They never saw his face.


    Only the aftermath.


    A corpse pile where six bounty squads had failed.


    A silent black figure slipping through mana mines like wind through reeds.


    A sword with no enchantments, no legacy—just a cut that never missed.


    The Underworld called him Ghost.


    A perfect alias.


    Because no one could prove he was real.


    <hr>


    The Friends He Didn''t Ask For


    The Vaults weren’t empty.


    Not just monsters.


    Not just mercs.


    But people.


    Flickering shapes with dirt-slicked armor and names carved out of fear.


    And from that darkness, Caelan gained something he hadn’t expected:


    Loyalty.


    Real ones.


    They only knew him as Ghost or Vaal. Never "Caelan." Never "Cadet."


    And that was the only reason they trusted him.


    <hr>


    1. Lenna "Ashlock" Virein


    Ex-royal assassin. Burned her sigil. Works for Vault 6 now.


    Saw Ghost drop three echo-golems in one breath.


    “He’s not from here,” she told her team. “But he walks like someone who owns death.”


    Started covering his missions from afar. No charge.


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    Only rule: Don''t follow him. Just let him finish.


    <hr>


    2. Darrik the Chain-Tongue


    Info broker. Scar across his mouth. Talks through vibration glyphs etched into his collarbone.


    Started tracking Vaal’s money lines out of curiosity.


    “Who the hell funds rebel cells, starving miners, and banned mage guilds—without asking for return?”


    No one knew.


    Until a note arrived. No name. Just a pouch of gold and a single line:


    “Buy yourself back.” —Vaal


    Darrik cried for the first time in twenty years.


    Now he spreads Vaal’s influence like a prophet with nothing left to lose.


    <hr>


    3. The Twins: Brel & Sarin


    No past. No records. Ghost found them bleeding out during a cleanup run—hired mercs had left them to die.


    He didn''t say a word.


    Just cut them free and walked off.


    Now they shadow him when they can. Intercept contracts on his name. Silence anyone who tries to trace his identity.


    “He gave us a second life. So we kill the past for him.”


    <hr>


    The Fire Beneath the Stone


    Ghost.


    A whisper in back-alleys. A name muttered before dying.


    Black-cloaked. No team. No failure.


    The underground feared him.


    But Vaal?


    Vaal became a legend.


    He funded orphanage-rebuilders in plague zones.


    Gave bailout coin to mercenaries whose squads had died.


    Broke monopolies held by minor noble puppet-guilds.


    No requests.


    No appearance.


    Just money with impact.


    Vaal was believed to be a radical heir. A ghost prince. A forgotten branch from the royal tree.


    But the truth?


    The truth was a nineteen-year-old cadet with cracked boots and calloused hands. A sword forged from junk. A heart that refused to kneel.


    <hr>


    Rumors Spark. Then Detonate.


    Within months:


    Gang leaders in the lower rings claimed Vaal funded their rebellion.


    Enforcers refused to take hits if the target was associated with Ghost.


    Vault brokers started printing Ghost tokens—silver-plated chips stamped with a cracked blade. Worth triple the coin of normal bounties, because people believed Ghost only took the impossible jobs.


    <hr>


    Back in the Academy


    Caelan sat on the edge of his bed.


    A message stone buzzed quietly inside his jacket. He opened it.


    “Another bounty posted on Ghost. 18,000 marks. Funny how no one dares to take it.”


    – Darrik


    He smirked once. Closed it.


    But the smile faded quickly.


    He wasn’t just hiding anymore.


    Now, he was becoming something.


    And if the Underworld kept growing the myth—


    He’d either have to kill it himself…


    Or become the thing they feared.