《Shadows Over Arcadia》


 The Unwanted Prince

    I am Ren Drakemore, the unwanted second prince of the kingdom of Arcadia.


    Arcadia is a very small but powerful kingdom on the southeastern shore of the known world. It''s lands include 9 villages, the Forest of Erwin to the west, the Ebony Hights mountains to the north, the Azure Sea to the east, and the crescent hills to the south. In the center of their lands lies the Dragon''s Cradle, a wide valley spotted with villages and wrapped in a patchwork of farmlands. In the very center of the Dragon''s Cradle lies the esteemed capital of Arcadia, Cairndorn. The capital is home to the world''s greatest magical school which has taught 80% of the world''s mages. Aspiring mages travel to Arcadia from faraway lands at great expense to hone their craft and hopefully graduate with the coveted Arcadian School of Magic certification.


    I am the second prince in the Drakemore royal family that leads this prosperous and influential kingdom. However, in my first five years of life i have yet to leave the secluded portion of the castle I was banished to. Most people in the kingdom have never seen me and have no idea my father even had a second son.


    My mother mysteriously died the day I was born. The kingdom''s best healers did everything they could to revive the queen to no avail. None of them could even identify the cause of her death. She wasn''t injured and she wasn''t sick. It seemed as though her life force had just disappeared. Some say I was the curse, but I don''t know what to believe.


    My father, the king, blames me for the death of my mother. He refused to talk to me and has avoided even being in the same room with me my entire life so far. If anyone were brave enough to ask him, he''d tell them himself. He avoids me like a plague but I see the hate in his eyes on the rare occasions we''ve crossed paths.


    His hate for me was so much that he banished me to a tower in the royal castle right after i was born. He left me in the care of Lady Willow, and that''s been my world ever since. Lady Willow has been my only companion, teacher, friend or family I''ve ever known. I have a brother, the crown prince Charles Drakemore, but like my father he has never been a part of my life.


    It''s not fair that I was banished and ignored for something I didn''t do.


    Lady Willow is the only one who''s ever been there for me. She is a beautiful woman, tall, slender, with silver hair, pale white skin and shockingly blue eyes. Looking at her you might think she was blessed by the gods, or that she might be an angel who came down to earth. She''s not a regular maid, though. I figured that out pretty early. She works diligently but seems to never tire. Nothing seems able to disrupt her calm and sweet dominar. However, after spending so much time with her I''ve become more and more aware that the gentle smile and kind eyes she wears are just the mask she wears.


    Occasionally I catch glimpses of the cold calculating face peeking out through the mask. Deep down I could sense there was something inhuman about her. When I finally asked her what she was, she confirmed by suspicions. She told me she is what is called a Fae. She explained that the Fae like her are ancient spirits born of nature that possess powerful magic. She told me the Fae operate by forming contracts with mortals, offering miracles in return for things of comparable value. The reason she has taken care of me is because she had been contracted to protect me. The fact that she is a Fae is a secret between she and I. The human form she appears as is an illusion, and I have never seen her true form. I don''t know who made the contract with her or why, but I am grateful they did. Without her I would probably have died a long time ago.


    It''s lonely, though. No one else talks to me. The servants avoid me, the nobles pretend I don''t exist, and even my own brother hates me and won''t come near me. My brother Charles has countless aids, servants and retainers taking care of his every need. He is only a year and a half older than me but he lives a completely different life.


    He is free to travel anywhere in the kingdom. He is always surrounded by sycophantic friends, kids from important noble families like Eric Fobos, Yuri Ristrose and Nathan Ambrose who seem to follow him everywhere. Eric Fobos'' father is the head of the Kingdom''s merchant guild and holds a huge influence over the nation''s economy. Yuri Ristrose''s father is the top general at the head of the Acadian Military. I don''t know what Nathan Ambrose''s family controls but it is clear from how many servants they have, and his father''s title of Count, that they are very influential as well. They''re always around him, laughing, playing and making mischief. I can see them sometimes from my window when they''re harassing the servants, roaming freely to and from the city and training in the courtyard.


    Unlike me, my brother is free to do anything, and he uses that freedom to throw rocks at slaves.


    I''ve never been allowed to leave the tower. You could say it is both my home and my prison. Any time I''ve asked to leave Lady Willow would say I have no reason to leave, I have everything I need right here. She says there''s so much to learn here, and she''s right. She''s been teaching me magic since I was three years old. Most kids my age don''t know a single spell, but those kids don''t have a Fae as a tutor. Willow says it''s important for me to learn as early as possible. She says the more I practice, the more powerful I''ll become. Lady Willow''s singular interest is to keep me safe. Everything she teaches to make me stronger is to that end. That is why she started teaching me magic so young, when most kids were still trying to get a hold of not pooping their pants.


    I mastered that skill as well in case you were wondering.


    At first, I could only make small things using magic¡ªblocks of stone or wood formed from mana. I''d stack them, then knock them down with a wave of my hand. Simple, but it was a start. By the time I turned four, I could make simple barriers and move objects around in the air. Now, at age 5, I''m working on a fun new project. I am making puppets to play with. I crafted a wooden body with fully articulated limbs that I can control with magic. The only toys I have are things I am able to craft using my own magic.


    I swear I''m not doing this because I am desperately lonely.


    I spend hours each day trying to improve my wooden puppet. It''s roughly my same height and size, and I''ve enchanted it with a copy of my own mind. The enchantment creates a puppet temporarily controlled by a version of me, with all my knowledge and memories. When enchanted I fill them with a portion of my mana. While the puppet is active it slowly consumes that mana until it is depleted. Once depleted the copy of my consciousness returns to me, bringing along with it all the memories the puppet experienced. For me, it feels as though I remember experiencing everything the puppet did, without having done them myself.


    Right now, it can only do basic things, like turning the pages of a book or walking around. It''s not much but it''s still progressing. I can''t control it if it''s too far away, and it can''t do anything complicated yet. However, the more I practice, the better I can control them. Someday, I''ll be able to make puppets that can do all sorts of things, and maybe then, I''ll be able to see more of the world beyond this tower.


    After working on my puppet, I sat down with Lady Willow for tea on the second floor of my tower. It''s quiet, just like always. The workshop is below us, filled with magical equipment and books piled high. I''ve read a lot of them, but there are still so many more to go through. From here, I can see out the window to the castle courtyard. Charles is there again, training in swordsmanship with the castle guards, while the king watches proudly. I wish he''d look at me that way. I wish he''d care about my training, or at least cared I existed.


    But he doesn''t. And I guess that''s just how things are.


    After tea, I go back to studying. Today, I''m reading World Bestiary Vol. 3: Avian Predators. My puppet is sitting beside me, reading The Arcane Apothecary: Secrets of Herbal Elixirs and Remedies, Volume 2.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.I asked my puppet, "How are you doing?" It turns its head, looks at me, then turns back to its book and flips a page.


    I guess that means he''s good? I definitely need to work on giving him the ability to speak.


    As I flip through the pages of my bestiary, I stop on one entry¡ªthe Razor Wing Hawk. An idea came to me.


    What if I could make a hawk-shaped puppet? I could fly it over the castle walls and see more of the world outside.


    I love the idea of being able to experience flight through a bird''s eyes. However, based on my pal here''s performance so far, I am far from ready to make a working bird. When I am not fiddling with my puppets or practicing magic with Lady Willow, I fill my days with reading.


    The first floor of my tower is lined with bookshelves packed with a disorganized collection of tomes on every subject imaginable. In the center of the floor are tables and desks with a scattered assortment of magical trinkets, tools and piles of more books.


    These books are my most treasured items. They are my only glimpse into the world outside my castle and beyond the view from my windows. I consume them voraciously as though starved of knowledge, trying to learn as much as I can as fast as I can.


    In a way, books are my only friends. Which is just as pathetic as it sounds.


    Lady Willow is always nearby when I study, dusting the shelves or bringing me snacks. Whenever I come across something I don''t understand, she''s there to explain it. She''s lived well over 5000 years and acquired an immense amount of knowledge. In fact, all of the books in the tower were apparently brought here by her. I''ve even come across a few handwritten grimoires that I suspect were written by Willow herself. She has lived many human lifetimes and watched nations rise and fall. I am pretty lucky to have her teaching me.


    Once I finish my reading, it''s time for magic practice. I go with Lady Willow to an empty room on the fourth floor and start casting spells until I can''t cast anymore. I do this every day¡ªpushing myself to the point of exhaustion. My mana capacity grows a tiny bit higher with each spell I cast. At the same time my spells become more refined and more powerful the more I practice. Willow says it''s important for me to focus on learning precise control of my spells first, before learning powerful destructive spells.


    Most kids my age don''t practice magic, but If they did, they wouldn''t be taught how to set things on fire.


    Lady Willow told me it was important that I learn to use magic as early as possible. It''s all part of her plan to keep me safe, she says. As far as I am aware, no one has tried to harm me yet, but Willow seems to believe that may change when I am older.


    Right now, I''m only allowed to practice defensive and creation spells¡ªnothing dangerous. However, no matter what kind of spell I cast, the increase of mana capacity and control over my spells will improve my ability to use any spell I learn in the future. So, by practicing safer spells now, I improve my ability to use combat spells in the future.


    I spent over an hour summoning a stream of water into a bucket and then evaporating that water with a stream of hot air. I cast those two spells repeatedly in succession until I depleted my mana and passed out on the floor. Then Lady Willow gently picked me up and carried me away to recover on a large couch on the 1st floor.


    Fully depleting my mana leaves me so exhausted that I can barely move for at least half an hour. I imagine depleting your mana like this in a real fight would probably be deadly.


    At the end of the day Lady Willow and I take our baths together in the tower''s large bathing room on the third floor. I sit quietly on the low, wooden stool in the bathing room, warm water swirling around my feet and the steam rising in soft, cloudy wisps. It was a long day of studying and magic practice. Lady Willow sat behind, slowly pouring warm water from a small basin over my head. .


    I glance down at the water, watching the light reflect off the surface in little rippling lines, my thoughts swirling as the warmth settled into my bones. The feeling of Lady Willow''s hand gently scrubbing my back makes me feel calm. I''ve known for a long time that she wasn''t human.


    However, as I developed the ability to sense the magical auras of those around me, it became clear that the Aura of my mentor Lady Willow is vastly different, and far more powerful than any humans I''ve seen. I know she is a fae, but I truthfully don''t know what that means. None of the books I''ve read about the fae included any clear description of what a fea looks like.


    However, every mention of the fae came with the same warning. "Do not trust the fae. If you make a contract with them, they will take more than you offered and make you regret what you wished for."


    "Lady Willow," I say quietly, my voice breaking the soft silence. "Can I¡­ look at you?"


    Her hand paused on my back, and I felt her gentle smile as she spoke. "Of course, Young Master Ren. You can look at me."


    "No, I mean¡­ the real you."


    The question lingered, like a candle lit in a dark room, illuminating a hidden corner I had never dared peer into before. As my magical senses sharpened day by day, I couldn''t ignore the feeling that her beautiful form was just a mask, that she was something far beyond the kind, human face she has shown me.


    She was quiet for a long moment, her hand resting on my back, but I sense a shift in the air, something deep and wild¡ªlike a forest at night, or a creature breathing quietly in the dark.


    "Alright, Ren," she said softly, her voice still gentle but carrying an edge of something deeper." But remember, our true natures aren''t found in how we look. Sometimes, the most beautiful faces hide the cruelest hearts, while the most fearsome creatures can hold the gentlest spirits."


    I watch her shadow on the wall, my small hands clutching my knees. Her silhouette began to stretch and change, the slender outline of her human form shifting and contorting into something far taller, her arms elongating and her fingers narrowing into clawed shapes. Her mouth twisted into a toothy grin that reached farther across her face than any human smile, her eyes gleaming like golden slits in the low light, but visible in her reflection in the water pooled at my feet. Massive, leathery wings unfurled from her back, casting long, dark shadows across the walls.


    My pulse starts to quicken, but I don''t turn around. I can sense the cold, dark aura rolling off her in waves, something both fearsome and terrifying. She hadn''t lied to me or hidden who she was out of malice¡ªshe had simply chosen to be someone I could trust. Her mask may be a lie, but it was a lie to protect me from fear.


    A shiver runs through me, but I sit perfectly still, staring at the strange, monstrous shadow on the wall.


    "Tell me, Young Master Ren," her voice now devoid of her gentle sweet tone, replaced by a deeper unsettling growl. "What do you think the real me is?"


    I feel my heart pound harder, and I take a steadying breath, feeling my thoughts settle as I recalled every moment she had spent with me, caring for me, teaching me, filling my days with a sense of warmth and security. She was terrifying in shadow, but in every other sense, she was the most solid and safe thing I''ve known.


    "You''re like my mother," I say finally, my voice steady. "You''ve always taken care of me, even when no one else did. You cook for me, you''re there when I''m sad, and you teach me everything I want to know. You''re... the only mother I have ever known."


    Even if later I find that Lady Willow was a dangerous monster, it would only mean that she was a dangerous monster that protected and cared for me when no one else would. She would still be less monstrous than those that abandoned me.


    For a moment, there is only silence, and I wonder if I have offended her. But then I see her shadow shifting again, folding down from the monstrous shape back to her familiar, kind form. I feel her hand on my shoulder, soft and warm, and when I look up, she has returned to her gentle human appearance, her silver hair cascading down her shoulders over her ample chest and her blue eyes filled with warmth.


    "Thank you, Ren," she whispered, smiling with something almost like pride. "You''ve seen what truly matters."

 Born From Death

    I am Willow, a fae spirit born of nature. I have walked this world for 5092 human years. To me a human life is but a passing moment, and their actions are as consequential as the labor of ants. I have seen countless kingdoms rise and fall, endless wars, and many "gods" created and slain. For those that live for eons, everything feels temporary and fickle.


    The fae like myself have been both worshiped and feared throughout the ages. Some pray to us because we can perform miracles beyond human understanding. We have been feared because those miracles always come at a cost. If you ask something of the fae you make a verbal contract and must offer something of equal value to the fae. They call the fae tricksters because many mortals fail to specify clearly what they are asking for or what they are offering in return.


    It''s true, we are known for being CREATIVE in our interpretation of vague contracts. Sure many mortals have been less than satisfied with our interpretations, but it is their fault for leaving their contracts open to interpretation.


    For instance, there was once a man consumed by unrequited love. Desperate, he begged me to make the woman of his obsession love him in return. "I would give anything," he said. So, I took his overwhelming love and transferred it to her. She fell madly in love with him, just as he had wished.


    But with his obsession lifted, he no longer felt the same and soon found love with another. Her love, however, had grown into a madness she could not control. In the end, her jealousy consumed her. She killed him, his new love, and finally, herself.


    <i>Love is a foolish mortal concept. A great many senseless things have been done in the name of love. </i>


    There was also a time when a grieving elvish mother begged me to bring her deceased son back to life. In her desperation, she offered the life of an orphaned child as payment, willing to sacrifice another''s life to restore her son''s. Ordinarily, I might have agreed, thinking that a life for a life was fair compensation. But that life was not hers to give.


    After she had slain the orphan, I did return her son to her¡ª but not as the living boy she remembered. I brought him back as an undead.


    In the end, the woman and her family met their end at the hands of the very child she had resurrected, now a twisted shadow of his former self.


    <i>Not only should your contracts with the fae be specific, but you should only offer what is your''s to give.</i>


    I once met a beastkin farmer who asked for my blessing on his harvest. In return, he offered one teacup of his blood. He was wise enough to specify the exact amount I could take, but he neglected to define the nature of the blessing he sought.


    So, I blessed his crops with supernatural growth and speed. The results were extraordinary¡ªhis fields erupted with oversized crops, growing at an unstoppable pace. But the sheer scale and speed of their growth obliterated his home and farmland, leaving him with nothing.


    <i>Ironically, the food harvested from his monstrous crops brought prosperity to his village. Yet it was a shame the farmer himself did not live to reap the rewards.</i>


    The fae are not good or evil, we are indifferent. Your concept of morality is a human construct, not relatable to the fae. How should the wolf respond when a rabbit calls it evil for being his prey? Should the wolf cease to hunt simply because the rabbit deems it unjust? To call us evil is to misunderstand us entirely¡ªjust as the rabbit misunderstands the wolf.


    We are not motivated by hate, fear, love, or any emotion. We are driven solely by the need to survive, like any other creature. The fae sustain themselves on the life force we take from mortals through the contracts we make. These contracts are essential to our existence. The life force we consume extends our lives, and we must fulfill the terms of these contracts or we perish.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    We are drawn to desperate people with strong desires. The deep longing in their hearts is a sweet aroma that calls to us. Such was the case when the Queen of Arcadia made a contract with me.


    I came to Arcadia, lured by the fervent prayers of Arin Drakemore, the Queen of the land. She was a devout worshiper of the fae, offering praise and prayers to us daily. I have no interest in the praise of lesser beings, but her desperate yearning, woven into her prayers, intrigued me.


    For some time, I dwelled at a shrine the queen had built for the fae in the exquisite gardens of her castle. I drifted among the flowerbeds, listening for her to make a request worthy of my attention. Yet, most of her prayers were filled with praise and gratitude for blessings in her life that I had no hand in granting.


    <i>Looking back, I did enjoy the time we spent together. I came to know her deeply through the thoughts, dreams, and concerns she poured into her prayers.</i>


    It wasn''t until she was pregnant with her second child that she made a request worth my effort. Her soul ached with a singular plea: that her unborn son be protected for all of his life. It seemed as though she had received a prophecy that her unborn child''s life was in danger. So she prayed to the fae to protect her unborn child''s life, but she foolishly failed to specify what she would offer in return.


    <i>Perhaps she already knew there was only one price of equivalent value she could pay. </i>


    I accepted her plea and I interpreted it in the only way I could: a life''s worth of protection for a life given in return. Life force is the price that fuels my magic; where humans use mana, I draw my power from life itself. The queen''s life force would ensure her son''s protection. So I stayed near her as she grew heavier with the child, I used my magic to soothe her, easing her discomfort, for I knew the cost she would pay. When the birth came, I was there in her bed chambers, invisible to her and her servants who were attending to her. When her son was born, I reached out and took her life force, sealing the contract. Without pain her heart stopped and the healers caring for her could do nothing to save her.


    After the child was born, her husband, King Edric Drakemore, was overcome with grief and fury. When the healers informed him that nothing could be done to save his wife, he erupted in rage, casting them and all the servants out of the room.


    Left alone with his newborn son, the king''s sorrow twisted into hatred. He turned on the infant, blaming the child for his queen''s death. In his anguish, he drew a dagger and raised it over the child, intent on ending the life of the son he believed had stolen his beloved wife from him.


    As his blade descended, I lifted my veil of invisibility and transformed myself into a human woman with silver hair, pale skin, bright blue eyes, and a beauty designed to disarm. I caught his hand, stopping the knife mere inches from the child. With a spell, I held his gaze and whispered words that bound him to my will. I commanded him to never harm this boy, to leave the child''s care entirely to me, and to provide me with a place in the castle. He would explain my sudden presence by claiming he had hired me out of his disdain for the child¡ªa convenient lie that matched his own troubled heart.


    The king''s resistance crumbled as the spell settled over him. The boy was spared, and I would honor the queen''s last plea to protect her son. Thus, my life and his became entwined, for to fail in my part of the contract would mean my death.


    I carried Ren to the abandoned tower within the castle, a place thick with dust and littered with old, discarded furniture and equipment. As I stepped across the threshold of our new home, the babe in my arms, I cast a spell to make the space livable. My magic swept through the rooms, clearing away the dust, mending the walls, replacing the broken fixtures, lighting the lamps, and filling the space with new furniture.


    I ensured the tower had everything a young child would need¡ªsoft bedding, toys, books, and food. What once was a forgotten relic became a warm sanctuary, a place where Prince Ren would grow safely and fulfill the queen''s final wish.


    As Ren grew, I became his constant companion, raising him as if he were my own. I cooked for him, taught him, and soothed his fears. Yet he does not know the full truth of what binds me to him, nor the price his birth exacted. One day, he may discover that I claimed his mother''s life to fulfill my side of the bargain. It may bring him sorrow or anger, but that is not my concern. I am only following my nature.


    <i>I remember that first day well. As I sat in a rocking chair by the hearth, nursing baby Ren, I thought of another story¡ªa tale I once heard of a mother wolf finding an orphaned rabbit. The wolf, against her nature, showed mercy and raised the rabbit as her own. That story too ended in tragedy.</i>

 The Rot

    I am Ren Drakemore, age 5, and I am the unwanted second prince of the kingdom of Arcadia.


    This morning started the same as most of my days do. I hear the gentle voice of Lady Willow calling me to wake. "Good morning young master, time for breakfast." she says. I slowly open my eyes and see her beautiful face and charming smile looking down at me as she sits on the side of my bed. She always wakes before me and prepares my breakfast before waking me. I smile and sit for a moment taking in the charitable angle of Lady Willow before sitting up.


    <i>This is a pretty good way to wake up. </i>


    "Good morning," I mumble through a yawn, stretching my arms above my head.


    I eagerly dressed myself and skipped down the spiral staircase to the second floor of the tower where Lady Willow had placed breakfast on the large dining table. Ordinarily I would find it depressing to be eating breakfast with lady willow, filling only 2 seats at a table made to sit 20.


