across the cell.

  Even the veteran guards flinched.

  They were used to chasing pickpockets and petty crooks. Not... this.

  Hans turned back to the remaining two, his smile unsettlingly bright. “I only need one of you. So whoever talks first lives. Simple.”

  The air thickened with panic.

  Simultaneously, the two thugs shouted, “I’ll tell!”

  Hans held up a hand. “Separate them.” He ordered.

  The veteran stepped forward, but followed the script Hans had given him earlier. He played his part well.

  “One of them already confessed,” the guard lied coldly, “so if your story matches his, you live. If not…”

  The two prisoners, now isolated, hearing that the other confessed, broke faster than dry twigs. They both gave the same name: Neftari. A merchant. Smart. Ruthless. He had hired them to eliminate a rival merchant—then staged his own shops getting robbed to cover it up.

  Calculated and clean.

  Hans passed the report to Reina that evening. For what goddamn reasons that fool of a merchant did this dirty deed, he didn’t care. All he knew was Reina held up her hand. She didn’t shadow him, not even ask to report daily.

  As fragile as it was. There was a bit of trust she showed. And Hans aimed for that.

  But it doesn’t hurt to visit this Neftari.

  Asking his address, Theodred reached his mansion. Comparable to a secured castle, but that castle was rotting. The smell, it was of iron and ash as if a firestorm had passed through, wrecking everything.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Cracked stone, charred black. Banners burned, faded. A stronghold sold to a merchant now turned to nothing.

  What happened here? Did he step on someone’s toes other than me?

  But Theodred wasn’t there for history. He just came to check the man. Him turning to human might have stirred his curious mind. He just went there to satisfy it.

  All he wanted to have a look at the merchant who played king in the dark, murdering for coin, hiding behind pawns and shadows.

  Hans—no, Theodred—stood before the coal-turned gates, golden hair tied back, Reina’s sword at his side, aura tightly controlled.

  The wind whispered a warning.

  He ignored it.

  Inside the ruins, Neftari's scent was faint—already on the move.

  Then, a voice echoed behind. Smooth. Calm. Sharp as steel.

  “That’s quite the walk you made, Elf.”

  Theodred turned.

  He hadn’t heard the man approach.

  Yet, a man stood atop the broken outer walls at his back, shadowed by the moon. Jet-black armour clung to his form like a second skin. A crimson mantle flowed behind him, untouched by the breeze.

  He dropped down.

  Effortlessly.

  Like gravity was his friend.

  Dusting his gloves, he said without care, “You’ve been hunting. Quite the mess you’ve made on your way here.”

  Theodred’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t with Neftari?”

  The man in armour smiled wider. “Gods, no. The man’s a worm. But even worms have their uses.”

  He stepped forward.

  The air changed instantly. Crisp. Warmer.

  Alarmed, Theodred tensed instantly. His body recognised something before his mind could.

  This man—he is above the leagues of Grandpa and Dijkstra—heck, even Homar might’ve a hard time.

  He gulped. The man before him wasn’t even a warlord, yet he made him stiffen.

  And then his body’s warning turned true.

  A surge of pressure made the stone beneath their feet crack. The man’s aura was suffocating, as if the air around them was burned— like he stood at the foot of a mountain that could collapse on him any second.

  “You are Theodred.” The man spoke, studying him. “The Queen’s little project. Word spreads.”

  Hans didn’t answer. He couldn’t, yet his hand reached for the hilt of his blade.

  “Good. You’re not stupid. Most people talk too much before they die.”

  Then, a whisper of steel.

  The man drew his sword.

  It wasn’t ornate. No gold, no runes. Just plain cold steel. But the edge of it—wrong. Like it didn’t cut through reality so much as it cut out.

  “I came for Neftari,” Theodred said quietly. “Not you.”

  The man rolled his shoulders. “And yet…here we are.”

  “You plan to stop me?”

  “I plan to see what you’re made of.”

  Theodred didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. When every pore of his body screamed to run. He moved his blade first.

  Speed.

  A blur of motion, wind erupting beneath his feet. The sword swung in a high arc, glowing with condensed aura—first, second, and third skill ignited in unison. A strike meant to sever anything.

  Clang!

  The man caught it one-handed. “Faster than the rumours.” He pushed.

  Theodred stumbled back, boots sliding across the stone. The man hadn’t even activated his aura but advanced.

  Each step was calm. Measured. Inevitable.

  Theodred dashed again—this time, low. A feint to the ribs, flipped into an upward cut aimed for the jaw.

  The man leaned just enough to dodge.

  Then slammed a knee into Theodred’s gut.

  Crack!

  Something cracked—either bone or pride. Theodred flew back, coughing blood.

  “Speed isn’t enough if the gap is this wide.” The man commented.

  Wiping the blood Theodred stood with a bit of struggle. “You talk a lot for someone not interested in morals.”

  The man laughed, “fair point.” He turned serious, he swung his sword once—not at Theodred, but at the air itself.

  Andromeda, he called.

  A fissure appeared in the ground behind Theodred. He didn’t dare turn. The difference was clear. He couldn’t withstand this as a direct attack, so when the opponent wasn’t taking him seriously, it was the perfect time to strike.

  He dashed—this time using Maximacre’s passive, his strikes so fast they blurred into a buzzsaw of motion.

  Blades clashed. Again and again. Sparks flew like shooting stars. The castle shook from the impact of each exchange.

  But the man was calm; Theodred wasn’t.

  Goddamn it. My damn curiosity. Just how many times I’ve to be in fuckup situation to learn not to act on it. Hans cursed.

  Then, he got caught by the wrist in mid-strike. And with a flick—

  BOOM!

  Theodred was thrown through the castle wall. Dust and rock swallowed him.

  Silence followed, and the man didn’t move. He just sheathed his sword and looked up at the moon.

  Moments later, Theodred limped out of the rubble. His aura was flickering, barely holding. Blood ran down his brow. But he stood.

  He stood.

  The man’s smile widened.

  “You’ll do.”

  He turned.

  “Neftari’s hiding in the lower vaults. I already got what I needed from him.”

  Theodred narrowed his eyes, similar to Reina’s expression. “Then why protect him?”

  “I wasn’t. I was waiting for you. When your charade of being Reina’s disciple is over and you want to step into an adult’s step, come find us.” The man threw a medallion, a sigil inscribing a shadow covering a sun.

  “ECLIPSE” Theodred raised his bloodied face.

  “Yes, if you follow the code. You’ll find meaning in our work.”

  “Who are you?”

  “The name is Adrian.”

  And then—

  He vanished.

  No aura.

  No trace.

  Gone.

  Theodred dropped to a knee, panting.

  He didn’t win.

  Not even close.

  The medallion of Eclipse clasped hard in his hand. He survived. But that wasn’t enough.