    <i>Why do we even have a table this size when we both know I will never be having company. </i>


    However, today is going to be different. Today is going to be exciting and new. Today Lady Willow is finally going to let me leave the castle with her. She never let me leave the castle before, "for my own safety" she''d say. On more than one occasion, I''ve made a run for it, dashing out of the tower door and sprinting through the long halls of the castle like a bird that''s just discovered its wings. But it never lasted. It''s impossible to outrun someone with inhuman speed and an uncanny ability to know where I am at all times.


    I excitedly scarfed down my plate of sausage, eggs and toast. I know we aren''t leaving until later, but I can''t help rushing through my routine, as if moving faster will somehow make the time pass more quickly. Sitting beside me with her usual regal posture is Lady Willow, observing me with an amused smile. As always, she''s immaculate, her gown unwrinkled, her silver hair perfectly in place. She watches me eat with a look of quiet satisfaction, though I''ve never once seen her eat anything herself.


    <i>I assume the Fae don''t eat human food.</i>


    "Thank you for breakfast, Willow!" I say, pushing my empty plate back and hopping to my feet.


    "Of course, young master," she replies with a small nod, her voice as smooth as the notes of a harp.


    <i>Her cooking is shockingly good for someone who doesn''t eat food.</i>


    "You are very welcome," she continues, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Now, please begin your studies. You''ll have less time today due to our errands later, but that is no excuse to slack off."


    "Yes ma''am" I said as I downed a glass of water and rushed down the staircase to the first-floor workshop.


    The first floor is one very large circular room with the spiral staircase in the center. Every inch of the walls is lined with shelves stuffed to bursting with books, thousands of them, stacked not just on the shelves but also in haphazard piles on the floor. The workshop''s furniture is an eclectic collection of tables, chairs, couches, and cabinets, each seemingly plucked from a different time and place. There''s no rhyme or reason to their placement; it''s as if someone simply dropped them into the room at random and left them there. On the tables and desks are even more books, along with magical tools, odd bits of equipment, and crafting materials. At first glance, it looks like complete chaos, because it is.


    <i>Good job, well spotted.</i>


    The cluttered nature of my workshop is a direct result of Lady Willow''s tireless efforts to tutor me across an overwhelming variety of topics and disciplines. Magic, alchemy, history, anatomy, and even military strategy, each subject has claimed its own corner of this chaotic room. The various tables scattered about the space are like islands in a sea of knowledge, each dedicated to a different field of study or experiment. Much like my education, the workshop is a work in progress.


    I cross the room to one of the couches. Resting on the old, faded couch is my wooden ren sized puppet, sitting motionless with its limbs slightly askew. I kneel beside it and place my hand over its chest, my palm pressing against the cool, polished wood. Taking a deep breath, I focus my mind on the spell Lady Willow painstakingly taught me, the mind transfer enchantment.


    The incantation is silent, spoken only in the language of thought. A pale blue light begins to flow from my hand, swirling like a warm, steady breeze of concentrated mana. I feel the familiar pull as the magic anchors to the puppet''s core, connecting us.


    The moment the spell completes, the puppet''s head lifts. Its blank face tilts toward me, and though it has no eyes, I feel its awareness.


    At the same time, a heavy wave of fatigue hits me. This spell is the most advanced spell I''ve learned, and it requires a great deal of my limited mana supply. The puppet starts shifting its weight and moving its limbs as though checking its range of movement.


    "Good?" I ask rhetorically as I take my seat beside him.


    The puppet silently nodded in affirmation as it accepted the large, leather-bound book I handed it, titled <i>Ancient Farming Methods.</i> Meanwhile, I picked up my own book, <i>Medical Herbology,</i> which I''d left on a side table the night before. Both of our books bore bookmarks at our respective stopping points. We settled into our routine, reading at a steady pace.


    I know my ability to read and absorb information so quickly is far beyond what''s normal for a child of my age. Lady Willow has commented on it more than once.


    "Your ability to absorb and remember information is rare among your people," she''s said with a wry smile, her tone lightly teasing. By "your people," of course, she means humans. It''s one of her humorous habits, casually dropping the pretense of being human when it''s just the two of us.


    But my rapid learning isn''t purely natural talent. Lady Willow regularly enhances my mind with magic. Each morning, long before I wake, she casts two spells on me: <i>Thought Acceleration</i> and <i>Advanced Recall.</i> These are spells designed to sharpen focus, increase memory retention, and quicken the processing of complex information. They''re common spells, often used by scholars preparing for exams or by mages engaging in intense research, but their effects are heavily dependent on the magical capacity of the caster.


    And Lady Willow is anything but average. I don''t know exactly how powerful she is, but I suspect her magic operates on a level far beyond that of most mages in Arcadia. Her version of these spells doesn''t just last for a few hours; they last the entire day, seamlessly woven into my waking life.


    <i>The truth is, I''ve lived under their influence for so long that I''ve forgotten what it feels like to think at an unenhanced speed.</i>


    As I read about the precise methods for preparing different potions using specific combinations of herbs, I couldn''t help but let my mind wander. The text was methodical, overly detailed, and to be honest, dreadfully dry. Lady Willow had already guided me through the actual process of mixing these potions, step by meticulous step. I had measured, chopped, boiled, and stirred under her watchful eye until the techniques were burned into my memory.


    So why keep reading? Because I''m a completionist. Leaving a book unfinished feels like leaving a door half-closed, an itch I can''t ignore.


    Still, as my eyes moved across the carefully inked diagrams of herb combinations and potion grades, a significant part of my brain was already elsewhere. Specifically, it was imagining what lay beyond the tower''s windows.


    Lady Willow and I have spent several days mixing healing potions using herbs she had collected out in the nearby countryside. We had managed to produce 100 small vials of green healing potions and 50 small yellow grade 5 poison curing potions.


    All of these were now packed securely in Lady Willow''s magical storage bag. The bag was one of her most fascinating tools. Though it appeared to be an ordinary leather satchel, it could hold far more than its modest size suggested. It was enchanted to negate the weight of its contents entirely, which made it invaluable for transporting large quantities of goods.


    Her plan is for us to take those potions and sell them at the local apothecary. I''d asked why we were selling potions in the first place. After all, Lady Willow was a Fae of immense power, SURELY she didn''t need coin. She had explained it with her usual mix of practicality and sharp insight.


    "I DON''T need coin to survive, but YOU¡­ certainly do." she said with a slightly dark expression behind her sweet smile. "Your dear father cut you off from the royal family''s coffers and left you to fend for yourself."


    <i>Father of the century right there¡­</i>


    "If you are going to survive the politics of noble society you are going to need money." Willow continued." A lot of it."


    My father''s actions weren''t neglect, they were strategic. He wanted to make sure that I never gained any kind of political power or influence. Leaving me penniless and failing to acknowledge me publicly are his way of ensuring that.


    According to Willow and her thousands of years of experience, selling these potions is the most effective way for us to leverage our skills and time to build wealth and influence. In her words, "money will provide options for building allies, and allies provide safety."


    <i>Everything for my safety, she really does have a one-track mind.</i>


    I was lost in those thoughts when I heard her familiar footsteps approaching. I looked up to see Lady Willow standing at the base of the staircase, her blue cloak draped gracefully over her shoulders and the magical bag hanging at her side. She carried herself with her usual calm, every movement deliberate and composed.


    "Ready yourself, young master," she said, her voice light and relaxed. "It''s nearly time."


    My puppet and I simultaneously closed our books, marking our places for tomorrow''s studies. I took the puppet''s book from its hands and carefully placed both volumes onto the side table. A moment later, the enchantment ended, and the puppet slumped over on the couch. At that same time I feel my mind filled with the memories of everything my puppet had spent the last few hours reading. I can now clearly recall a mind-numbing multitude of ancient, non-magical farming techniques.


    "Ren?" Lady Willow''s voice called from the door.


    "On my way Lady Willow." I said as I rushed to collect my traveling cloak and join Lady Willow at the door.


    She held the door open for me, her elegant figure framed by the faint light filtering in from the hallway. This was it. For the first time, I was stepping out of the tower not as a sneaky escape attempt, but with purpose and permission.


    Together, we exited into the west wing of the castle. We walked down the long stone hallways, passing various rooms, several turns and down two staircases toward the castle entrance. Along the way we pass by the maid''s quarters, and I glanced in. Their quarters were quite sparse with uncomfortable looking cots.


    <i>This is how my family''s servants live? </i>


    We continued down the hall, and my eyes were drawn to two figures ahead of us. They were elf maids, both young women, carrying bundles of freshly laundered linens. They appeared tired and thin, suggesting long days with little food or rest. As we passed, they stopped and immediately lowered their eyes to the floor, avoiding our gaze.


    The metal slave collars around their necks clearly stood out. Thick bands of dull metal encircled their necks, enchanted with cruel magic. These collars weren''t just symbols of servitude, they were tools of oppression. The enchantments prevented the wearer from using magic, ensuring they never had the means to resist. They are also designed to cause pain or even kill the wearer if they disobeyed their owners.


    As if that weren''t enough, the collars were intentionally large and heavy, designed to ensure discomfort at all times. The two maid''s necks showed irritation of the skin of their necks where they are rubbed by the collars.


    My stomach churned with disgust. "This is what my family allows." I thought bitterly.


    <i>I hate that my family treats people so cruelly. I have been aware from my reading that slavery is common in Arcadia, but this is the first time I''ve seen it up close, and it sickens me. We have no right to strip these people of their freedom and dignity. </i>


    I also couldn''t help but notice that our tower is in the same wing that is relegated to servants'' quarters, laundry cleaning rooms, and storage rooms. Our tower is tucked away in the same place they put all the things in the castle the nobles don''t want to see. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    We stepped into the great hall leading to the castle courtyard, the sound of laughter echoing off the stone walls. Ahead, my brother Charles and his friends, Eric, Yuri, and Nathan, burst into the hall. As Prince Charles spotted us, his laughter faltered. His bright eyes fixed on me, his stride slowing until he came to a complete stop. His friends, caught in the momentum, ran several steps further before realizing he wasn''t with them. They turned, confusion flickering across their young faces.


    Charles stared at me, his brow furrowing as if trying to solve a puzzle. I froze under his gaze. It was strange, seeing him up close for the first time. My own brother, yet he looked at me as though I were a stranger.


    "Who are you?" Charles demanded, his six-year-old voice sharp and commanding despite its high pitch.


    "I am Ren¡­ Drakemore" I said with a bit of hesitation.


    <i>Of course, he probably doesn''t even know he has a brother. There is no way he''ll accept this.</i>


    "Drakemore?" Said 7-year-old Eric, turning to a very confused looking Charles. "You have a brother?"


    "That''s a lie! You''re a liar!" Charles roared "I don''t have a brother!"


    <i>He is about as emotionally stable as you would expect from a 6-year-old. </i>


    "Then who are you really?" Yuri chimed in.


    "An imposter¡­ or an intruder!" Charles shouted, his voice rising to a shrill pitch. "Guards! Guards!"


    <i>Yeah, I called it. </i>


    Two guards stationed at the castle entrance hurried into the hall, responding to Charles''s frantic cries. Lady Willow stood calm and composed, watching them approach, while my heart pounded against my ribs. I had no idea how to prove who I was to someone who didn''t even know I existed.


    "What''s the problem, Lady Willow?" one of the guards asked, glancing between Charles and us with a puzzled expression.


    <i>So, he clearly knows who Lady Willow is. So, he must know we are not intruders. </i>


    "Remove these intruders now!" Charles demanded, his small frame trembling with rage.


    "Intruders?" The guard frowned and turned to Lady Willow, seeking clarification. "Lady Willow?"


    Lady Willow regarded the scene with a serene air, her expression. "It seems the young prince doesn''t recognize me or his brother, Prince Ren," she said, her voice calm and measured. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto the guard''s, and for a brief moment, they seemed to shimmer faintly, almost glowing.


    The guard''s expression slackened as he met her gaze. He blinked, then turned to Charles. "Yes, young master, this is your brother, Prince Ren," he said with certainty.


    Charles gawked at the guard, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "That''s not true!" he shrieked, his fury unchecked. "He''s an imposter! You''re letting them get away!"


    Ignoring the tantrum erupting behind us, Lady Willow gestured for me to continue walking. The guards remained behind, attempting to placate the irate six-year-old prince, who was adamantly refusing to accept their explanation. His cries of protest echoed through the hall, but Lady Willow''s unwavering composure was a cure for my frayed nerves.


    As we stepped into the courtyard, the chaos behind us gradually faded into the background. I glanced at Lady Willow, who met my gaze with a knowing smile, her calm demeanor unshaken. Whatever enchantment she''d used to sway the guard; it had worked flawlessly.


    The guard had clearly recognized her, perhaps even known who I was. It''s possible he assumed I was a child of a royal concubine. I think that Lady Willow had cast her spell out of precaution. Maybe it was simply a habit, her nature as a Fae making such manipulations second nature to her.


    <i>Perhaps she should have used it on my brother. </i>


    The castle courtyard was even more breathtaking up close than it had ever seemed from my window. The sweet fragrance of blooming flowers filled the air, and the intricate carvings of the Fae shrine nestled beneath the canopy of a cherry blossom tree came into vivid focus. As I walk beside Lady Willow my eyes scan the area trying to take it all in. I''d love to look around the courtyard but I am even more excited to finally see what is outside the castle.


    The curiosity over what may lie outside these walls gives me the urge to run ahead but I restrain myself. What is this kingdom like? I''m dying to know.


    Exiting the castle, we stepped onto a wide cobblestone road lined with grand, elegant manors. Each was unique in design, with sprawling, well-tended gardens and intricate stonework that spoke of wealth and prestige. For a moment, I was struck by the sheer display of prosperity. Many of the homes had their own stables, and carriages.


    At first glance, it was an impressive sight. But as my gaze lingered, I noticed more details that tempered my awe. Among the gardeners trimming hedges and the figures hanging linens to dry, many were clearly slaves. They are a mixture of non-human races and they all wore slave collars and expressions of sorrow.


    <i>slavery is not only accepted but entrenched in the culture of Arcadia''s nobility.</i>


    "These homes belong to the kingdom''s nobles who hold minor titles but have not been granted lands to manage," Lady Willow explained, her calm voice cutting through my thoughts. She had noticed my scrutiny of the manors.


    The line of manors led to a wall and a large gate, with a guard house manned by two guards. Stepping outside the gate was like stepping into another world. Bright colors gave way to dull, dingy tones and the smell of filth. The homes that lined these streets are simple, closely packed 3 story structures that appeared to house several families in very humble conditions. refuse and human waste littered the street.


    Far worse than the visible signs of poverty were the desperate conditions of the people themselves. In the narrow alleyways between dilapidated apartments, thin, dirty, and sickly figures huddled in the shadows or lay motionless in the grime. These were the truly destitute¡ªthe ones who couldn''t even afford the meager shelter the others called home.


    As we walked, we passed people wrapped in ragged, threadbare clothing, sitting on the streets with their backs against cold stone walls. Some held out chipped wooden bowls or rusted tin cups, their hollow eyes silently pleading for mercy. Their despair was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on the air.


    My heart ached at the sight of their suffering. A pang of guilt twisted in my chest, sharp and unforgiving. How often had I lamented my own fate? How many times had I cursed my solitude, my lack of freedom? Yet compared to these poor souls, my life was a paradise. I had never gone without food. I had never faced a night without a roof over my head. What right did I have to complain when I had been spared the depths of this misery?


    We came upon a man slumped against the wall of a group home, his face ashen and drenched in sweat. Blood seeped through the crude bandages wrapped haphazardly around his torso, the filthy fabric stained and discolored. The stench of infection hung in the air, mingling with the filth of the street. His breathing was shallow, and his glazed eyes stared at nothing, a testament to the agony he endured.


    I stopped, frozen by the sight. He was clearly delirious, likely from blood loss and untreated wounds. How long had he been like this? How many others were suffering just as he was, invisible to those who could help?


    "Lady Willow, wait," I said, my gaze fixed on the heartbreaking sight before me. "Hand me one of the potions, please."


    I couldn''t just walk by and let this man die when I had the power to save him.


    "Young master," Lady Willow began, her tone measured as she reached into her bag, "we don''t have enough potions to heal them all. And you still need some to sell."


    "We can spare a few," I insisted, determination hardening my voice. "I can''t just walk away¡­ these people need help."


    Lady Willow sighed but complied, pulling out five potions. She handed me one, her expression a mix of resignation and curiosity. I knelt beside the injured man, his chest barely rising with shallow breaths.


    "Here, sir. This is a healing potion," I said, holding the bottle out to him.


    The man didn''t react. His eyes remained unfocused, his body too weak to respond. Gritting my teeth, I uncorked the potion and gently pressed the bottle to his cracked lips, tilting it so the liquid could flow into his mouth.


    A faint green glow enveloped him as the potion took effect. His wounds knitted together instantly, the filthy, blood-soaked bandages now unnecessary. His dull, distant eyes sharpened, and his breathing steadied.


    "What¡­ what happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse but lucid.


    "I gave you a potion. You''re healed," I said softly, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Do you feel okay?"


    The man looked down at his torso, his hands brushing over the places where his injuries had been. Disbelief spread across his face. "I¡­ I was a servant at Lord Hurlbert''s estate," he stammered, "but I was accused of stealing from him. He had me beaten and thrown out into the streets."


    He stood slowly, testing his legs before extending a dirt-streaked hand to me. I rose to meet him, clasping his hand in mine.


    "You healed me! Thank you!" he said, his voice loud with emotion, drawing the attention of the people nearby.


    "Do I¡­ owe you for this?" he added hesitantly, his voice trembling with worry. It was clear he feared I might demand payment or force him into servitude to repay his debt.


    "It''s free, sir," I said, feeling a twinge of nervousness as the growing crowd began murmuring around us. "I''m just glad you''re okay."


    The man''s gratitude spilled over. "What is your name, kind sir?"


    "I''m Ren," I said sheepishly, deliberately omitting my last name in the hope of avoiding too much attention.


    "Second Prince of Arcadia," Lady Willow added with a wide, amused smile.


    Not helping!


    "Thank you, Prince Ren," the man said, dropping into a bow. "You saved my life!"


    "My pleasure. Now, I think we should g¡­" I started, but a woman''s voice cut me off.


    "Please heal me too, good prince," she pleaded.


    Before I could respond, more voices joined hers¡ªfive, ten, perhaps even more¡ªall stretching out hands, begging for healing. I looked around in alarm as Lady Willow sighed and began fishing more potions out of her bag, handing them to the eager crowd.


    "I''d usually prefer to make a trade," she muttered, her tone dry.


    "No, you will not," I shot back, exasperation clear in my voice as the crowd swelled around us. Voices overlapped¡ªthanks, praises, and desperate pleas¡ªand I was rapidly losing control of the situation.


    I spared a glance at Lady Willow, who handed out potions with a bemused expression.


    <i>I might need to keep an eye on Lady Willow, or she might "help" someone to death.</i>


    By the time we managed to break away, half our supply of healing potions was gone. The crowd''s praises rang in my ears as we walked off, their cries of "Kind Prince Ren!" and "Generous Prince Ren!" echoing down the street. Thankfully, the ingrained habit of not blocking the path of nobles worked in our favor, allowing us to extricate ourselves with minimal trouble.


    <i>Still, we had made quite the scene.</i>


    After we had put some distance between ourselves and the commotion, Lady Willow turned to me, her voice calm but without a hint of concern. "You okay, young master?" she asked, her perceptive gaze seemingly aware of my inner turmoil.


    "I''m fine," I lied, the words hollow even to my ears. In truth, the sight of the commons had unsettled me to my core. "Why do they live like this?" I asked, the question heavy with frustration and disbelief. If you could even call this living.


    "These are the people your father has forsaken," Willow said softly as we walked. "The common folk make up ninety-five percent of the kingdom, yet they wallow in severe poverty while noble society thrives in excess."


    Her words stung, and I clenched my fists as we continued down the cobblestone road.


    "There are many reasons for this," she continued, her tone measured but tinged with quiet anger. "For one, the king restricts access to the magic academy to nobles and only to humans. Learning magic, even at the most basic level, opens doors to countless opportunities for making a living. By denying it to the commoners, the kingdom effectively keeps them trapped."


    We exited the commons and entered the bustling market street. The contrast was stark. The road was lined with colorful storefronts, lively stalls, and inviting restaurants. The air smelled of fresh bread and roasted meats, a sharp departure from the acrid scent of the commons. The market bustled with both commoners and nobles, though it was clear the latter held dominion here. It was cleaner, brighter, and in far better condition.


    "So by restricting access to magic," I said, piecing it together, "the kingdom denies ninety-five percent of its population the chance at good jobs. But even if someone doesn''t have magical talent, surely there are other skills they could learn?"


    Lady Willow gave me a small, ironic smile. "The kingdom doesn''t see the need to pay commoners for labor."


    "Why not?" I asked, puzzled.


    Lady Willow came to a stop, her expression unreadable as she gestured toward a stage between two storefronts. My gaze followed her hand, and my breath caught.


    Beside the stage were two large iron cages, crammed with men and women of various non-human races. Upon the stage stood a rabbit beastkin woman, her head bowed, her shoulders slumped under the weight of despair. She was thin, her frail frame barely hidden by the rough gray tunic she wore. A handler stood beside her, loudly calling out bids to an audience of nobles.


    "Slavery¡­" I whispered, the word leaving my lips like a curse.


    I stared at the scene, my chest tightening as the pieces fell into place. "The kingdom doesn''t bother providing education or jobs because they have all the free labor they need."


    Lady Willow said nothing, letting the truth sink in. My stomach churned with a mix of anger and shame. For so long, I''d thought my solitude, and my confinement were the height of suffering. But now¡­


    This kingdom, my kingdom, was built on the broken backs of the weak. Its foundation wasn''t noble ideals or prosperity for all. It was suffering. Oppression. Exploitation. A rot ran through the heart of Arcadia, starting from the very top.


    "Slavery is the cornerstone of Arcadia''s social and economic order," Lady Willow said, her gaze steady as she looked at me. "If you ever hope to change that, you''d need to become king."


    I froze, her words striking a chord deep within me.


    <i>Had she planned this? She didn''t need me to sell potions. Did she deliberately lead me here, knowing I would see these horrors? Did she anticipate that witnessing the reality of poverty and slavery would ignite something in me?</i>


    <i>Maybe she did. Maybe it doesn''t matter.</i>


    The result was the same. My mind is clear now, my purpose crystallized. I am not just going to survive. I am not going to accept my exile, my father''s hatred, or this kingdom''s injustice. I am going to become king.


    We continued down the cobblestone street, the apothecary now coming into view. The building was striking¡ªa large alabaster structure gleaming in the sunlight, its ornate stonework and statues of angels seemingly extending a silent invitation to passersby. The two massive doors at the entrance loomed grandly, their gilded frames catching the light. Even from this distance, it was clear that this establishment catered exclusively to the nobility.


    "If I did want to become king one day¡­, how could I?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended, the weight of the question settling on my shoulders.


    Lady Willow glanced at me; her expression unreadable. "The throne is not passed down by blood, Ren. In Arcadia, the crown is won by merit. Any mage who gains the support of four noble houses may challenge the reigning king in combat."


    "So¡­ I would have to defeat my father in a duel?" I asked, trying to imagine standing face-to-face with the man who had condemned me to isolation.


    Willow nodded but added, "Before you even consider challenging your father, you would need allies among the nobility. More importantly, you would need to become far stronger."


    She stopped and turned to face me fully, her piercing gaze unwavering. "The reality is, the only way to ensure your safety, and to help the people of this kingdom, is for you to become king," she said, her voice carrying the weight of certainty.


    Her words lingered in the air, undeniable and absolute. Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place. I understood now. This had been Willow''s plan all along. Every lesson, every trial, every push to hone my skills, it was all part of her design to prepare me for the throne. She had been guiding me toward this moment, ensuring I would one day have the strength, resources, and conviction to claim the crown.


    That''s why she had brought me here today. She didn''t need me to sell potions. She wanted me to see the suffering, the injustice, and the corruption that defined Arcadia under my father''s reign. Not because she cared for these people or despised slavery, no, her concern wasn''t for them. It was for me. Her motivation had always been my survival.


    And yet, her reasons didn''t matter.


    After what I had seen, after witnessing the pain and injustice inflicted by my own family for their profit and power, I didn''t need Willow to push me toward this goal. I knew, deep in my soul, that it was the right path.


    I must become king.


    How I would achieve it, I didn''t yet know. The task ahead seemed insurmountable, but I had taken my first steps. For now, all I could do was focus on what lay before me: growing stronger and building the resources and alliances I would need to change this kingdom.

 Suffering for Profit

    I am Ren Drakemore, age 5, and I am the unwanted second prince of the kingdom of Arcadia. But one day, I will be King.


    Lady Willow and I continued down the cobblestone road toward the apothecary. The building was only a few storefronts away when, to my surprise, Willow abruptly turned right, heading toward a massive, opulent structure.


    The building was overwhelming in its grandeur, resembling a cathedral with its towering spires, intricate carvings, and gilded adornments. Every inch seemed to scream wealth and power. Above the entrance, a large marble sign inlaid with gold declared in bold letters: <b>Merchant''s Guild</b>.


    "Before we can sell our potions, I need to register with the Merchant''s Guild," Willow explained. "Registration is a requirement for conducting any business in the kingdom."


    I nodded, though I couldn''t help but marvel at the sheer extravagance of the place. It seemed excessive, another reminder of the stark divide between Arcadia''s nobles and commoners.


    We stepped through the massive double doors into an expansive hall. The cool marble floors gleam under the light of a giant crystal chandelier, and the air carries the faint scent of polished stone and ink. Despite the building''s grandeur, the hall was mostly empty, save for a few merchants and nobles seated along the outer edges. They sat at large, ornate tables, engaged in negotiations, signing contracts under the watchful eyes of guild attendants. These attendants, clad in sharp black uniforms, served as both witnesses and certifiers of deals struck within the guild''s walls.


    Willow led me to the far end of the hall, where a service counter waited. Behind it stood a surly-looking attendant, his sharp features set in a permanent scowl. As we approached, his eyes flicked over us with poorly concealed annoyance.


    "What do you want?" he asked, his tone curt.


    Willow remained unfazed by his rudeness. "I wish to register," she said simply, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to his impatience.


    <i>Only she is registering because I am not old enough.</i>


    <i></i><i>


    </i>The attendant handed Lady Willow a form with a curt, "Fill this out." Without a word, Willow began completing the paperwork. I glanced over her shoulder, noting the form asked for basic information like her name, the products she intended to sell, and where she planned to sell them. The process seemed routine until the attendant plopped a hefty book onto the counter, its cover emblazoned with the title: <i>Merchant Guild Rules.</i><i>


    </i>


    "The registration fee is five silver coins," the attendant said briskly. "Also, by signing this form, you agree to follow all guild rules outlined in this manual."


    "Understood," Lady Willow replied, accepting the book with one hand while retrieving coin from her storage bag with the other.


    "Oh, and the manual costs ten silver coins," the attendant added with a smirk.


    <i>They charge you to read the rules they''re forcing you to follow. What a scam!</i><i>


    </i>


    "So, fifteen coins, then," Willow said calmly, placing the coins on the counter without so much as a flicker of annoyance.


    The attendant quickly counted the coins before retrieving a blank metal card from beneath the counter. He placed it into a black box, which emitted a small flash of light. When the card emerged, it now bore Lady Willow''s name, her home guild, registration number, and business type: <i>Retail Sales.</i>


    <i>


    </i>Willow accepted the card and the rules manual and tucked them neatly into her bag, but before we could leave, the sound of approaching footsteps drew our attention.


    "Lady Willow, what an unexpected surprise," came a booming, self-important voice.


    Turning, I saw a large, corpulent man striding toward us, his robes lavishly embellished with embroidery and jewels. He carried himself with the arrogance of nobility, his expression twisted into a sneer as his gaze flicked to me.


    "I didn''t ever expect to see you or that boy outside the castle," he continued, his tone dripping with disdain.


    <i>I have no idea who this pompous noble is, but it is clear he knows us and based on the venom in his expression, he''s not a fan.</i>


    <i>


    </i>"Lord Fobos," Lady Willow said, her voice as calm as ever, slipping her new guild ID into her bag.


    <i>So, this is Lord Fobos, the Guild Master of the Merchant''s Guild.</i>


    <i>


    </i>"Does the King know you''ve let this boy out of the castle?" Fobos asked, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on me. "I believe he warned you that stepping out of his tower may be very dangerous for him."


    <i>That was a threat, thinly veiled but unmistakable. He was suggesting something "bad" might happen to me if I showed my face in public.</i>


    "I appreciate the King''s¡­ concern," Lady Willow replied, her tone icy, "but the King has entrusted me with his son''s care, and I will ensure no one harms Prince Ren while I am here."


    Fobos snorted, his face twisting with derision. "I never understood why the King didn''t deal with him on day one," he muttered, glaring at me. "It''s a mystery why he let you live. But if you make any trouble for him, he may not be so generous."


    Lady Willow''s expression hardened. "If the King has an issue with his son''s activities, so be it. But who are you, a duke, to question the whereabouts and actions of the prince?" she rebuked sharply, her voice cutting like a blade. Without waiting for a response, she took my hand and turned, leading me away.


    "Some prince," Fobos sneered behind us. "Resorting to working his maid as a merchant to get by."A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    "Ignore him," Lady Willow murmured under her breath as we strode toward the exit.


    Once outside, she glanced at me. "Your father has the support of the majority of the twelve great noble families on the kingdom''s court. One of his most loyal supporters is Lord Fobos."


    "He really hates me," I said, still unsettled by his words.


    "He was trying to get a rise out of us," Willow said. "This is not the time to respond. The King hasn''t killed you because he fears me. His supporters, not knowing how¡­ capable I am, won''t take action against you so long as you don''t appear to be a threat. For now, we focus on preparing you, quietly."


    I nodded, processing her words. "I understand. We can''t show our cards until we''re ready to play them."


    <i>And I don''t have many cards currently.</i>


    A faint smile touched Lady Willow''s lips, her approval clear, as we continued on our way toward the apothecary. As we approach, I noticed something for the first time, a long line of sick and injured people stretching along the building''s exterior. Their faces are gaunt with desperation, some leaning heavily on makeshift crutches or clutching bloodied bandages.


    As we reach the gilded doors, a guard stationed at the entrance stepped aside, allowing us through but blocking the others waiting outside. Their disappointed murmurs echoed behind us as we step inside.


    We enter hand in hand, like a mother taking her child shopping. The interior of the apothecary is pristine and organized. Neat rows of shelves are stocked with potions, jars of pills, herbal cures, and other magical remedies. The air carries the faint, sharp scent of alchemical concoctions. At the back of the room is a service counter, beyond which lays a waiting area and several treatment rooms.


    "Why are those people waiting outside?" I asked, glancing back over my shoulder at the doors.


    Lady Willow''s gaze didn''t follow mine. "Those people need healing but can''t afford it," she said coldly. "They''re desperately hoping someone will provide them with charity. A standard healing potion costs ten silver coins, which is more than many can pay."


    As we approach the counter I see three young adventurers, no older than eighteen, there pleading with the clerk. Two of them supported a third, who is slumped over, his face pale and strained. Blood seeping through deep claw marks on his back and leg.


    "Please," one of them begs, sliding a pouch across the counter. "Can you accept nine silver? It''s all we have."


    The clerk frowned, shaking her head. "I''m sorry, but healing potions are ten silver. No exceptions."


    "We were on a quest," the adventurer explains, his voice cracking with frustration. "The reward was only five silver, and we pooled everything we had, but¡­" He stopped, glancing back at his injured friend.


    I feel a pang of sadness and anger in my chest. How could healing, a basic necessity for survival, be priced out of reach for those who needed it most? Adventuring is one of the only remaining paths for commoners to improve their lives in a kingdom where slavery stripped away most other opportunities. But with healing potions this expensive, it seems adventurers are likely to be left worse off than before.


    Lady Willow has started talking to another clerk, asking to meet with the shop''s owner about selling potions. As she speaks, I reach into her bag and pull out one of our healing potions. Ignoring the questioning look from the clerk at the counter, I stepped forward and pushed the bottle into the adventurer''s hand.


    "Here," I said firmly. "Save your money."


    The adventurer stares at me in disbelief for a moment before his expression softened with gratitude. "Thank you so much!" he exclaims, quickly uncorking the potion and pouring it into his injured friend''s mouth.


    A faint green glow surrounds the wounded adventurer as the potion takes effect, his wounds mending instantly. He sat up, blinking in surprise and relief.


    "You''re a lifesaver, kid," the healed adventurer said, his voice filled with emotion. "What''s your name?"


    I hesitated for a moment, glancing at Lady Willow "Ren," I said simply.


    The three of them thanked me repeatedly, their words a mix of relief and admiration. "Thank you, Ren. We owe you."


    <i>I''ve heard that a lot today.</i>


    I turned my attention back to Lady Willow''s conversation just as a friendly-looking older woman with short, neatly styled gray hair emerged from one of the treatment rooms. She wore a spotless white healer''s uniform, her demeanor calm and professional.


    "I heard you wanted to speak with me. I am Duchess Muara, head healer and owner of this apothecary," she said with a warm smile. "How may I help you, ma''am?"


    "We have fifty high-grade healing potions..." Lady Willow began.


    "Forty-nine," I corrected her quickly.


    Lady Willow shot me a glance before continuing. "Forty-nine high-grade healing potions and fifty, grade-five, poison-curing potions we''d like to sell."


    Duchess Muara nodded thoughtfully. "Absolutely. According to guild rules, we can purchase your potions at five silver coins each, and they''ll be sold in the store for ten silver." She spoke matter-of-factly, pulling a ledger from a nearby counter to record the transaction.


    Lady Willow agreed without hesitation and began retrieving the potions from her storage bag. As she placed them neatly on the counter, Muara carefully documented each one.


    I couldn''t hold back any longer. "Why do you sell the potions at such a high price?" I asked, my voice firm but curious. "There are so many people outside who need them. If you sold them for less, more people could afford them, and you''d probably end up making more money overall."


    Duchess Muara sighed, her kind eyes meeting mine. "The Merchant''s Guild strictly regulates the prices of certain goods, including potions," she explained patiently. "The rules state that potions must be sold at ten silver for retail, and suppliers are paid five silver per potion."


    "That doesn''t make any sense!" I protested. "At prices like that, only nobles can afford them. What about everyone else? Doesn''t it bother you to see all those people outside suffering?"


    Her warm smile faltered, replaced by a sad, weary expression. "It bothers me deeply," she admitted, her voice tinged with regret. "If I could, I would sell potions at lower prices, or even give some away for free. But I can''t. The Merchant''s Guild would suspend my registration if I broke their rules. Without my license, I wouldn''t be able to run this apothecary at all."


    I could see the sincerity in her eyes, the genuine pain she felt for those she couldn''t help. She wasn''t just following the rules out of greed; she was trapped by them.


    "If you want the rules changed, like I do," she continued, "you''d need to speak with the guild master himself."


    "Lord Fobos?" I asked, already knowing the answer.


    Muara nodded, her face darkening. "Yes, but I wouldn''t get your hopes up. I''ve tried speaking with Lord Fobos before. It was¡­ hopeless. He seems to have the backwards belief that selling potions at affordable prices would means potions wouldn''t be available for the nobility."


    Her words lingered in the air, and for a moment, I was silent. I glanced toward Lady Willow, who continued arranging the potions on the counter, seemingly unbothered by the conversation.


    "Lady Muara," Lady Willow said, smoothly redirecting the conversation back to business, "we would also like to arrange regular deliveries of 100 healing potions and 50 curing potions."


    Lady Muara considered this for a moment before nodding. "I think we can agree to that. At that quantity, we can manage weekly deliveries, but only as long as we have the storage space. I''ll authorize my clerks to purchase the potions on delivery, provided we can accommodate them."


    "Understood," Lady Willow replied, her tone polite but businesslike. The two of them continued finalizing the details while I remained quiet, lost in thought.


    As we went to leave, I think about the prospect of appealing to Lord Fobos to reduce the prices of potions. I am 1000% sure that the guy who just moments before was threatening to kill men, is not going to want to do anything I ask him to. At the same time, I do want to help the suffering people of the kingdom. I am going to have to think of a different way of achieving that goal.

 The Worm Has Turned

    I am Ren Drakemore, age 5, and I am the unwanted second prince of the kingdom of Arcadia. But one day, I will be King.


    An Arc has passed since our trip to the market, where my eyes were opened for the first time to the corruption and suffering that plague my home. That day marked a turning point for me. Since then, I''ve approached my studies and magical training with renewed purpose. No longer do I learn to pass the time. Now, I train with a goal, a lofty one.


    I understand now that dangerous men, including my own father, would rather see me dead. The only thing keeping those wolves at bay is my father''s fear of Lady Willow and the belief that I am not yet enough of a threat to warrant the risk of eliminating me. Neither of those protections feels permanent. The possibility that one day they may fail hangs over me constantly, like the sword of Damocles, ready to fall at any moment.


    First, I must grow stronger.


    To that end, I''ve begun studying the castle guards as they train in the courtyard each day. My brother Charles often joins the sessions as part of his royal education, though it''s clear he has little interest in the practice. He is easily distracted, complains often, and rarely completes drills with any real effort. I doubt he''s learned much at all.


    I, on the other hand, watch intently from my window. Armed with a wooden short sword, I mimic the movements of the guards, copying their stances, strikes, and blocks. It''s exhausting work, far harder than I imagined, but I persist. My life depends on it.


    Lady Willow has yet to begin teaching me offensive magic, but I still practice to the point of exhaustion every day. This relentless effort has brought steady, significant improvement in both my magical control and capacity. I can now control two puppets simultaneously, and their range has tripled. My control of the puppets has improved so well that I am now able to make a small wooden bird puppet that can actually fly.


    When I first thought of creating a bird puppet it was so I could entertain myself with the view outside my tower. Now I see this puppet as a tool I could use for gaining information.


    Through my studies of military tactics, I''ve learned that battles are often won long before the soldiers take the field. Preparation, training, equipment, and even the choice of the battlefield itself often has a greater impact on the outcome than the bravery or skill of any one warrior. Information is the key to all of it, and with my new creation, this bird puppet, I may be able to gather that information.


    In the last forty days, Lady Willow has continued making weekly deliveries of potions to the apothecary without me. This has earned us a fair amount of coin and given me plenty of practice in potion-making. However, with the sheer volume of potions we''ve crafted, our supply of medical herbs has run dry. Today, I''ll leave the castle with Lady Willow again, this time traveling to the countryside to gather more herbs.


    And that brings us to now.


    Lady Willow and I are walking through the castle halls toward the courtyard. Unlike our last trip, I''m determined to keep a low profile. When we reach the gate, a broad-shouldered man in gleaming plate armor stands before us, towering a full head taller than Lady Willow. A massive two-handed sword is strapped across his back, and his presence exudes authority. I recognize him from observing the guards'' daily training, this is Captain Gavin, the captain of the castle guard.


    "Lady Willow, stop right there!" Captain Gavin''s deep voice booms, resonating in the stone corridor. "Where are you and the prince going?"


    <i>Is he here to stop me from leaving?</i>


    "Hello, Captain Gavin," Lady Willow replies, her voice calm and steady. "The young master and I are traveling to Lord Griswald''s domain at his invitation. Do you have some sort of objection to that?"


    "I do, in fact," Gavin responds, his sharp gaze locked on her. His stance is imposing, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.


    They stare each other down, their intense auras colliding. Lady Willow''s serene confidence meets Gavin''s stern authority, and the air feels heavy with tension.


    "I will not allow the young prince to take one more step outside this castle," Gavin growls, his voice like thunder. Then, raising a massive arm over his head, he appears ready to strike.


    For a moment, my heart freezes. Their locked gazes are unyielding, the moment charged with potential violence.


    But then, Gavin''s intense expression shifts into a wry smile, and he lowers his hand, extending it in a gesture of camaraderie. "...Not without the proper protection," he finishes. "My duty is to protect the royal family, and I can''t allow a member of the royal family to travel into the countryside without an escort."


    "If you wish to join us, very well," Lady Willow says coolly, her demeanor unchanged as if the tension never existed.


    It turns out that Captain Gavin''s presence is purely coincidental. When he saw us leaving, he wasn''t trying to stop me, he simply wanted to ensure I had the same level of protection any other member of the royal family would receive. My father and brother would typically be escorted by as many as twenty soldiers on a similar journey. While Gavin appears genuine and even friendly, I can''t bring myself to trust him completely. After all, he works directly for my father.


    "If I''d known about this trip in advance," Gavin says, turning to me with a broad, friendly smile, "I could have arranged for a full escort. But since I''m here, it would be my honor to escort you myself, young master."


    Lady Willow had arranged for a carriage that now waited for us outside the castle gate. Captain Gavin walked beside us, his broad frame towering over me as we approached. With a practiced motion, he opened the carriage doors, stepping aside to allow us to enter first. I climbed in and settled close to Lady Willow, who wrapped an arm around me and gently pulled me closer. When Gavin joined us, the carriage creaked under his considerable weight, tilting slightly as he took his seat across from us. His cheerful demeanor seemed to fill the small space, though the air remained tense.


    With a tap from Gavin on the carriage wall, the driver urged the horses forward. The wheels rattled against the cobblestone streets as the carriage moved through the bustling city. Homes, shops, and carts rushed by in a blur, and soon we were speeding along the northern road out of Cairndorn.


    Despite the pleasant scenery outside, the atmosphere inside the carriage was stifling. Few words were exchanged during the journey, and I couldn''t shake the weight of unease in Gavin''s presence.


    "So," Gavin said after a long silence, his voice breaking through the quiet, "we''re headed to Ashford Village to meet with Lord Griswald?" His attempt at breaking the awkward silence.


    "Yes," Lady Willow replied evenly, her tone composed. "Our first stop will be Lord Griswald''s manor."


    The trip to Ashford Village would take half a day even at our brisk pace. I entertained myself by gazing out the window, taking in the breathtaking sights of the expansive valley surrounding the capital. This was my first time seeing the world beyond Cairndorn, and it was beautiful. The flat valley stretched endlessly, surrounded by distant mountains with Cairndorn at the center, creating what is referred to locally as the Dragon''s Cradle. The fresh air that drifted through the carriage window carried a crisp, earthy scent, invigorating and new.


    For a time, I was captivated, but the gentle rhythm of the carriage lulled me into drowsiness. Before I knew it, I was laying my head on Lady Willow''s lap, her hand absently stroking my hair. The soothing motion quickly carried me to sleep.


    It felt like only a moment had passed before I heard Lady Willow''s soft voice coaxing me awake. "Ren, we''ve nearly there," she said. I blinked groggily, sitting up to take in my surroundings.


    The carriage was passing through Ashford Village, and I immediately noticed how different it was from the commons of Cairndorn. The homes were simple but well-built, with thatched roofs. The villagers looked healthier and happier than the downtrodden faces I''d seen in the city. There were no lines of desperate people waiting for aid, no visible signs of suffering. It was as though this place was untouched by the corruption I''d witnessed in Cairndorn.


    <i>I need to know why this place, not far from the capital is so different.</i>


    Curious to see more, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my small bird puppet. Folded into a ball, it fit neatly in my hand, but with a quick motion, I held it out of the carriage window. Glancing to ensure Gavin wasn''t watching, I cast my spell. The puppet sprang to life, its wooden wings unfurling as it took to the skies.


    The bird soared high above and followed us. As we left the village and approached Lord Griswald''s manor, we passed farmland being worked not by slaves, but by villagers.


    But then, something caught my attention. Large swaths of the farmland appeared withered and unhealthy, a stark contrast to the vibrant fields surrounding them. My curiosity burned as I raised a hand to cover my left eye, focusing on my connection to the puppet.


    A gasp escaped me as my vision shifted, merging with the bird''s eyes. From above, the farmland stretched out beneath me in intricate detail, revealing the full extent of the damage. Oddly, there seemed to be a pattern, something irregular and unnatural.


    "Ren?" Lady Willow asked, her tone quiet.


    I lowered my hand and blinked, returning to my own perspective. "Something''s wrong with the fields," I murmured.


    Lady Willow''s gaze flicked toward the farmland, her expression of mild curiosity. "Yes, I noticed as well," she said. "We''re nearly at Griswald''s manor." She added.


    The carriage passed through the stone wall surrounding Lord Griswald''s estate and pulled up in front of the manor. Waiting at the entrance were two well-dressed, cheerful servants. Captain Gavin hopped out first, leaving the door open for Lady Willow and me to exit.


    "We are happy to welcome you to Lord Griswald''s estate," the servants, a man and a woman, said in unison before bowing politely. As we approached, I noticed something peculiar: they wore collars similar to those of slaves, but these were thin, elegant bands made of embroidered cloth instead of the heavy metal collars I''d seen in the city.


    "Thank you kindly," Lady Willow replied with her usual calm politeness. "We''re here to see Lord Griswald."


    "Yes, m''lady," the female servant said with a bright smile, gesturing toward the doors of the stately manor. "The master is expecting you. He wishes to meet you over dinner. Please, come inside and make yourselves comfortable. We will fetch the master shortly."


    "Excellent!" Captain Gavin boomed joyfully. "I could eat a horse!"


    <i>I didn''t doubt him. The man was the size of one.</i>


    "And it''ll be nice to have someone to talk to," Gavin added with mock frustration, clearly still irritated by the long, silent trip.


    The servants escorted us inside the manor. The interior was stunning, elegant without the excessive opulence I had come to associate with nobility. Every detail, from the polished wood furniture to the understated but tasteful decorations, reflected a sense of practicality and refinement.


    We were led into a large dining hall dominated by a long wooden table running through its center. On either side of the room, four beastkin and elf servants in simple maid uniforms greeted us warmly as we entered, their demeanor genuine and friendly. They gestured for us to sit near the far end of the table, leaving the head seat conspicuously open.


    We took our seats. Gavin''s chair creaked and groaned in protest under his massive frame, but he either didn''t notice or didn''t care. Lady Willow''s seat, in contrast, made no sound at all, as if it barely registered her presence. My chair welcomed me without issue, but I quickly realized the table was slightly too high for me, making it awkward to sit comfortably.


    Moments after we were seated, one of the servants opened a door to the right of the hall. All the servants immediately bowed, and a tall, muscular man strode into the room. He had a thick mane of black hair streaked with gray and a matching beard that reached halfway down his chest. His clothing, while finely tailored, lacked the ostentatious embellishments common among nobles. Instead, his fur-topped cape and sturdy leather boots spoke of practicality, as though he spent more time in the wilderness than at royal galas.


    "Thank you, ladies, but stop that, no need to bow," Lord Griswald said, waving dismissively at the servants as he crossed the room with purposeful strides. His voice was deep but warm, carrying an air of authority without arrogance.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    He quickly took his place at the head of the table, seating himself with ease and nodding to each of us in turn. "Welcome to my home," he said, his sharp eyes lingering on me for a moment before moving to Lady Willow and Captain Gavin. "I trust your journey was smooth?"


    "Our journey was uneventful," Lady Willow answered as the servants began placing plates and silverware before us.


    "That''s an understatement," Gavin muttered with a grin, clearly in better spirits as a pretty servant placed a plate in front of him. She returned his smile and added a playful wink, drawing an amused chuckle from him.


    Watching this, I couldn''t help but feel increasingly puzzled. The servants, no, the slaves, here didn''t seem burdened or downtrodden like those in the capital. Instead, they moved with cheerfulness and ease, their demeanor far removed from the sorrowful expressions I had come to associate with their status. It didn''t make sense.


    "Very good," Lord Griswald said warmly. "Good to see you as always, Gavin. And I''m pleased to have the chance to meet you, Prince Ren, as well as your esteemed attendant, Lady Willow. Honestly, I was surprised when I received your request for a meeting."


    "You were very kind to extend us an invitation, sir," Lady Willow replied with polite grace, before glancing at me expectantly.


    I quickly straightened up, realizing I should respond, but my attention had drifted to the servants now placing food on our plates. A foxkin servant carefully set a steak before me, her tail flicking slightly as she worked. Distracted, I blurted out, "Lord Griswald, it''s nice to meet you¡­ but what kind of slave collars are your servants wearing? And why are they so¡­"


    "Happy?" Lord Griswald offered with a knowing smile.


    "Yes," I said, surprised by his understanding.


    "Well, young prince," he began, leaning back in his chair, "I believe slavery is an unforgivable violation of a person''s rights. And I believe that non-human races are just as much persons as humans."


    His words stunned me. I wholeheartedly agreed, but hearing such a bold stance from one of Arcadia''s great noble families was unexpected. Lady Willow, however, seemed completely unfazed, as though nothing unusual had been said.


    "Damn right!" Gavin added with enthusiasm, slapping the table lightly. "I know it''s not a popular opinion in the kingdom, but it''s the truth."


    In that moment, my opinion of Gavin shifted drastically. Perhaps there was more to him than his rough exterior and jovial demeanor.


    "But, sir," I said, my voice tinged with confusion and indignation, "you own slaves."


    Lord Griswald met my gaze evenly, his expression calm. "My servants'' collars aren''t enchanted, young prince. They''re not bound by magic, nor are they threatened with pain or death if they disobey or wish to leave. They wear them by choice."


    As if to demonstrate, the elf servant standing beside Gavin smiled and removed her collar with ease, holding it up for us to see before placing it back around her neck.


    "The collars serve only one purpose: to indicate to others that they are under my protection," Griswald explained. "Slavers in Arcadia wouldn''t dare harass or capture them if they believe my servants belong to me and are acting under my instruction."


    "They stay because they want to," Griswald continued. "And they are free to leave whenever they choose. My household is their refuge, not their prison."


    "Lord Griswald, sir," I said with deep conviction, leaning forward in my chair. "I agree with you, slavery is evil. But it''s more than that. The effects of slavery cause suffering for the commoners too. I''m just surprised to hear that other nobles feel the same way."


    "I''m even happier to hear that you feel that way, my prince," Lord Griswald said, his tone warm with approval. "Perhaps there is a bright future for this kingdom yet."


    "All the people in your domain seem to have jobs and are able to make a living," I continued as another plate of food was placed before me. "That''s because you don''t rely on slavery for labor, right?"


    "Correct," Griswald said with a smile, his eyes twinkling. "My, you''re quite insightful for someone so young, Prince Ren."


    "Master Griswald," the elf servant standing beside him interjected gently, her voice carrying a touch of humor. "There will be plenty of time to discuss how kind and generous of a lord you are, but perhaps you should eat before the food gets cold."


    "Right you are, Silfy," Griswald replied with a chuckle, picking up his fork. "Please, everyone, eat up. My chefs are miracle workers with food. It''d be a sin to let their blessings grow cold."


    His servants are confident enough to speak their minds to him, and he clearly respects them. This simple exchange spoke volumes about the kind of man Lord Griswald was.


    We all began eating, and the food was remarkable, better even than Lady Willow''s cooking, though I''d never tell her that. Lady Willow herself ate politely, though I know she was doing so more out of courtesy than hunger.


    "So," Griswald said between bites of potatoes, turning his attention to Lady Willow. "What was it you wanted to discuss, Lady Willow?"


    "We wanted permission to harvest medicinal herbs from the forested area at the edge of your domain," she said, her tone matter-of-fact.


    "What... that''s all?" Griswald asked, laughing heartily. "Of course! Feel free to pull as many weeds from my forests as you like. Honestly, I''m glad you came to visit, but you could''ve asked for that in a letter."


    <i>I had the distinct feeling that Lady Willow''s real reason for visiting wasn''t to ask permission for herb gathering.</i>


    As we continued our dinner, I learned a great deal more about Lord Griswald and Captain Gavin. Griswald''s territory was among the most prosperous and productive in the kingdom, a testament to his good management and refusal to rely on slave labor. Instead, he bought slaves solely to free them, offering them jobs, housing, and fair wages. Though he regretted he couldn''t save every slave, the loyalty and affection his servants showed him were a clear testament to the respect they held for their master. They behaved more like happy employees than subjugated slaves.


    With plates emptied and bellies full, the mood turned lighthearted as Gavin and Griswald began swapping humorous and heroic war stories from their years of service together. Gavin''s booming laughter filled the hall as he recounted one particularly daring escapade that ended with Griswald falling into a swamp to escape a demon ambush.


    The servants, who had finished their duties, joined us at the table to listen. Even the dainty foxkin woman who had served Gavin earlier perched herself on his knee, laughing along with the tales. It became clear that Gavin was a regular visitor here, and the servants seemed to know him well, and were quite fond of him.


    Captain Gavin, it turned out, had earned a minor noble title as a baronet and been appointed as head of the castle guard due to his heroic exploits during the wars against the demon nation of Draemor.


    As the evening wound down and the sun dipped low on the horizon, I spoke up, my voice cutting through the warm hum of conversation. "Lord Griswald, sir, I noticed some areas of your farmland look sickly. Do you know why?"


    The joyful expression on Lord Griswald''s face faded into one of frustrated sadness. "Actually, no," he admitted with a heavy sigh. "It started about a arc ago with one small patch of crops withering. Since then, the affected area has been steadily growing."


    "We''ve tried everything we can think of," he continued, his voice tinged with resignation. "We''ve had mages attempt to revitalize the plants, renew the soil, even lift any curses that might have been placed on the land. Some of these methods worked, briefly. The crops would spring back to life for a few hours, but by the next morning, they were withered again."


    I leaned forward with a confident smile. "I know what''s wrong with your crops," I said, my tone assured. "And I can fix them for you."


    The room fell into an awkward silence as everyone, except Lady Willow, of course, stared at me in shock. Lord Griswald''s eyes narrowed slightly, his skepticism clear, while Gavin folded his arms, raising an eyebrow at me.


    "You know¡­" I added hesitantly, now feeling the weight of their stares. "If you want, I could remove what''s causing your crops to wither."


    Gavin broke the silence with a chuckle. "What do you know about farming, young prince?" he asked, his voice amused but not unkind. "This is probably the first farmland you''ve ever seen."


    Lord Griswald sighed, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "I have to agree with Gavin. I find it hard to believe you were able to diagnose the problem just by passing by the fields on your way to my manor. But," he added with a shrug, "we''ve tried everything else. At this point, we''re looking at losing a fourth of our harvest. So, by all means, let''s see what you can do."


    With that, the four of us, Lady Willow, Gavin, Griswald, and I, departed the manor. As we thanked the servants for their wonderful meal and service, Silfy hurried over with a thick fur cloak for Griswald, replacing his cape. She fussed over him like a mother sending her child out to play, her parting words a gentle, "Stay warm and be safe."


    The other servants gathered at the door, waving goodbye as we climbed into the carriage. Their warmth and genuine affection for their master lingered with me as we rode toward the afflicted fields.


    The carriage ride was brief, and I directed the driver to stop near the center of the affected area. As we stepped out, I saw desolate patches of farmland stretched out before us, lifeless and dry. In my mind, I overlaid the aerial view I''d seen earlier through my bird puppet. From above, the withering followed a distinct spiral pattern, like the coils of a massive snake.


    From my studies of the bestiary, I remembered an entry about a monster that matched this pattern: the Dreadcoil Worm. A giant subterranean creature, it lays its eggs beneath farmlands, feeding the larva by siphoning the life force from the surrounding plants. As the larva grows, the area of decay extends outward in a spiral.


    Dreadcoil Worms weren''t native to this region; they were usually found much farther south in the lands of Fuketsujin. That explained why no one here recognized the telltale signs.


    "What you''re dealing with here isn''t a blight or a curse," I began, drawing shocked expressions from Gavin and Griswald. "There''s a monster coiled beneath our feet, feeding off your land. Its egg hatched about an arc ago, and it''s been growing ever since. Right now, it''s a juvenile, so we still have a chance to kill it. But if we wait any longer, it will grow much larger and far more dangerous."


    "A Dreadcoil?" Griswald repeated, his brow furrowing. "I''ve never heard of such a creature."


    "It''s still a baby, then," Gavin said with an air of confidence. "This should be easy."


    <i>That''s not what the word juvenile means.</i>


    "All we need to do is pull the worm from the ground using a bit of earth magic," I said confidently. "It <i>should</i> still be sluggish and slow to respond since it''s still developing."


    "Small problem," Griswald said, folding his arms. "Gavin isn''t a mage, and I have a water affinity, not earth."


    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lady Willow turn her head and roll her eyes.


    <i>Lady Willow always said that only novice magic users worried about magical "type affinities."</i>


    "Don''t worry, I''ll handle it," I said, my tone firm.


    "You?" Griswald scoffed, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "You''re five years old. You expect me to believe you can use earth magic powerful enough to pull a monster from the ground?"


    Rather than arguing, I decided it would be easier to show them. I extended my hand, focusing my mana into the soil beneath us. I visualized it spreading through the earth, coiling around the worm, and becoming one with the ground. Once I felt the connection, I pushed the soil above the worm aside while forcing the ground beneath it upward, bringing the creature to the surface.


    The ground rumbled as the earth parted, revealing a massive, slimy creature erupting from the soil. Gavin and Griswald stumbled back in shock, while the carriage driver screamed and fled. Gavin''s massive sword was in his hands in an instant, gleaming in the fading light.


    Lady Willow, meanwhile, stood perfectly calm, her expression bored as though this were merely another tedious task on her agenda.


    The worm finally emerged in its full terrifying form, a monstrous, 40-foot-long creature, its slimy body nearly five feet in diameter. Its head was a gaping circular mouth lined with spiraling rows of razor-sharp teeth, designed to shred prey as it was drawn into the abyss of its throat.


    "That''s a <i>baby</i>?" Gavin exclaimed, his voice full of disbelief. Without hesitation, he began casting enhancement magic on himself. "Iron Skin, Lion''s Heart, Thought Acceleration, Diamond Edge, Enhance Speed!" His armor and sword glowed faintly as each spell took effect, enveloping him in a golden aura.


    "Fire Lance!" Griswald shouted, casting a blazing spear of fire toward the worm. But with shocking speed, the creature dodged the attack and lunged directly at me.


    Panic surged through me. Reflexively, I cast a barrier spell. The translucent shield held, but the worm''s attack sent a shockwave through my body. The immense mana drain from the impact left me dizzy, my knees buckling beneath me. I gasped for breath as the worm reared back, its focus locked on me.


    <i>Why was it targeting me? Perhaps it didn''t appreciate being woken up.</i>


    The worm lunged again, its massive, razor-filled mouth hurtling toward me. My mana was nearly depleted, and I knew my barrier wouldn''t hold against a second strike. I froze in fear, unable to move. Its grotesque maw filled my vision, and for a moment, I thought, <i>Is this it? Is this how I die?</i><i>


    </i>Just as the worm''s mouth was about to close around me, Lady Willow appeared before me, her movements impossibly graceful. With a flick of her hand, she cast her own barrier, one far more powerful than mine. The worm slammed into it with a deafening crash, its body instantly searing and smoking where it made contact with the shield.


    Before it could react, Gavin moved with inhuman speed. His massive frame belied a startling agility as he darted around the worm, his blade slicing deep into its side. Blood sprayed in torrents as Gavin ran the length of the creature, cutting it from head to tail in a single, precise motion. The worm''s body convulsed, split apart, and collapsed in a heap of gore.


    As the monster''s lifeless remains slumped to the ground, Gavin stood at its center, drenched in blood but grinning triumphantly. "Now <i>that''s</i> how you handle a baby," he said with a smirk.


    <i>There is so much wrong with that statement</i>


    Lady Willow lowered her barrier, turning to me with a calm expression. "You did well, young master," she said, though her tone was more matter-of-fact than congratulatory.


    I sank to the ground, trembling as the adrenaline drained from my body. The smell of blood and the sight of the worm''s massive, bisected corpse filled the air. It was over, but the lesson was clear. I still had so much to learn, and so far to go, if I wanted to survive in this dangerous world.


    Lady Willow gently lifted me off the ground, cradling me against her chest with surprising tenderness.


    "Is the young master all right?" Lord Griswald asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.


    "He''s fine," Lady Willow replied, her tone steady and reassuring as she carried me back to the carriage. "Just a bit drained of mana. He''ll recover with some rest."


    <i>That was kind of her to say, but truthfully, I am not just exhausted, I am shaken to my core. The monster was far more terrifying in real life than it had ever seemed in the pages of a book. </i>


    "I''m okay too, by the way," Gavin called out from the side, trying and failing to wipe off the overwhelming stench and gore covering him from head to toe.


    "I''m very impressed by the boy," Griswald said, his tone thoughtful as I struggled to keep my eyes open. "Not only did he identify what was destroying our crops, but he saved my lands from a monster that could have caused even more destruction. He''s done a great service for my domain."


    "He is a very talented boy," Lady Willow said with quiet pride as she carried me into the carriage.


    She settled me onto the seat beside her, laying my head on her lap. Her fingers brushed my hair soothingly, and I felt some of the tension begin to ease. Lord Griswald stepped into the carriage next.


    Captain Gavin moved to follow, but Griswald held up a hand. "Not you, Gavin," he said firmly. "I don''t want you making a mess of the carriage. You''re riding on the outside."


    "This is the thanks I get?" Gavin grumbled, throwing up his hands in mock frustration. "I just saved everyone here!"


    "Exactly, and we thank you by letting you enjoy the fresh air," Griswald quipped, smirking.


    Gavin muttered something under his breath but complied, climbing up onto the driver''s bench.


    As the carriage began to move, I felt myself drifting off, exhaustion pulling at my consciousness. The last thought that flickered through my mind was of Captain Gavin. His enhancement magic and brilliant swordsmanship during the fight had been astonishing, especially for someone who wasn''t a mage.


    I had no idea someone with so little magical capacity could use it so efficiently. From what I could sense, Gavin had about the same mana reserves as me, yet he wielded it with precision and discipline.


    <i>I need to have him train me</i>

 How Far Does Fruit Fall

    I am Edric Drakemore, age 56, King of Arcadia, and I live only for the day I can exact revenge for the murder of my beloved wife.


    My dear Arin, the love of my life, was taken from me five years ago. Since that day, the world has been stripped of color, food of taste, and my soul of joy. Each breath I take is heavy with sorrow, and the only thing more unbearable than her loss is the cruel torment I endure daily. The evil that stole her from me lives under my roof, and I am powerless to remove it.


    My nightmare has a name: Ren. A demon who masquerades as my son, wearing a face that mocks my Arin with every glance. It is a vile trick, a torture so exquisite it could only have been conceived by the cruelest of devils. The day he was born, the day he ripped her soul from her body, I tried to kill him. Not out of madness, but with the clearest conviction I have ever known. What lay before me was not a child but a monster. My belief was vindicated when he summoned an equally terrifying monstrous fae by the name of Willow to curse me.


    This devil''s familiar took the form of a beautiful sliver hair maiden. It''s beauty being only a insidious mask to hide the evil inside. She is a powerful, dangerous monster with the ability to enthrall mortals and bend them to her will. Despite all my power, my many years of training my craft to become the most powerful mage and assume the throne, it still fell victim to her curse. And what an evil curse it was. She placed and enchantment on me that prevents me from taking any action to directly harm the devil by the name of Ren. Nore will my mouth allow me to tell a sole what lady willow actually is. I was forced to speak the lie that i wished lady willow to care of the devil in my castle.


    It is a terrifying feeling, not being able to control or trust my own mind, knowing that creature is in my head, silencing the truth and forcing my mouth to form lies. At first, I wanted nothing more than to have them leave. I never wanted to see the monster wearing my wife''s features or the devil that cursed me again. It was torture having them live in my home, a daily reminder of my helplessness and loss.


    But over time, my hatred evolved into something sharper, something more resolute. I don''t want them gone, I want revenge. I decided it was better to keep the beast close, where I could observe and control it to some degree, rather than risk it slipping out of reach.


    I have endured this nightmare for years, but I do not endure out of fear. I endure because I know the day will come when I can finally act. I will find a way to neutralize Lady Willow. I will find a way to destroy the curse she placed on me. And when that day comes, the monster that killed my beloved Arin will face the full wrath of a King who has lost everything.


    I have a plan to kill her, but it requires time and patience. The enchantment she placed upon me demands that I send others to gather what is needed, unable to reveal the true purpose behind my requests. Yet I found a way to navigate the constraints of her curse. Carefully crafted words and vague instructions ensure my loyal servants fulfill their tasks without understanding their purpose.


    To safeguard my kingdom and my plan, I have commanded all the noble families of Arcadia to avoid Lady Willow and Ren at all costs. I have ordered them to remain silent about Ren''s existence and to erase all mention of his birth. To the world, I have only one son, my real son.


    Until I acquire the means to destroy them, my loyal lords will do whatever they can to limit Willow and Ren''s influence. They will quietly sabotage their efforts, weakening their standing and undermining any foothold they may gain. All of this is merely a prelude to the day I take my revenge. It is my duty, not only as a husband but as a king, to avenge Arin and protect my kingdom from this monster.


    <hr>


    These are the thoughts that consume my days.


    I wake with a start again this morning, my chest heaving, my heart racing, as I emerge from the grip of another nightmare. Always the same nightmare, of her death, of the creature that mocks her memory.


    "MAIDS!" I roar, my voice thundering through the royal chambers. Two elf slaves rush in, their heads bowed as they move to dress me.


    As I step from my bed, one of them fumbles with my crown in her trembling hands. The delicate golden circlet slips, clattering loudly to the floor. My fury surges. Without hesitation, I strike her across the face, the blow sending her sprawling to the ground.


    "Useless!" I shout, my voice cold and venomous. "You dare defile the royal crown? Drop it again, and I will gut you myself!"


    The pathetic creature scrambles to retrieve the crown, her hands shaking as she places it carefully on my head. I strike her again, this time for good measure, reminding her of her place. She collapses to the floor, blood streaming from her nose, tears pooling in her wide, fearful eyes.


    "Get out of my sight, you filthy animals," I order, my tone sharp and biting. "Have the cooks prepare my breakfast. And summon my son."


    The slaves retreat quickly, leaving trails of blood and humiliation in their wake. I watch them go with disdain before stepping out of my chambers. I make my way down the long stone hallways toward the royal dining hall, the echoes of my footsteps the only company in the cold silence.


    When Arin was alive, these halls were bathed in a beautiful and warm glow from the enchanted lamps that lined them. Now the light feels cold and eerie, casting long, uninviting shadows. It''s strange how much the world can change in an instant. One person can make all the difference.


    I enter the dining hall, a vast room that once pulsed with life and laughter. Long, ornate tables stretch the length of the chamber, each capable of seating fifty people. At the head of the room, on a raised platform, stands a slightly smaller table, designed to seat twenty.


    This hall, now so silent and empty, once hosted Arin''s grand balls and galas. She loved this room, pouring her heart into planning events that brought both nobles and commoners together. It was one of the many reasons she was beloved by our people, far more than I could ever hope to be.


    When she was taken from us, the kingdom mourned deeply. To them, she died from an unexplained illness. Only I know the truth.


    She died on the tenth day of the first week of Blossomarc. Every year since, on that same day, the kingdom holds a grand festival to honor her memory. The people still love her, even in death. It is a bittersweet reminder that she lived, that she was cherished, and that my mission to avenge her is far from over.


    I sit at the head of the table on the raised platform. Shortly after, my 6-year-old son enters the room, guided by his attendant, Holt. Holt is a thin, tall, middle-aged man with a perpetually tired and shrewd expression, as if the weight of his responsibilities presses on him constantly. Charles walks beside him, his posture casual and his expression bored.


    Charles takes the seat to my right, and I smile warmly at him. He is the only thing in this world that I truly love. He is the last remnant of Arin, the only piece of her I have left. I would do anything for him, give him anything.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Good morning, son," I say, my voice soft with affection as I look at him lovingly.


    "Good morning, Father," he replies, though his tone is indifferent, his eyes wandering as if he''d rather be anywhere else.


    Servants hurry into the room, placing food on the table before us. The clinking of silverware and soft shuffle of feet echo through the vast, empty hall. I glance around at the grand room with its countless empty seats, and a pang of sadness strikes me. This space, once alive with laughter and conversation, is now filled with silence. My son and I dine alone.


    As we begin eating, I speak gently. "Son, I''ve heard from your instructors that you haven''t been applying yourself in your studies."


    Charles rolls his eyes, his voice tinged with annoyance. "I apply myself plenty. My instructors are liars."


    "Your tutors and instructors are the best in the world," I say, keeping my tone patient despite having said this a hundred times before. "I''ve spared no expense to bring them here to teach you. Their knowledge is invaluable, and it''s important that you take advantage of it."


    "I''m tired of all the training and studying. It''s boring!" Charles complains, his fork clinking against his plate. "I want to play with my friends."


    I sigh softly, trying to remain calm. "Son, one day the time will come for you to inherit my throne. To ensure that you are not challenged in your right to rule, you must be strong and wise. If you appear weak, you risk jeopardizing the status and power of our family."


    Charles scoffs, barely hiding his disdain as he pokes at his food. "Whatever," he mutters.


    We eat the rest of our breakfast mostly in silence. The clinking of plates and the occasional sounds of Charles chewing are the only interruptions to the stillness. When we finish, Holt steps forward and bows slightly before guiding Charles out of the hall to begin his studies.


    I remain seated, my thoughts heavy with concern for the future of my kingdom. I love my son dearly, but I cannot ignore the signs. He lacks the temperament, the discipline, and the motivation required to become a great mage or ruler. The kingdom demands strength, and without it, he may struggle to hold the throne I''ve spent my life fortifying.


    I am pulled from my thoughts as a messenger enters the hall, bowing deeply. "Your Majesty, Lord Fobos is here and requests an audience."


    I nod, rising from my seat. "Send him to the throne room," I command, striding purposefully from the dining hall.


    <hr>


    Moments later, I arrive in the throne room, where Lord Fobos and another, humbly dressed man await me. As I approach my throne, both bow low, their postures deferential.


    "Thank you for gracing us with your time, my King," says the corpulent Lord Fobos, his ostentatiously embellished robes almost mocking in their excessive adornment.


    "I always have time for you, my friend," I respond, though my tone is more tired than welcoming. "What is it you needed to discuss?"


    "My Lord, I have news about that¡­ boy," Fobos begins urgently, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "I think you should be aware."


    "Well, what is it, then?" I ask, my interest piqued, a faint edge of tension creeping into my voice.


    "During this last arc, he has been seen several times in the commons, giving away highly valuable healing potions," Fobos reports, his tone dripping with disdain. "The commoners are speaking of a second prince, calling him the ''Blessed Young Prince.'' Worse still, he is doing this in blatant violation of Merchant Guild rules!"


    "Sounds like he is trying to win the heart of the people. He gives them treasures they can''t afford, though he intends to slaughter them in the future like a farmer fattening a hog for slaughter." I say darkly.


    "I don''t like the idea of commoners growing accustomed to access to luxury items meant for the nobility," Fobos says, his concern evident. "They may start demanding the prices of such items be lowered! The boy may be inflating the market supply now, but when he stops, the shortage will leave the nobility unable to secure what they need if they must compete with commoners."


    "So, he''s been selling potions, too?" I ask, narrowing my eyes. "Raising funds."


    "Yes, my Lord. He has been selling 150 potions a week for the last arc through Lady Muara''s apothecary. That volume means he''s raising far more money than he would need for any ordinary expenses," Fobos explains. "I suspect he is planning something."


    "I think you''re right," I murmur, my thoughts turning. "The question is, what do we do?"


    "I plan to revoke Lady Willow''s merchant license," Fobos declares with conviction. "That will cut off their source of income entirely."


    "No!" I snap, my voice firm. "You must not challenge Willow directly, she is dangerous." I pause, ensuring my words carry weight. "Instead, flood the market with potions. Oversaturate it so completely that the local shops have no room to purchase hers. Guild policy will force them to prioritize potions supplied by the Guild over any independent suppliers."


    Fobos strokes his chin thoughtfully. "To do that, I would need to source potions from neighboring nations. It will cost a great deal of money and time to source, transport and stockpile enough potions."


    "You''ll only need to do it for a time," I say with a faint smirk. "Until Willow realizes her potions cannot sell and abandons her efforts altogether."


    Fobos nods slowly, a calculating gleam in his eye. "It is expensive, but¡­ doable."


    "Also," Fobos continues, "the boy and Lady Willow were involved in an incident in Lord Griswald''s domain last night."


    He gestures toward a humbly dressed man standing behind him. "This man is one of my servants who drove their carriage last night. He came to me this morning with a concerning report."


    "Well, what is it?" I demand impatiently, leaning forward on my throne.


    "Apparently, after meeting with Lord Griswald, Ren, Willow, and Captain Gavin went to the affected farmland. Ren himself identified the cause of the blight instantly and then..." Fobos hesitates, his tone almost incredulous, "...he pulled a Dreadcoil out of the ground and helped defeat it."


    "Impossible!" I scoff, though my stomach tightens with unease. "You''re telling me that a 5-year-old boy pulled a Dreadcoil from the ground and fought it? At his age?"


    If it''s true, then that boy possesses unfathomable magical capacity. Far beyond anything I''ve seen in a human child. It would confirm my worst fear: that he truly is a monster. Worse still, if his power continues to grow, he may one day surpass even my own. If I do not deal with him before he reaches adulthood, he will become a threat to my throne. And I doubt my son will have the strength or skills to oppose him if that day comes.


    "This is very concerning," I say, my voice colder now. "All this means is that I must follow through on my plan. I cannot allow him to grow unchecked. He must be dealt with before he reaches adulthood, before he has the opportunity to hone that power further. In fact¡­" I pause, calculating.


    "He must be taken care of before he reaches the age of twelve. That is when he would be eligible to enroll in the magical academy. I cannot allow someone of his potential to enter that academy and refine his abilities. Nor can I stand for the kingdom to witness his power."


    Fobos nods vigorously. "Don''t worry, my King. Your loyal lords and I will see to it that the boy is dealt with long before then. He is just a child with a single attendant. There''s no need to tolerate them any longer. The sooner we dispatch them, the better."


    "No!" I snap, my voice sharp with frustration. "Leave Willow to me. Do not confront her."


    The words burn in my throat, the curse she placed on me constricting like a vice. I cannot tell Fobos the truth of what she is. I cannot explain why I have failed to have her eliminated. The attempts still haunt me.


    The first assassin I sent returned to me without memory of his identity or his mission. The second time, I ordered a slave to poison her, but the slave vanished without a trace. My third attempt was more calculated. I hired three skilled mages through an intermediary to attack the tower from a distance with fire magic. Their spells struck a barrier surrounding the tower, leaving it completely unharmed. By the next day, each of those mages was found dead in their homes, no wounds, no visible signs of what killed them.


    The memory churns my stomach. She is untouchable. For now.


    "Trust me, Fobos," I say through clenched teeth, the pain in my chest searing as I struggle against the enchantment. "Willow is¡­ she is very powerful. Let me handle her. When the time is right."


    Fobos hesitates but finally bows his head. "Very well, my King. I will trust your judgment. We will do all we can to help you, without confronting her directly."


    "However," I add, my voice colder, "if you ever find an opportunity where Ren is far from Willow, say, in another nation entirely, do not hesitate. Kill the boy."


    Fobos'' lips curl into a cruel smirk. "As you command, Your Majesty."

 Birthdays

    I am Ren Drakemore, the unwanted second Prince of Arcadia, who will one day take the throne from my tyrannical father and good-for-nothing brother. And today is my 8th birthday.


    For most people, birthdays are joyous occasions, celebrations where friends and family gather to honor you, expressing gratitude for your existence and the time you''ve spent in their lives. A birthday is meant to be a celebration of life. But when the day you were born is also the day your mother died, that anniversary takes on a much darker meaning.


    Every year, on the 10th day of Blossomarc, the entire kingdom throws a grand festival. Commoners and nobles alike celebrate the memory of Queen Arin, mourning her tragic passing. In a way, my birthday is widely observed, but not for me. They don''t celebrate my life, they mourn my mother''s death. Most people in the kingdom don''t even know I exist.


    Tonight, the market streets will be alive with festivities: entertainers performing for the crowds, food stalls serving indulgent treats, memorials adorned with flowers and tributes to the late queen, and mages casting mesmerizing displays of colorful lights and fire in the night sky. It will be beautiful. It always is.


    Lady Willow will undoubtedly plan something private to mark the day for me. She always does. Most likely, she''ll arrange a special meal and present me with some thoughtful gift. Every year, she goes to great lengths to fulfill some imagined checklist of birthday traditions she believes human children desire.


    I appreciate her efforts, but I think I''d rather skip it altogether and focus on my training.


    In the last three years, I''ve made immense progress. Nearly being devoured by a monstrous worm tends to motivate a person to push themselves harder.


    After that day with the Dreadcoil, I asked Captain Gavin to begin training me. I wanted to learn more about his use of enhancement spells and to develop my swordsmanship. I had realized that magic alone has its limits. If you let yourself run completely out of mana, you are defenseless. Proficiency with a sword provides a way to keep fighting even when mana is low and allows you to conserve magical energy when it isn''t necessary.


    Gavin informed me that my father had expressly forbidden all nobles in the castle from assisting or even being near me. However, Gavin had no intention of following that edict. To avoid being caught, he limited our training to one hour each evening, conducted in the privacy of my tower. True to his word, on most nights, he would arrive after sunset, train me for an hour, and then join Lady Willow and me for dinner before heading home.


    Thanks to his guidance, I''ve grown much stronger and more skilled with a sword. One of the first things he taught me was that physical conditioning helps reduce the toll mana drain takes on stamina during battle. Because of that, I''ve incorporated rigorous physical training into my daily routine.


    My magic training with Lady Willow has also advanced significantly. My magical capacity and control have improved to the point where I can now control four puppets simultaneously, with a range of several miles. I''ve even integrated my puppets into my combat training. While my muscles don''t benefit from their movements, I gain valuable practice in the spells and techniques they perform. They also provide me with a good sparring partner when Gavin is not around.


    At present, I have an array of puppets at my disposal: four humanoid puppets, ten small hummingbird puppets, and a large hawk-shaped puppet equipped with sharp metal claws and a razor-like beak.


    I haven''t neglected my studies, either. With two puppets reading different books at a time, I''ve managed to get through over 100 books a year. This has allowed me to gain knowledge across a wide range of topics. I''m close to exhausting Lady Willow''s library, burning through its collection so quickly that I''m now searching for other sources of books. With my perfect memory, there''s no point in rereading what I''ve already completed.


    Perhaps the biggest milestone is that six arcs ago, Lady Willow finally agreed to teach me offensive magic. She decided my magical control had improved enough to safely handle the complexity of combat spells. Since then, I''ve learned level 2 spells in fire, earth, lightning, and water magic.


    It''s worth noting that spell levels don''t refer to their strength but to their complexity and the order in which they are typically taught. The power of any spell, regardless of its level, is determined by the caster''s magical capacity.


    I still remember the day Lord Griswald used the level 1 fire spell <i>Fire Lance</i> against the Dreadcoil. The small crater it left behind gave me a clear benchmark for the power of a trained mage. I''m proud to say that my version of <i>Fire Lance</i> leaves the same level of destruction. While I''m not suggesting I could beat a battle-hardened warrior like Lord Griswald, being able to match his strength with a spell at age 8 is a promising start.


    Right now, I''m working on a special puppet, one unlike the others. Its wooden body is reinforced with iron, dressed in armor, clothes, boots, gloves, a hooded cloak, and a mask to conceal its nature. I''ve armed it with a sword and several daggers purchased from a local blacksmith.


    The biggest difference with this puppet is the addition of two unique enchantments: <b>Replicate Voice</b> and <b>Thought Transmission</b>. Replicate Voice allows the puppet to speak and mimic any voice, while Thought Transmission enables telepathic communication, letting me direct it from afar and covertly relay messages.


    "I think you''re about ready." I say to myself looking over my puppet as it is held up by its support frame.


    Just then, the door to the tower creaks open, and Lady Willow walks in, her traveling cloak draped elegantly over her shoulders and her magical storage bag at her side. She had left earlier to make our weekly delivery of potions to the apothecary.


    "Welcome home, Lady Willow!" I call out with a smile from across the workshop. "How''s Lady Muara doing?"


    "Lady Muara wasn''t able to purchase any of our potions," Willow replies, her tone calm as she hangs up her cloak.


    "She couldn''t buy <i>any</i> of them?" I ask, surprised and confused. "What happened?"


    "It appears Lord Fobos has decided to sabotage our potion-making venture," Lady Willow says as she begins ascending the spiral staircase, gesturing for me to follow.


    "What did he do?" I exclaim, hurrying after her. "How did he sabotage us?"


    At the top of the stairs, she takes a seat at the tea table beside a window and waits for me. As I round the last step, she gestures to the chair across from her. I quickly pull it out and sit down, eager for an explanation.


    "Tell me what that pompous jerk did," I say, my frustration bubbling over.


    "When I arrived at the apothecary, Lady Muara informed me that she couldn''t accept our shipment because she had no room left in her storage for potions," Willow begins, her voice composed as always. "The Merchant''s Guild has ensured that every shop licensed to sell healing potions in the capital is fully stocked."


    "How is that sabotage? Shouldn''t she honor her previous agreements with us first?" I ask, frowning.


    "Guild rules dictate that contracts arranged through the Guild take precedence over privately arranged ones," Willow explains. "Lord Fobos is flooding the market with potions through Guild contracts, effectively locking us out."The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "But where is he even getting the potions from?" I ask. "I thought there weren''t many people producing high-grade healing potions locally."


    "You''re correct," Willow says with a knowing smile. "They couldn''t have sourced all those potions from within the kingdom. It''s likely they''ve imported large quantities from neighboring nations."


    "That must be costing them a fortune," I say, the realization dawning. "Buying at full price and covering transport costs? They''re probably taking a massive loss just to stop us from making money."


    "And with trade negotiations between nations taking place in person," I add, "it would take a competent person at least six arcs to finalize the contracts, acquire the goods, and transport them to flood the market. Fobos doesn''t strike me as particularly competent."


    "Indeed," Lady Willow says, her tone dry. "For someone like him, I''d estimate it would take closer to two years, four arcs, and ten days to complete such a plan." She pauses thoughtfully. "Give or take a day."


    I blink at her in surprise, my bemused expression meeting her widening smile. "That is¡­ a very specific estimate."


    "Of course," she replies, the hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "But specifics aside, Lord Fobos'' short-sightedness has worked in our favor. By flooding the capital''s market, he''s inadvertently created a massive deficit of potions in neighboring nations. Prices in those regions will skyrocket."


    The thought settles in my mind, and I can''t help but feel a glimmer of satisfaction. "So, by trying to ruin us, he''s actually handed us an even greater opportunity," I say, shaking my head at the irony.


    "Thankfully, Lord Fobos isn''t particularly clever." Willow remarks, her tone laced with bored amusement. "You would be wise to learn from your adversary''s mistakes."


    "You must always consider not just the immediate effects of your actions, but also the ripple of consequences they will create and how people are likely to respond, even many steps down the road." Lady Willow councils me.


    "Understood," I respond, mulling over our options. "As for the potions we couldn''t sell today, we could save them to sell in one of the neighboring nations. The Kingdom of Hyperion is the closest and maintains friendly relations with Arcadia."


    "On the other hand, we could provide today''s potions to the commons for free." I suggested. "I would like to continue to make deliveries to our friends in the commons even if we are not selling locally."


    Lady Willow considers my words carefully, her expression unreadable. "If that is what you wish to do," she replies evenly. "However, you must consider how Lord Fobos will respond when he discovers your actions, assuming he hasn''t already."


    Lady Willow and I departed the castle once again, her magic bag in hand, to deliver the potions to the commons. Like before, we passed through the nobles'' district, the clean streets and ornate homes giving way to the more humble surroundings of the commons as we reached the gate. Once inside, we veered off the main road, navigating through side streets and narrow alleys until we arrived at Mr. Langly''s house.


    In the past, I would distribute the potions myself, handing them out openly to those in need. However, it quickly became clear that this was far too conspicuous. Flaunting our disregard for the Guild''s rules was not just unwise, it was dangerous.


    Instead, we devised a better system. We partnered with Mr. Paul Langly, a trusted member of the commons. Mr. Langly was a local healer of sorts, someone the impoverished turned to when they had nowhere else to go. His treatments relied heavily on home remedies, whose effectiveness and safety I found... questionable, to put it kindly.


    However, he was an honest man at heart, and our arrangement benefited everyone. By providing him with our potions, his treatments became 100% effective, and zero percent snake oil.


    <i>There are plenty of odd ingredients that go into potions, but snake oil is not one of them.</i>


    We arrived at a group housing building, worn down and dirty like the rest of the commons. An old wooden sign nailed above the entrance read <b>"Healer."</b> The paint was faded and peeling, but it was enough to identify Mr. Langly''s practice.


    Inside, the air was stale, and the dingy hallway was lined with doors leading to cramped, single-room family quarters. The first door to the right had a smaller version of the sign from outside, marking it as Langly''s apartment.


    I knocked, and a moment later, the door creaked open. Standing before us was Mr. Paul Langly himself, a skinny, ancient man with long, unkempt white hair and a beard that was only slightly less white. His tunic and apron were stained and smelled of a rotten concoction of spilled home remedy ingredients, spills that I suspected weren''t recent.


    If I''m being honest, his appearance didn''t exactly inspire confidence in his abilities as a healer. Still, many in the commons swore by him.


    Today, however, he looked far worse than usual. A black eye darkened his left socket, and fresh cuts marked his swollen lip and right eyebrow. His own dried blood mixed with the usual stains on his clothes, and he limped painfully as he stepped aside to let us in.


    "What in the world happened to you, Mr. Langly?" I asked, concern evident in my voice as I took in his injuries. "Are you hurt? Willow, please, a potion."


    "Darn right I am, Your Princeliness," Langly muttered, accepting the potion Lady Willow handed him.


    She had already anticipated the request and produced it with her usual efficiency.


    Langly lowered himself onto his bed with a wince, removed the stopper from the potion, and downed it in one gulp. The faint green glow of the potion''s magic healed his injuries almost instantly, erasing the cuts, swelling, and bruising.


    "Some of your father''s knights on the order of his lordship Fobos did me the discourtesy of paying me a visit, they did," Langly sys angrily, setting the empty bottle aside.


    "Lord Fobos sent knights here and they just beat you up? For no reason?" I asked, my voice rising in disbelief.


    "Oh no, no, no, that weren''t all," Langly says bitterly, his frustration evident. "They also took the potions. Accused me of having stolen goods, they did. Called it a warning."


    "A warning?" I asked, my jaw tightening.


    Langly nodded, his gnarled fingers gripping the edge of his bed. "Aye, a warning. Said if I''m caught with ''stolen goods'' again, I''ll be thrown in the dungeon, I will. And you know what they meant by ''stolen,'' don''t you, lad? It''s them potions you''ve been so kindly providin''."


    My hands clenched into fists. My father and lord Fobos had gone to far, harassing and stealing from a man who had done nothing but help others. Their actions weren''t just cruel; they were meant to send a message, to me.


    Lady Willow placed a steadying hand on my shoulder, sensing my growing anger. "Calm yourself, young master,"


    "Why should I be calm? Shouldn''t we get even?" I argued, my anger bubbling to the surface.


    Lady Willow raised an eyebrow, her tone steady but edged with a hint of humor. "Young master, if you truly want to get even with the King and Lord Fobos, it shouldn''t be for <i>this.</i> Let''s not forget, they''ve done far worse than stealing a few potions and roughing up Mr. Langly."


    "I don''t know, M''lady," Langly interjected, his tone laced with indignation. "From <i>my</i> perspective, this was pretty bad." His comment went unnoticed as Lady Willow pressed on.


    "And besides," she continued, "you already have a long-term plan for revenge, one that you will not throw away over a single slight. Remember, your goals are far greater than this small offense."


    I fell silent for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. "But it''s infuriating," I say, my voice quieter but still tinged with frustration. "Why shouldn''t I act now?"


    "Because, young master," Lady Willow says, her tone softening but retaining its firmness, "achieving your goals requires a calm head and careful actions. To outmaneuver your enemies, you must thwart them subtly, striking from the shadows. When you defeat them, it should be in such a way that they never realize you were the architect of their downfall."


    She was right, of course. Acting rashly might feel satisfying in the moment, but it would jeopardize everything we were working toward.


    "Fine," I conceded with a sigh, leaning back in my chair. "I''ll play it smart. But someday, they''ll pay for what they''ve done."


    "In any case, we can''t leave the potions here with Mr. Langly. Those knights are sure to return, and if he has a new stock of potions they probably will arrest him. " Willow says matter-of-factly.


    "Yeah, I''m not looking to get my ass beat again. No way, no how," Langly says with a determined shake of his head.


    We apologized to Mr. Langly for the trouble and set back to the castle still holding all the potions.


    It was frustrating that Lord Fobos had made it more difficult to distribute potions to the commons.


    That said, there is a silver lining to this. Many of the commoners in the capital know that I was the one providing those potions. After this, word will spread that Lord Fobos, or even the King himself ordered that knights steal the potions and beat an innocent man. This will only likely increase my support and reduce the support for the King amongst the common folk that make up 95% of the kingdom. Having the support from commoners is a powerful card to play if you do so at the right time and place. I don''t know how or when I may play that card, but I do want to have that card in my pocket.

 Kings Game

    I am Willow of the Fae, and I have lived for 5,095 years. At this fleeting moment in my vast existence, I find myself the guardian of Ren Drakemore, the second prince of Arcadia.


    One of humanity''s many peculiar traditions is the annual celebration of their birth. Perhaps they mark each year because they have so few, a stark reminder of their sprint toward oblivion. To me, it feels excessive, an incessant acknowledgment of their fragility. However, through my observations, I have learned that birthdays hold great importance to humans. These celebrations seem to shield their fragile minds, especially those of children, who require constant nurturing from parents and friends to grow mentally stable. Though their customs often appear nonsensical to me, I have made efforts to emulate them for Ren''s sake.


    Today marks Ren''s eighth birthday, and I have crafted a detailed plan based on seven years of trial and error. The first step involves preparing an overabundance of his favorite foods. After sampling 130 distinct dishes, prepared in 1,432 different ways, I have identified Ren''s top five favorites. This tradition, as I understand it, also demands an excess, far more than he or his guests could reasonably consume. For the first time, I have even arranged for guests to join the feast.


    The second hallmark of a human birthday is the gift: a thoughtful offering tailored to their often-fickle preferences. Ren, thus far, has struggled to appreciate the value of my past offerings.


    On his first birthday, I gave him a Soul Stone, imbued with the essence of 100 fallen warriors. It was a rare and powerful artifact, yet to Ren, it was "just another rock."


    For his third birthday, I presented him with a Magnus Spider. It was a magnificent magical creature, one that, if tamed, could grow into a formidable ally and protector. Unfortunately, I discovered that Ren harbors a fear of spiders, even those as "small" as two feet wide.


    On his fifth birthday, I gifted him a Mythrilroot sapling. The wood of this tree, once fully grown, is prized for crafting the most powerful wands. However, I failed to account for the fact that it would take over two human lifetimes to mature and require constant mana infusion. Ren, regrettably, did not share my appreciation for its potential.


    Despite these setbacks, I am confident that this year I have found a gift he cannot help but value.


    <hr>


    There is a knock at the tower door, and I open it to find Captain Gavin and the elf slave, Silfy, the head servant from Lord Griswald''s estate. Gavin has forgone his usual heavy suit of armor, instead appearing in a simple blouse and trousers¡ªan uncommon sight for him. Silfy, meanwhile, wears a modest yet elegant dress more befitting a noblewoman than a servant, though the slave collar remains around her neck. Gavin carries two large, cloth-wrapped items, his broad grin as unrelenting as ever.


    "Welcome, and thank you for coming," I say, stepping aside. "Please join us upstairs."


    "Thank you for the invite!" booms Gavin in his typical jovial tone, his eyes scanning the room. "Where''s the birthday boy?"


    "Up... stairs," I repeat, slower this time.


    Even for a human he is an idiot.


    Without hesitation, Gavin bounds up the spiral staircase two steps at a time. Meanwhile, Silfy bows deeply, her demeanor stiff and formal. "Thank you, Lady Willow, for allowing me into your home. Lord Griswald regrets that he was unable to attend and has sent me in his stead."


    "Yes, he informed me. You are very welcome," I reply.


    Still bowing, Silfy continues with what seems like a rehearsed speech. "While I am here, I will serve you as I would him and beg your patience if I cause any trouble, M''Lady."


    Her fear is palpable. She must worry that we may be like other nobles, those who beat their slaves for the slightest perceived mistake. It''s a reasonable fear, but not in this home.


    "You poor child, raise your head," I say, unable to hide my frustration. "You seem confused about where you are."


    Silfy stiffens, mistaking my tone for displeasure. Her eyes squeeze shut as she blurts, "Very sorry, M''Lady!"


    "Miss Silfy, was it?" I ask, a note of impatience creeping into my voice. "Stand up straight and look at me."


    Slowly, Silfy straightens, though she still avoids meeting my gaze. Her whispered apology barely reaches my ears: "I''m sorry."


    "Silfy," I say firmly but gently, "you will not be serving us. You are a guest in our home and at the prince''s birthday party. I need you to look me in the eyes, stop trembling, and relax."


    She hesitates but finally shifts her gaze to mine. Her shoulders lower slightly as she takes a deep, calming breath. "Yes, ma''am," she says, her voice steadier.


    I hold elves in higher regard than other mortal races. With their long lifespans, they see the world from a perspective closer to that of the fae. Their natural attunement to magic and the earth makes them almost kin to my kind. It is for this reason that I find the enslavement of elves a gross violation of the natural order.


    "Miss Silfy," I continue, softening my tone, "you can expect the same care and patience from the prince and me as you would your master. All I need you to do is smile, eat food, and... GO. UP. STAIRS. Please." I add the last part with a shard of annoyance.


    "Right away, M''Lady," Silfy replies, forcing a wide, awkward smile before hurrying toward the staircase in an ungainly stride.


    I watch her ascend, shaking my head. I hadn''t realized how deeply her anxiety about leaving Griswald''s estate ran.


    Worst-case scenario: if she ruins the celebration with her awkwardness, I can always erase the memory of it from everyone.


    I follow Silfy upstairs to the second-floor dining room. When I arrive, Captain Gavin and Miss Silfy have already taken their seats at one end of the table, leaving the head seat reserved for Ren. Gavin looks completely at ease, glancing around the room as if expecting Ren to appear at any moment. His wrapped gifts now rest on the table alongside the one I had carefully prepared and placed earlier.


    Walking to Ren''s chair, I pull it out with one hand while waving the other to summon a winged spirit, a bat-like form made of swirling black smoke. The creature flutters and darts gracefully toward Ren''s room before slipping inside.


    The messenger spell''s voice echoes faintly in the distance as it delivers my message: "Young Master, please join us in the dining hall."


    Moments later, I hear footsteps descending the spiral staircase. Ren appears at the base, dressed in the formal attire I had prepared for him¡ªa suit adorned with frills and ribbons. According to my research, such garments are popular among noble youths and highlight their status as the guest of honor. Yet, despite my meticulous planning, Ren looks utterly crestfallen as he approaches the table and takes his seat.


    "What¡­ are you wearing?" asks Gavin, his brow furrowed in confusion.


    "Lady Willow asked that I wear these for my birthday party," Ren replies, his tone flat and utterly devoid of enthusiasm.


    "Your surprise birthday party," I correct, offering a smile.


    "What part of this party was a surprise?" Ren asks, his expression deadpan. "We do the same thing every year."


    "I gave you only a week''s notice," I counter. "And for the first time, we have guests!" I add, gesturing proudly to Gavin and Silfy.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Ren looks at me with an odd expression that I cannot decipher, but it is clear it is not the joy I anticipated.


    Perhaps Ren doesn''t realize he should feel happy about these traditions. Have I failed to teach him how to be happy?


    "And how does that explain the jester''s get-up?" Gavin presses, still visibly confused.


    "This is no jester''s get-up!" I rebuke. "These clothes are very popular among noble children."


    "I do recall this style being quite fashionable," Silfy offers hesitantly.


    "See?" I say triumphantly, looking to Ren for validation. Surely he will now realize he ought to be happy.


    "They were quite common¡­ two centuries ago," Silfy adds softly. "But they haven''t been in style for some time."


    "Come now," I scoff. "How much could styles possibly change in a mere two centuries? Now, let us move on to the food!"


    Perhaps the new clothes didn''t yield the expected result, but my plan is multi-faceted. Surely one of my tactics will elicit a joyful response from the young master. In the past seven years, I have failed to make Ren smile on his birthday. At this point, I see it as a personal challenge. In all my existence, I have never found any task too difficult. I will not be bested by this endeavor.


    With a wave of my hand, bowls and serving plates brimming with Ren''s favorite dishes appear, transported directly from the kitchen. The table is soon laden with far more food than anyone present could possibly consume. Gavin and Silfy both look suitably impressed.


    "Let''s eat!" Gavin bellows enthusiastically, immediately piling an assortment of meats onto his plate.


    Silfy, on the other hand, glances politely at Ren and me. Though she has been allowed to dine with her master at Griswald''s estate, she still adheres to the etiquette of waiting for the host to begin. Despite her composure, I can sense her excitement as her gaze darts toward the food.


    Ren, however, remains unenthusiastic, his expression subdued even as the meal begins.


    How strange. This food typically elicits a positive response.


    Gavin, apparently noticing Ren''s mood, speaks between hearty bites, his voice slightly muffled. "What''s the matter, kid? Eat up!"


    I tilt my head thoughtfully and reply before Ren can. "The young master is just a bit upset because his birthday also marks the day his mother died."


    Gavin freezes mid-bite, his eyes widening as he looks at me, clearly horrified. "Oh... I, uh..." he stammers, searching for words.


    Ren shoots me a sharp look, his face carefully neutral, before finally taking his first bite of food. Silfy, perhaps taking this as permission, begins eating as well, though she looks incredibly uncomfortable, her gaze fixed firmly on her plate.


    "How is the food, young master?" I ask inquisitively, leaning slightly forward. "Does it perhaps make you feel any better?"


    Ren pauses, his fork mid-air, and stares at me with thinly veiled irritation. "You mean about my dead mother?" he says flatly before resuming his lazy bites, his gaze never breaking from mine.


    Well, yes I was hoping it would. I guess food isn''t that powerful.


    <hr>


    The dinner progressed a bit awkwardly after that, for reasons I still cannot quite discern. While they ate, the brilliant magical display from the festival in the capital illuminated the window. Vibrant explosions of light painted the night sky, visible perfectly from the tower¡¯s vantage point. Gavin and Silfy seemed captivated by the display, their faces alight with awe and appreciation. Ren, however, remained disinterested, barely glancing at the show.


    But the party was far from over, and I still had my trump card.


    Once everyone had finished eating, they offered their thanks for the meal. With a wave of my hand, the table cleared itself, the dishes vanishing into the kitchen. Gavin assisted me by placing the three carefully wrapped gifts in front of Ren. I watched his face closely, noticing how his expression softened as he looked at the gifts. A spark of anticipation flickered in his eyes, and even the mystery of the wrappings seemed to brighten his mood. Surely, once he opened them, I would finally achieve my elusive goal¡ªRen¡¯s birthday smile.


    Ren reached for the first gift, Gavin¡¯s. As he unwrapped it, his eyes widened in awe. Inside was a brilliantly polished short sword, its surface gleaming under the light. Gavin leaned forward, explaining with excitement, "It¡¯s enchanted with a paralyzing curse. Even a small scratch will immobilize an opponent, as long as they don¡¯t have magical defenses."


    Ren¡¯s face lit up as he admired the sword. "This is perfect! Thank you, Captain Gavin," he said, his voice bubbling with genuine excitement. He even smiled, a brief but undeniable smile.


    That idiot Gavin. He managed to make Ren smile on his first try...


    Next was the gift Silfy had brought on Lord Griswald¡¯s behalf. Ren unwrapped it to reveal a neat stack of ten instructional magic books. Silfy explained, "These are from the Arcadian Academy of Magic¡¯s library. Lord Griswald arranged for Lord Lucian Kael, the Headmaster of the Academy, to lend these to you. If you need more, Lord Griswald will ensure they are exchanged regularly."


    "The Academy¡¯s library," Silfy added, "is much larger than the collection here in the tower and contains knowledge from across the New World."


    Ren¡¯s eyes sparkled with wonder. "This is incredible. Thank you, Silfy," he said, grinning widely.


    That doesn¡¯t count. She¡¯s lived among humans for generations. Of course, she understands them better than I do.


    Finally, it was time for my gift. Confidently, I placed it before Ren, gesturing for him to unwrap it. With careful hands, he removed the cloth to reveal a beautiful marble game board for King¡¯s Game. The board unfolded to display the detailed black-and-white pieces, including pawns, knights, mages, castles, and, of course, a queen and king.


    Excitedly, I explained the rules: how each piece moves differently across the board, how strategy shapes victory. As I spoke, Ren¡¯s curious expression shifted, and finally, his face broke into a joyous smile.


    I did it. I finally made Ren smile on his birthday.


    I should feel triumphant. I have been striving for this moment for years, so why don¡¯t I feel victorious? Instead, I feel¡­ warmth. Unfamiliar, overwhelming warmth. I can¡¯t look away from his glowing smile, the excitement dancing in his eyes as he examines the pieces.


    I feel a strange, senseless urge to hug the boy.


    I don¡¯t know what this feeling is, but I don¡¯t want it to end.


    When Ren looked up at me and asked, "Will you play with me?" I answered without hesitation: "Yes."


    Of course, this isn¡¯t for fun. This game is a tool for teaching strategy, a critical skill for Ren¡¯s future. Yes, that is why I agreed. It¡¯s all part of my plan.


    Not long after Gavin and Silfy thanked us again for inviting them and wished Ren a happy birthday before taking their leave. I then set up the game board for Ren and I to play.


    Not long after, Gavin and Silfy thanked us once again for the invitation and wished Ren a happy birthday before taking their leave. With the dining room quiet once more, I set up the game board for Ren and me to play.


    The soft clink of the wooden pieces against the marble board marked the beginning of our game. Ren leaned forward, his fingers hovering over the pieces as he studied the board intently. I watched him closely, noting the furrow in his brow and the way his lips pressed into a thin line. His mind was working hard, dissecting the possibilities, but I could see the hesitation in his movements.


    "Your move, young master," I said, keeping my tone light but deliberate.


    He hesitated before selecting his knight, moving it forward in a bold play to challenge my castle. A daring choice, but one that left him vulnerable. Without hesitation, I moved my mage to capture the knight, shattering his opening strategy.


    "You aren''t thinking enough moves ahead, Ren" I remarked with the faintest trace of amusement, though my gaze remained steady on him. "Bold deceive action alone does not win wars."


    His frown deepened as he stared at the board, his frustration evident in the way he tapped his finger lightly against his remaining pieces. His king was protected for now, but he is only a few moves from checkmate. He didn''t seem to realize the trap he had fallen for yet.


    "You see," I continued, nudging a pawn forward, "in the game of kings, a ruler must rarely act directly. To expose oneself is to court disaster."


    Ren''s eyes flicked toward me briefly, then back to the board. I could tell he was absorbing the words, not just as advice for this game, but as a lesson for the world beyond it.


    I moved my queen, gliding it across the board to solidify my control. "A king''s strength lies in those who act on his behalf. Even the weakest pawn can shift the balance of power."


    Ren paused, his hand hovering uncertainly over his castle. I watched as his frustration gave way to focus, his youthful face an expression of calculation. He didn''t look at me now, his full attention was on the board. Good.


    "Consider this," I said, moving my knight to threaten his king. "It is nearly impossible to corner a king with a king alone. You cannot win without allies to rely on. Furthermore, using your king to corner your adversary only exposes you to being cornered by their allies. Were you to confront my king directly now, you would only expose yourself."


    Ren''s fingers trembled slightly as they hovered over his pieces. Then, after a long pause, he selected a pawn and moved it forward, blocking my knight''s path. It was a cautious move, but a smart one, prioritizing defense over retaliation.


    I felt a flicker of satisfaction. "Good," I said softly. "Even the smallest piece can shield the king."


    Ren nodded, though his focus remained on the board. He was beginning to see the larger picture, understanding the importance of positioning and patience. He wasn''t ready to face his father directly, not yet. But he could learn to maneuver others, to pull the strings from the shadows until his enemies had no moves left to make.


    Sliding my queen into position, I calmly declared, "Checkmate."


    Ren''s gaze lingered on the board, examining the trap he had fallen into 3 moves back. His king was surrounded, utterly defenseless. For a moment, he seemed frozen, and I could sense the gears turning in his mind. Then he looked up at me, his frustration giving way to something sharper, resolve.


    "The game of kings is not about fighting every battle yourself," I said, my voice steady and deliberate. "It''s about knowing how to use your allies to outmaneuver you adversary while protecting your king."


    Ren exhaled slowly "Next time," he said, with a determined smile, "I won''t fall for the same trap."


    A small smile tugged at my lips. Not one of amusement or condescension, but approval. "I look forward to it, young master."

 Birth Of Shadow

    I am Ren Drakemore, age 8, the unwanted prince of Arcadia. However, one day, I will be king.


    I sit in my workshop, flipping through the final pages of Advanced Techniques in Golemancy, <i>but my mind is elsewhere</i>. Instead, Lady Willow''s words echo in my thoughts.


    "If you want to change the kingdom, Ren, you must act in ways that cannot be traced back to you."


    At the time, I hadn''t fully grasped her meaning. But recent events have made it painfully clear: I need a way to operate outside the castle without exposing myself. With my father instructing the nobility to block me at every turn and Fobos constantly watching and interfering in my affairs, I am utterly stifled.


    But I''ve devised a solution to all my problems.


    What if I created a separate identity? One that could move freely through the kingdom, build a reputation, and accomplish everything I need, without anyone connecting it to me?


    My bodyguard puppet is the perfect solution. Originally designed to protect me, its utility has grown along with my magical control range. The puppet can now operate far beyond the castle walls, even miles into the city. With it, I can coordinate with allies, confront my enemies, and gather information, all while remaining safely anonymous. Best of all, my puppets are disposable. They cannot die, and I have nothing to lose.


    The first step is to get the puppet registered at the Adventurer''s Guild. This will establish a legitimate identity for it and allow it to complete quests. These quests will help me raise money while also providing invaluable real-world combat experience. There''s so much about this world I still don''t understand, my encounter with the dreadcoil proved that. If I want to defeat my father and his allies, I need to learn how to fight and survive in real battles.


    Next, I need a name. I plan to use the puppet in the shadows, so¡­ "Shadow" seems fitting. Is that too corny? No, it''s cool and mysterious. Adventurers often go by code names, so no one will think twice about it.


    I stand, gazing at my puppet propped on its stand. "What do you think, buddy? Do you like the name Shadow?"


    The puppet doesn''t answer, of course.


    I place my hand on its chest and cast the mind transfer spell. The puppet jerks upright, pulling itself free from the stand, and stands before me.


    "What do you think of the name Shadow?" I ask again.


    A voice emanates from the puppet''s mask, magically produced despite the lack of a mouth. "Being as I am you, and you like the name, I think you already know I approve."


    Shadow tilts his head from side to side, then rotates his joints in turn, testing his flexibility.


    "What''s it like, Shadow?" I ask curiously.


    "It''s a little weird having myself call me Shadow," he replies, his tone calm. "But my mobility feels good. It''s just¡­ odd not being able to feel anything."


    "You can''t feel anything at all?" I ask. "That makes sense, I suppose."


    "No. Nothing I touch, not even my own weight," Shadow explains. "It''s a very strange sensation."


    I nod, intrigued by this insight. "Do you have any questions about the plan for registering as an adventurer?"


    "There is one thing," Shadow says, his tone thoughtful. "You need to be fifteen years old to register. We''re a bit too short to pass for fifteen."


    He''s right. At eight years old, I''m much shorter than the average fifteen-year-old, and I built Shadow to match my height.


    "How much taller do we need to make you?" I ask.


    "I''m not sure," Shadow replies with a shrug. "We don''t know any fifteen-year-olds. Maybe six more inches?"


    "That''s as good a guess as any," I say, shrugging back.


    Shadow casts a spell on himself, increasing the size of his body and clothes by 6 inches.


    "There''s also your voice," I add. "You sound like me. You''ll need to sound older."


    Shadow pauses, adjusting his vocalization spell. "How about this?" he asks, his voice deeper.


    "That''s a little sinister," I remark.


    "And this?" Shadow tries again, adjusting the spell once more.


    "Perfect. Older, but not too old," I say approvingly.


    "Next, we need to make you taller and match your voice to mine," Shadow says, gesturing toward me.


    "Right. I''ll have to be the one who registers at the guild since registration requires blood," I reply. "And you don''t have any blood."


    I focus my mana and casts the two spells to adjust my appearance and change my voice. At the same time Lady Willow reaches the bottom of the staircase and joins us.


    "Hello, Lady Willow. I''m heading out for a little while," I say, testing my new, deeper voice.


    Lady Willow raises an eyebrow, with an amused smile. "Oh wow, they grow up so fast."


    "Humans or children?" Shadow asks, his tone deadpan.


    "Is there a difference?" Willow replies lightly, watching as I don an identical set of clothes and armor. "Make sure you go straight to the Adventurer''s Guild and back, nowhere else. And use the hidden entrance. The main entrance is likely being watched. Most importantly, be careful."


    "Yeah, be careful," Shadow adds, flopping onto the couch. "We''ll be here waiting for you."


    With a cheerful "goodbye" I put the mask on, finishing the ensemble and head down the staircase into the basement to where the secret hidden entrance is located. Through a door concealed in an old wooden wardrobe I enter a long stone corridor that led to a magically concealed door. With a wave of my hand the stone wall becomes a door that opens up at the base of the castle''s exterior wall overgrown with shrubs. The moment I close the door behind myself it disappears into the wall. Then I am off down the street toward the adventure''s guild on the main market road.


    <hr>


    Moments after entering the bustling guild hall, I notice a distinct shift in the atmosphere. Conversations quiet, and heads turn in my direction, their expressions ranging from puzzled to mocking. My hood and mask provide anonymity, yes, but they do nothing to make me inconspicuous. In fact, they do the opposite.


    As I walk further into the hall, I catch muttered comments: "Who''s the freak in the mask?" and "Who the fuck does this shrimp think he is?" Laughter follows, and I hear several adventurers whispering and chuckling about my height.


    Clearly, adding six inches wasn''t enough.


    I force myself to ignore the deluge of critical stares and snide remarks as I make my way to the receptionist''s desk. A growing sense of unease gnaws at me, but I focus on the task at hand. I step into line behind a young girl with shoulder-length blond hair, dressed in light armor and tight-fitting clothes that cling to her slim frame. Her right pant leg is torn over a poorly bandaged wound, and the blood-soaked dressing makes it clear she''s in bad shape. She looks pale, unsteady on her feet, and nervous.


    "Here are the horned rabbit pelts for my quest, ma''am," the girl says softly, placing a bundle of pelts and a quest form onto the counter. Her voice carries a tremor of exhaustion and pain.


    The girl''s injured leg shakes as she stands, and her eyes dart nervously toward the receptionist. The receptionist leans over to inspect the quest form, then carefully counts the pelts.


    "Sorry, Miss Maribel," the receptionist says with an apologetic look. "This quest requires 10 horned rabbit pelts, but there are only nine here."


    "One of the rabbits got my leg pretty good," Maribel pleads, her voice tinged with desperation. "Can''t you just pay me for the nine pelts so I can get a potion? Please?"


    The receptionist''s expression softens, but she shakes her head regretfully. "I''m sorry, but I can''t pay for partial completion of a quest. It''s against the rules."


    I understand her position. Quest terms are set by their originators, wealthy benefactors like lords, merchants, or even the king. The receptionist doesn''t have the authority to bend the rules.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    "Please, ma''am," Maribel says again, her voice cracking. "I can''t finish the quest with my leg like this."


    Before the receptionist can respond, a large, rough-looking adventurer rises from a nearby table where he''s been drinking with his companions. The strong stench of honeyed wine reaches me as he steps closer, a twisted smile curling his lips.


    "I can give you the silver you need for a potion, little lady," he says, his voice smooth yet menacing. "You can pay me back the same way you did before."


    The room feels colder as he approaches. The predatory gleam in his eyes and the way his gaze rakes over her make my skin crawl. He''s like a lion stalking prey, and Maribel''s reaction confirms my worst suspicions. Her face pales further, and she refuses to look at him, terror etched into her every feature.


    This is wrong. I don''t know exactly what''s happening here, but I know I need to step in.


    "Here," I interject, pulling a potion from my pouch and holding it out toward Maribel. "You can have this for free."


    Maribel turned to me, her wide eyes filled with disbelief. "Are you sure? You don''t want anything in return?" she asked hesitantly.


    "It''s yours. You owe me nothing," I replied calmly, placing the potion in her hand.


    "Hey, you little brat!" growled the man, his glare fixed on me as he stepped closer. "Butt out of our business!"


    Maribel wasted no time. "Thank you, sir," she said quickly, pulling the stopper from the small glass potion. She raised it to her lips and drank. A faint green glow surrounded her wounds as the deep gash on her leg and the smaller scratches across her body healed instantly.


    "It looks like she won''t need your money," I said evenly, keeping my voice calm as I silently prepared a defensive spell.


    I had barely finished speaking when the brute lunged at me, his fist flying toward my face with inhuman speed. My thought acceleration spell was the only reason I could even register the movement in time. Thankfully, I had already cast a barrier spell in anticipation, and his punch collided with it, bouncing off with a sickening crack.


    "Ouch," I said smugly, watching him clutch his hand in pain. "Sounds like you broke something, sir. You might want to get yourself a potion."


    "You bastard!" the man roared, his face twisted in fury. His right hand looked grotesque, with several fingers bent unnaturally. He reached for the sword on his belt with his uninjured left hand.


    "Enough!" barked the surly woman behind the receptionist''s counter. "Bram! There will be no fighting among adventurers, and no fighting in the guild! One more move, and your registration will be revoked!"


    Bram froze, his bloodthirsty glare still locked on me. His hand lingered on the hilt of his sword, but after a tense moment, he let it drop and shifted to cradling his broken hand instead.


    "Relax, lady. We were just talking," Bram muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm. He turned and stalked off toward the table where his drinking companions sat, their laughter cutting through the now-tense atmosphere.


    I watched him retreat, noting the lingering menace in his posture. I wasn''t sure if adventurers were always this hostile or if Bram''s aggression was fueled by excessive alcohol. What I was sure of, however, was that he was a scumbag. Maribel''s unsettled expression confirmed it


    "Thank you again... ah, what was your name?" Maribel asked sheepishly as she gathered her incomplete quest materials and moved out of the line.


    "I am Shadow. Nice to meet you, Maribel, was it?" I responded.


    "Thank you, Mr. Shadow," she said with a shy smile before heading toward the quest bulletin boards on the right side of the guild hall.


    I stepped up to the desk, where the receptionist gave me a once-over. "And what can I do for you, kid?" she asked, her tone laced with mild skepticism. She was a classically pretty woman whose conservative uniform complemented her sharp features. Under different circumstances, I might have found her attractive, if she weren''t looking at me with a mix of suspicion and boredom.


    "I''m here to register," I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.


    sure, I am a kid, but it irks me to called one none-the-less.


    The receptionist raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. "Are you even... fifteen?" she asked, her skepticism cutting deeper than I expected.


    Damn it. I should have made myself taller!


    I''d spent so much time perfecting my disguise, but clearly, I''d underestimated how tall a fifteen-year-old should be. Having no real experience with kids of any age, my guess had been way off.


    Recovering quickly, I nodded. "Yes, I''m fifteen." The truth wasn''t important here. It''s not like she could prove otherwise.


    She sighed and slid a registration form across the counter. "All right. You''ll need a name. We use blood samples to register and avoid duplicate entries. Once you choose a name, you''re stuck with it."


    I paused briefly, then wrote Shadow on the line.


    No turning back now. Shadow is my alter ego. I hope I don''t regret this later.


    "''Shadow,'' huh?" the receptionist said, raising an eyebrow but not pressing further. "A bit mysterious, but I get it. Adventurers often leave their pasts behind and take up new names." She shrugged, clearly unfazed.


    Maybe she''s used to strange monikers by now.


    On the form, a small silver plate affixed to the parchment caught my attention. It was labeled with the instructions: Place thumb here.


    Following the instructions, I pressed the thumb of my right hand to the plate. A sharp prick drew a drop of blood. Though I was expecting it, the sudden sting made me reflexively pull my hand back, and, without thinking, I tried to stick my thumb in my mouth. Instead, my thumb collided with my mask, startling me.


    I froze, regaining my composure while silently praying no one noticed. Unfortunately, I heard the receptionist stifle a laugh.


    The silver plate glowed softly, analyzing the blood sample and recording my power level and affinities. The receptionist leaned forward, her eyes widening slightly as she read the results.


    "Nine thousand... one hundred eighty-two?" she murmured, almost to herself. Her gaze snapped to me, a mix of awe and suspicion in her expression. "That''s nearly the upper end of a C-rank. And... high affinity in all five magical elements? That''s unheard of for a new registrant."


    I blinked, stunned. I''d figured my magical capacity was decent thanks to my training, but high-level affinities across all elements? That was unexpected. A surge of pride swelled in my chest, and for a moment, I let my mind wander to fantasies of becoming an S-rank adventurer, a hero recognized across the known world, revered as an equal to entire armies.


    The receptionist cleared her throat, snapping me back to reality. "Even with those readings, you''ll have to start as an E-rank adventurer. Guild policy," she said, her tone returning to its no-nonsense cadence. "To rank up, you''ll need to complete at least ten E- or D-rank missions. After that, an assessor will review your skills based on speed, efficiency, and task difficulty.


    "Keep in mind," she added pointedly, "failing missions or committing crimes can lower your guild rating. That will make re-ranking take much longer."


    "And that will be 5 silver for your registration fee" The guild lady added.


    I give a curt nod, acknowledging the rules as I handed her five silver coins for the fee. After a few moments, she hands me a freshly printed guild registration card with his name, Shadow, emblazoned across it.


    I guess while I am here I might as well pick out a quest for Shadow to complete. Noticing the mission boards to my right, surrounded by other adventures reading the quest descriptions nailed to the boards. I make his way toward the mission board, murmurs followed me, adventurers whispering about the masked newbie with an unusually high-power reading. As I walk up to the board, I noticed the girl from earlier, Maribel, among those reading over the available quests. As I walk up, she notices me as well.


    "Hey, Shadow," she greets me with a smile. "I heard your power rating, pretty impressive. You must be pretty skilled to get a reading like that." She said sounding genuinely impressed.


    I nod to her. "Thank you, have you been doing this long?"


    "Well," she replied with a chuckle, "I''m fairly new to the guild too. And while I might not be as powerful as you, I''d say I''ve got useful skills. Rogue-class," she added proudly.


    Ren tilted his head. "Rogue-class?" I ask.


    Maribel laughed. "Rogue-class'' means I specialize in speed, stealth, agility, traps, and dealing precise damage with surprise attacks. Pretty useful against monsters you can''t face head-on."


    I nod and say "Thanks for explaining. I apricate the offer, and I wouldn''t mind doing quests with you in the future. However, being as I am still figuring things out, I think I would like to do a few missions solo. That said, I would love to team up with you in the future."


    I feel a bit guilty seeing Maribel''s disappointed expression in response to my words. I really would like to work with her, but I don''t know how well my puppet will hold up on a real mission. I don''t want something going horribly wrong with a witness there to discover what he really is.


    Maribel looks back at me with a smile barely covering her disappointment. "Fair enough. Well, be careful out there, Shadow. Even a D-rank mission can be risky on your first go."


    we both turn to the mission board, my eyes settling on a wolf hunting request for Lord Griswald''s lands. Apparently, a pack of wolves have been killing livestock, a common enough problem, but dangerous when the pack turned aggressive to humans as well. Maribel reached for a simpler request, locating a missing dog.


    "This seems a safer choice for someone to broke for healing potions" she said with a wink. "But good luck with the wolves. That''s a bold first mission."


    I nod, taking the mission slip. Both Maribel and I turn and head back to the receptionist to confirm our chosen quests. After confirming the quests with the guild receptionist, we head out of the guild and part ways, and I head back to the castle.


    <hr>


    A short while later, I arrive back at my workshop in the tower. I hand Shadow the quest contract and his brand-new E-class adventurer''s card.


    "We''re all set, Shadow," I say, removing my cloak, mask, and armor.


    "Hunting wolves, huh?" Shadow remarks, scanning the quest details. "Should be easy enough."


    "Right. I think you''ve got everything you need, correct?" I reply, proceeding to list off his equipment.


    "Paralyzing short sword?"


    "Check."


    "Armor with physical and magical resistance?"


    "Check."


    "Potions, in case I come across anyone in need?"


    "Check." Shadow nods. "Looks like we''re ready to go. I''ll head out soon and aim to arrive in Griswald''s domain by nightfall, wolves are more active at night."


    "You can borrow a horse from the stables," I offer.


    Before Shadow can respond, Lady Willow''s voice interjects from across the room. "Ren, remember that your puppet will only possess a fraction of your true magical and physical abilities," she says, walking over to us. Her gaze shifts to Shadow. "Young Master Shadow, please be cautious. Though you cannot die, if you run out of mana or sustain too much damage, you''ll leave behind a mangled puppet body. That could be... complicated to explain if discovered."


    "I''ll be careful," Shadow assures her, placing the strap of his magical bag over his shoulder. Without further delay, he heads toward the hidden exit of the tower.


    Lady Willow had approved my plan when I''d discussed it with her earlier. She supports it because it allows me to gain experience without putting my life in direct danger. Her primary concern, as always, is my safety, making me more capable of defending myself. I appreciate that too, but for me, this is about more than survival.


    I''m excited by the chance to see more of the world and do new and exciting things. Until now, my opportunities to travel beyond the castle walls have been scarce. Through Shadow, I can finally live the life I''ve always dreamed of, an exciting life full of purpose and adventure. Even if I cannot experience it directly, Shadow will see it all for me, and his memories will become my own.


    As Shadow leaves the tower, I return to my studies, a sense of exhilaration building within me. For the first time, it feels like my life is turning to a new and exciting chapter.

 Wolf Hunt

    I am Shadow, less than a day old, and I am a shard of Prince Ren Drakemore''s soul placed inside of a wooden puppet masquerading as an adventure. Tonight, I am setting off on our first quest as an E-rank adventure to kill some wolves that have been killing livestock on Lord Griswald''s Lands. Slaying these wolves should be a piece of cake and will be great for growing my reputation with the guild. I snuck into the castle''s stables and "borrowed" an all-black stallion, that according to the sign over his stall his name is Phantom.


    It seemed like destiny. Shadow and Phantom, partners in crime.


    I set off from the stables at a gallop toward Lord Griswald''s lands on Phantom''s back with the sun set in the distance. On my journey northward I notice dark menacing clouds rolling in as if pursuing me. I arrived hours later at the area along the edge of the forest where the attacks had taken place by nightfall. By this time my quarry the storm clouds have caught up to me and now stand above me threatening with a steady wind with the promise of heavy rain.


    The cloak of dark now draped over the land and the tree line separating the farmlands and the edge of the forest of Erwin. The storm clouds blowing in block the moon and stars deepening the darkness of the night. Sitting atop phantom I check the map provided by the guild confirming I am in the correct location. I use a faint light spell to orient myself as I follow the path into the forest. Before entering the forest, I tie phantom up to a tree at the start of the forest trail. I pat him on the head and say "I''ll be right back. stay right here." Shadows stretch long and thin, twisting around me as I step under the dark canopy. The forest seems to be alive with movement, a snap of a twig here, a rustle of leaves there. Each sound sends a shiver of awareness through me, sharpening my senses, but I press on, searching the forest floor for signs of wolves.


    A soft drizzle turns into steady rain, transforming the ground beneath my feet into a slick, muddy mess. As I tread deeper into the heart of the forest, I start to wonder if all forests at night feel this eerie. But just as that thought flickers through my mind, a sudden weight crashes into me from the side.


    The attack comes without warning. Before I have a chance to draw my sword, something large and hairy latches onto my right arm, dragging me down with a brutal force. Mud splashes as I hit the ground, the rough wood of my puppet form grinding against sharp teeth and claws. The massive wolf shakes its head violently, and in an instant, my arm splinters, ripping from my body with a sickening crack.


    For a moment, my mind blanks, the giant wolf still biting and clawing at my chest. Then panic floods in watching it''s fearsome jaws rip my armored chest plate off and crushing it. I regain my senses and kick hard with both feet, throwing the wolf off me and crashing into a thick tree trunk. I cast a barrier to fend off a second wolf lunging from the left, but my fractured concentration leaves openings. More wolves rush forward, snarling, eyes gleaming in the dark, ripping at my cloak and clawing deep into the wooden frame of my body.


    In desperation, I hurl Fire Lance spells from the ground, each one a blazing streak of destruction. One, two, three wolves are struck, their bodies hurled backward as fiery bolts tear through them, leaving gaping, charred wounds. Their lifeless forms slam into the ground with sickening thuds. I continue casting in rapid succession, each spell roaring into the darkness. Some strike true, while others miss, shattering trees and sending them crashing down around me. The relentless barrage drains me quickly, and I can feel my mana reserves dwindling.


    I need to get off the ground!


    I summon a wall of fire, the flames roaring to life as they encircle me. The searing heat forces the wolves back, giving me just enough time to get to my feet and to grab my sword with my remaining hand. I can''t rely on magic alone. At this rate my mana is going to run out. If it runs out, my enchantment will end, leaving this puppet to collapse uselessly.


    The remaining wolves encircle me, their snarls echoing through the dark as the torrent of fire shielding me begins to sputter and die. With the flames fading, the beasts retreat into the shadows, their bloodthirsty maws just out of sight. I can barely see them now, but I can hear them¡ªthe low growls, the scrape of claws on wet ground.


    Then, they pounce.


    Gripping my sword tightly, I swipe at where I think the nearest wolf is. The blade connects, slicing through fur and bone with a sickening crunch, spraying blood into the rain. But the others keep coming, their claws tearing into me from every side, their jaws snapping at my wooden frame.


    I swing wildly, striking true only occasionally, my blade often meeting empty air. The wolves are unrelenting, ripping me apart piece by piece. One sinks its teeth into the side of my head, shattering part of my mask and ripping out my right eye. My vision halves as I thrust my blade into its neck, sending a torrent of blood over me. I throw the beast off me, sending it crashing to the ground at my feet.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I keep fighting, hacking and slashing, each move more desperate than the last. My strikes grow frantic as panic overtakes precision. In the chaos, another wolf lunges, its jaws closing around my hand. With a brutal shake, it knocks my sword from my grip, the blade landing in the mud with a dull thud far out of reach.


    My sword! and I don''t have mana for another spell. I''m screwed!


    Desperation consumes me. With no other options, I lunge for my severed arm, gripping it tightly. Wielding it like a club, I swing with everything I have, battering the last wolf repeatedly until it collapses.


    Finally, silence falls. The forest is still again, save for the faint hiss of dying flames as the rain extinguishes the remnants of fire. Around me lie the broken bodies of the wolves, their blood mixing with the mud.


    I stand, battered and broken, my limbs splintered, and my mask shattered, barely holding together. But it¡¯s over.


    Though this puppet body doesn¡¯t feel pain, the sight of my shattered limbs, fractured chest, and splintered faceplate fills me with a grim sense of weariness. I have to get back to the tower. Gathering my severed arm, I stagger through the mud, retracing my steps out of the forest.


    When I reach the edge of the trail, my heart sinks. Phantom lies lifeless, his body reduced to a bloody, mangled corpse, still tied to the tree. His guts spill onto the ground, torn apart by the same beasts I just fought. I stare for a moment, then force myself to move. There¡¯s no time to hesitate. With my ride gone, I limp toward the capital on foot.


    Sorry Phantom, you deserved better than that.


    The rain pours relentlessly, each drop cold and heavy, but it doesn¡¯t slow me down. Thanks to my inability to feel pain or tire, I make steady progress without rest. The trip takes all night and into the morning. By some stroke of luck, the storm¡¯s fierce rain and wind keep the streets deserted, allowing me to slip unnoticed toward the castle¡¯s hidden passage.


    At last, I stumble into the sanctuary of the tower basement. The creaking of my shattered body is masked by the steady rumble of thunder outside. I am safe, for now, though I hardly feel victorious. All I want is to end my nightmare by returning to Ren.


    Then it''ll be his problem.


    I ascend the stairs slowly, shadows stretching long as I reach Ren''s quarters. The storm outside casts jagged flashes of lightning through the windows, illuminating the dim corridor. I push open his bedroom door and stagger inside. The real Ren lies peacefully on the bed, oblivious to the ordeal his puppet self has just endured.


    I can barely hold myself up right now, my mana near empty, but with the last dregs of mana, I made sure to return to Ren. I stand in the doorway to him room, tattered, missing an arm, cloak shredded, my mask cracked and exposing a single remaining glowing eye. Lightning flashes behind me, lighting up the wrecked, monstrous silhouette I''ve become. I almost pity him for what he''s about to experience.


    Then, with the last bit of energy left, I let go and drift into nothing. My consciousness and memories return to Ren.


    <hr>


    The puppet collapses to the ground in a heap, its severed arm landing beside it, as its consciousness floods back to Ren in a torrent of memory.


    Ren bolts upright in his bed, gasping for air. It¡¯s as if he were still in the forest, feeling every savage bite, every desperate struggle, and the splintering of wood as his limbs were torn apart. His heart pounds wildly, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Instinctively, his hands clutch at his arms, his chest, his face, expecting to find the same horrific damage Shadow endured.


    But his body is whole. The realization doesn¡¯t bring relief, only a wave of nausea as the memories settle. He remembers everything Shadow experienced, every moment of pain and terror, as if it had been his own.


    The next day, Ren is visibly shaken, his exhaustion plain to see. He hasn¡¯t slept a wink since Shadow returned, haunted by the brutal memories of his first mission. The experience lingers in his mind, a grim reminder of how unprepared he had been.


    Determined to never face such a harrowing ordeal again, Ren sets to work repairing Shadow and upgrading his equipment. Every movement is deliberate, his hands steady despite the tremor in his nerves. He channels the trauma into action, focusing on making Shadow stronger and more capable.


    The first change he needed to make required some research. Ren pores over books and scrolls, learning how to imbue his puppets with night vision and threat detection spells. He painstakingly integrates the enchantments into Shadow, ensuring no predator will sneak up on him again.


    Next, he overhauls Shadow¡¯s body entirely. The wooden frame, once thought sufficient, is replaced with magically reinforced steel. The process is grueling, but Ren doesn¡¯t falter. In hindsight, he feels foolish for relying on wood¡ªno matter how enchanted it was, it had been far too fragile for the dangers Shadow faced.


    Two days later, Shadow''s newly upgraded body returns to life as Ren replaces the enchantment. Shadow blinks into awareness, he sees Ren slumped on the couch beside him, dark circles under his eyes and an exhausted glaze over his expression. Ren looks like he¡¯s barely holding himself together, as if the effort of rebuilding Shadow had wrung him dry.


    Shadow wants to say something comforting, something to make his real self feel better, but no words come to mind. Instead, after a long pause, he settles on the simplest thing he can manage.


    "Get some sleep, brother. Thanks for the upgrades," Shadow says, his voice low and awkward.


    Ren gives a faint nod, his lips curling into the ghost of a smile, but he doesn¡¯t reply. He leans his head back against the couch, his eyes already drifting shut as fatigue pulls him under.


    Shadow rises, his steel frame moving with new precision, and quietly departs the tower to return to the Adventurer¡¯s Guild. Their first quest was technically completed, after all, the wolves were slain, but it hadn¡¯t been easy, and it hardly felt like a success. In many ways, it had been an overwhelming failure.


    But failures are opportunities to grow. Both Shadow and Ren know this, and neither is willing to let their first stumble define them. This wasn¡¯t the end; it was only the beginning.

 Worthless Street Rat

    I am Maribel Holloway, age 15, and I am a worthless street rat.


    I walk along the market street of Cairndorn, the capital of Arcadia, surrounded by bustling crowds. The noise of bartering voices and the clatter of cartwheels on cobblestone fills the air. People carry sacks and baskets, others push carts laden with food or goods, weaving between the ornate storefronts and street vendors that line the wide thoroughfare.


    Cairndorn is said to be the jewel of Arcadia, a city of unmatched wealth, power, and beauty. Its gleaming marble storefronts, meticulously crafted archways, and magically cleaned streets exude an air of prosperity. Merchants boast wares from across the world, their carts overflowing with vibrant produce, shimmering fabrics, and exotic trinkets. From a distance, it feels like a utopia of abundance.


    But I know better.


    This city is a mirage. Beneath the polished surface lies a kingdom of unbearable inequality, where the elite hoard unimaginable wealth while the masses fight for scraps. Look closely at the market, and the truth becomes clear.


    Among the crowd, the nobles stand out like peacocks in a flock of sparrows. They parade through the streets in extravagant carriages or on foot, their finely tailored clothes adorned with gold embroidery and magical jewels that glint in the sunlight. Slaves and servants trail behind them, carrying their purchases and catering to their every whim. They move through the market with an air of entitlement, and look at commoners like me with distain.


    The commoners are the majority of those who fill these streets. They shuffle between the stalls, their threadbare, hand-stitched clothes marking them as the working poor. Their faces are weary, their postures hunched from the weight of survival. They can''t afford the luxuries displayed in the marble shops; instead, they haggle over wilted vegetables and cheaper goods sold by street vendors.


    I see the mothers clutching small bundles of bread, rationing what little they can afford for their children waiting in cramped, crumbling homes back in the commons. Fathers scour the market for work or for anything to fill their families'' empty stomachs. I see the desperation in their eyes, the same desperation I''ve felt countless times.


    These are my people.


    We are the worthless street rats of Cairndorn, scorned by the nobles who hold this kingdom in their gilded hands. They look at us and see filth, a nuisance that sullies their pristine city. To them, we are invisible until we inconvenience them.


    I know this because I''ve lived it. The hunger. The shame. The feeling of being crushed under the weight of a world designed to keep people like me at the bottom.


    Still, I walk these streets, my injured leg aching with every step, determined to make it to the next meal, the next quest, the next small victory. Because no matter how worthless they think I am, I''m still here. In addition to being a street rat, you could say I am also a survivor.


    Ahead of me, a fat nobleman in gilded robes waddles along, his gaudy jewelry clinking with every lumbering step. Beside him walks his equally overfed wife, her fingers adorned with enough rings to pay for a lifetime''s worth of food for a commoner family. Following close behind are two slaves, a rabbit and a feline beastkin, each carrying massive, heavy totes on their backs.


    The slaves walk with their heads bowed, their eyes fixed on the ground. They shuffle forward with calculated care, trying to strike the impossible balance: staying close enough to their masters to avoid reprimand for "falling behind," but not so close as to be accused of "getting in the way." It''s a cruel trick because the truth is, it doesn''t matter. The nobles will beat them regardless, just to assert their dominance and remind them of their place. Afterward, they''ll justify the abuse with some fabricated offense.


    I stop and watch as the pair of waddling pigs make their way into the high-end tailor''s shop Imperial Threads. My hands ball into fists at my sides. I hate them. I hate all of them.


    What''s worse, I hate how badly I want what they have.


    If I had their wealth, their power, their status, surely I would be better than them. I wouldn''t beat people for imaginary slights or treat anyone as less than human. I know I wouldn''t.


    I follow them to the shop and linger outside, pretending to look at the window display. I can already imagine the scene inside. That fat sow is about to buy a dress so extravagant and expensive it could feed one hundred people for a year and enough fabric to cloth them as well. Meanwhile, her slaves are dressed in old, torn, ill-fitting rags.


    I glance down at myself, my own ripped and threadbare clothes are badly in need of replacement. My pants have a bloody hole in the right calf where that razor boar caught me this morning. Second leg injury in an arc. I sigh and roll my shoulder, the sore from the beating I took from those damn overgrown pigs. Everything I own is worn, damaged, or barely holding together. My armor has cracks in the leather. My daggers'' blades are dulling fast. I look like a joke.


    I shuffle away from the shop, favoring my injured leg. Five copper coins. That''s all I have to my name. Five measly coppers and the endless ache of my injury.


    At least last time, Mr. Shadow had been there to help. Three weeks ago, he''d saved me with a potion after I sustained an injury from fighting a horned rabbit. Without his help, I wouldn''t have been able to afford healing. The thought of what I might have had to do to survive otherwise sends a shiver through me. I tremble, consumed by fear and disgust at the memories I fight to keep buried. He saved me from becoming prey to the world''s worst monsters, the one that don''t kill your body but destroy your soul.


    I''ve survived that monster before. But the scars remain, indelible and raw.


    A cold chill washes over me as I instinctively clutch my stomach, trying to quell the painful tightness and nausea that thought conjures. No. I push those thoughts aside, forcing the memories back into the shadows where they belong. Leave the trauma in the past. Move forward. Survive.


    To distract myself, I turn toward the neighboring fancy restaurant, The Golden Chalice. The tantalizing aroma of grilled meats wafts from its windows, momentarily pulling me away from my despair. Peering inside, I see nobles seated at lavishly decorated tables draped in white cloths, adorned with fresh flowers and golden cutlery. They laugh and eat with abandon, dining on food I could never dream of affording.


    With a scornful glance, I turn away, slipping into the narrow alley between The Golden Chalice and Imperial Threads, the tailor''s shop next door. Bitterness rises in me like bile.


    These nobles who produce nothing sit in their gilded halls, feasting, while the commoners and slaves who labor to create everything are left to starve. What gives them the right to such comfort?


    The answer is simple: magic.


    The nobility''s ability to use magic sets them apart from the rest of us. Every noble child is afforded an education, one that includes training in the magical arts. By age twelve, most of them are sent to the Arcadian Academy of Magic, where they hone their skills, solidifying their power and place in society.


    Meanwhile, for commoners, magic remains a distant dream. The schools and books needed to learn magic are so outrageously expensive that they are out of reach for nearly everyone. The few commoners who do learn magic, like me, inherit the knowledge from their families, remnants of better days when their ancestors were more fortunate.


    Magic isn''t tied to noble blood, commoners are just as likely to have talent. That''s why nobles restrict magical education and hoard knowledge. They fear what would happen if commoners had the power to stand against them. It''s fear, not superiority, that keeps us oppressed.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    I come from a long line of adventurers. My father, my mother, and their parents before them made their living completing quests and hunting monsters for the kingdom. My grandparents'' generation even found great wealth in their service to this land. But everything changed when Queen Arin died.


    King Edric and his court of nobles ushered in sweeping reforms to the economy. They adopted slave labor as the primary workforce and drastically increased the cost of attending the magic academy. Over time, the economy shifted. The cost of healing potions, equipment, and repairs soared, making the risks of adventuring outweigh the rewards. Slowly, the profession that had sustained my family crumbled. We fell into poverty, and that poverty eventually led to my parents'' deaths.


    They died when I was twelve, unable to afford the healing they needed after their final quest.


    In the years before their deaths, my parents had trained me to become an adventure like them. They taught me everything they could about magic, hoping I could follow in their footsteps and carve out a better life for myself. They held onto hope that we were suffering a temporary period of misfortune that would soon turn around.


    They turned out to be wrong.


    Through their lessons, I discovered I have a rare affinity for dimensional magic. While my mana reserves are average at best, this rare affinity allows me to wield a type of magic that most mages struggle to use safely.


    The first dimensional spell I''ve mastered is Flash Travel. It allows me to teleport short distances instantly by creating micro-portals that I jump through, bypassing all space and matter in between. However, the spell has its limitations. The mana cost increases based on the mass traveling through the portal, which forces me to wear lightweight gear. The mana cost also increases with the size of the portal, so I create portals the exact size and shape of my body from my narrowest angle. Even then, I can only use the spell about four times before I''m completely drained.


    I come to a stop against the wall just outside the kitchen of The Golden Chalice. Activating my Prey Detection ability, I watch as glowing red profiles of every living thing in the building come into view, visible even through walls. I see nobles seated in the dining hall, indulging in their meals. In the back storage room, mice nibble away at a bag of grain. And in the kitchen, the cook scratches his backside as he tends to the grill.


    Imagine the faces of those pompous pricks if they knew about the "secret seasoning" on their meat.


    Inside, I watch as servers move in and out, but the kitchen is never empty. Frustration gnaws at me as I silently will them to leave. Come on, step out. You''re thirsty. Go grab a drink, I think, as if I can push them with sheer determination. But I''ve done this before. I know patience is key.


    Finally, the moment arrives. From the dining hall comes the unmistakable sound of an angry noble raising his voice. Through my detection, I see one server rush out to fetch the cooks while the other stands frozen, enduring the berating. Predictable. These entitled pigs always complain, as if the world exists solely to cater to their whims.


    The cook and his assistants leave the kitchen to deal with the commotion, and the space is empty at last.


    This is it.


    I open a portal beneath my feet, just big enough for me to fall through, reappearing on the other side of the wall inside the kitchen. I exit a second portal positioned just above my height, landing gracefully on the floor. Without wasting a moment, I dart to a shelf and grab three loaves of bread. Prize in hand, I return to the wall, creating another portal to slip back into the alley unnoticed. In the blink of an eye, I''m back outside, the stolen bread hugged tightly to my chest.


    Success!


    I take a moment to catch my breath, the adrenaline coursing through me. I''ve done this countless times before, but the thrill never fully fades. Bread won''t solve all my problems, but for now, it''ll keep me going. That''s all that matters.


    I pulled a cloth bag from my pocket and stow the loafs of bread in them as I start walking toward the main street again. I exit the ally into the light and bustling activity of the market street. I quickly put distance between The Golden Chalices and myself. My hurried strides worsen the pain in my leg but take me away from the market and toward the commons.


    I don''t hurry out of guilt. No, there''s none of that. I hate this city. I hate its nobles. I hate this kingdom. They deserve far worse than stolen bread for what they''ve done to me, for what they''ve taken from me.


    My parents would be disappointed. They would never have resorted to stealing.


    When the noise of the market finally fades behind me, I slow my stride, scanning the streets of the commons for a place to rest. The dirt paths are lined with worn-down apartments, their facades crumbling under the weight of neglect. Not far ahead, I notice a skinny little boy, no older than five, sitting on the ground outside one of the buildings. His tiny frame trembles as he cries softly.


    This is nothing new. Suffering is the norm here.


    I limp over and take a seat beside him. "What''s wrong, kiddo?" I ask, forcing a smile.


    The boy looks up at me, tears streaming down his face. "I''m hungry," he whispers.


    "Well, you''re in luck," I say, pulling out one of the loaves from my bag and tearing it in half. "You can have some of mine."


    "Really? For me?" His wide eyes light up as I hand him the bread.


    "All yours, kid."


    To my surprise, he doesn''t eat it. Instead, he leaps to his feet, clutching the bread like a priceless treasure, and bolts toward the apartment, yelling, "Mom! Dad! Come quick, I''ve got food!"


    I watch him go, a faint smile tugging at my lips.


    What a good kid.


    I take a bite of my own half-loaf, but it tastes bitter now. My chest tightens, and tears blur my vision. It hadn''t even crossed my mind that he might have a family¡ªthat he wouldn''t selfishly eat it all himself. It''s funny how having nothing can make people so generous.


    I''m happy for him. Truly, I am. But why am I crying? Why does my stomach churn as if I''ve swallowed stones?


    I miss my parents so much.


    Lost in thought, I don''t notice the shadow that falls over me until it stops in front of me. I glance up at a short, hooded figure who stands silently, their face hidden. Before I can speak, they crouch and place a vial at my feet.


    "Hey, wait, who are you?" I call out as they stride away without a word, heading toward the market.


    I pick up the vial, its glass glinting faintly in the fading sunlight. I recognize it immediately, a healing potion, high-grade and similar to the one Shadow gave me three weeks ago. Curious, I activate my appraisal skill to confirm its authenticity. It''s real, but... this person couldn''t be Shadow. They''re far too short.


    As I ponder that curiosity, I take the topper off the potion and drink it. Instantly I am bathed in a faint green light and my injuries heal completely, good as new.


    I go back to eating my bread, which seems to have regained some of its taste. As I chew, my thoughts linger on the hooded figure. Who were they? And why would they help someone like me?


    I''ve long since grown used to the idea that I''m nothing more than a worthless street rat¡ªhomeless, unwanted, and invisible to the world. My days are a constant fight to survive, scraping by with what little I can find or steal. Kindness? That''s a luxury I stopped expecting a long time ago.


    And yet, here I am, holding the proof of a helping hand extended to me, unasked and without strings. This moment, this act of kindness¡ªit feels foreign, almost unreal.


    My parents taught me their final lesson when they died. I learned that I''m on my own and no one will save me. Even people you help¡ªpeople you might call friends¡ªwill abandon you when it matters most. My parents'' comrades, their so-called friends, wouldn''t spare a single coin to buy the potions that could have saved their lives.


    And yet¡­ in the last three weeks, I have twice been given the same potion that could have saved their lives, free of charge and with no strings attached.


    "What a strange day," I mutter to myself, standing and testing my freshly mended leg. There''s not a hint of pain left.


    The sun hangs low in the sky as I start my journey home, or rather, to the place where I sleep. Home is too generous a word for it. I weave through the dirty streets and narrow alleyways of the commons, crossing a rickety wooden bridge over the drainage canal. My destination lies on the inner side of the city''s outer wall.


    I descend a slight embankment where the canal flows toward the wall, its path barred by a thick iron fence that lets wastewater escape but prevents anyone from slipping in or out. Just inside the stone archway over the canal, on the city side of the fence, there''s a short, cracked wooden door set into the wall. Its presence had been hidden by an enchantment that had only recently expired when I stumbled upon it.


    I pull open the old wooden door and crouch to step inside. Beyond it lies a hidden passage within the wall¡ªan old smuggler''s hideout, long abandoned. Whatever merchandise was once stored here is long gone, leaving behind only a few empty crates and cracked pots.


    I''ve done my best to make the place livable, though my efforts are modest. A few tattered blankets serve as a sleeping pad. A wooden box stores what little food I have. Water sits in chipped pots, and a metal basin doubles as a bath and laundry tub. It''s far from comfortable, but it''s the best I can manage.


    I set my cloth bag, with its remaining loafs of bread, into the storage box. Exhausted, I lay down on my makeshift bed.


    The room is dark and silent, but my mind is far from still. My body aches from this morning''s boar hunt and the wound I barely managed to mend, but it''s the weight in my chest that saps my strength. The weight of failure.


    I hate this life. I hate what I''ve become. I''ve spent countless nights thinking about ending it all. And yet¡­ I refuse. I refuse to let the people who took everything from me claim my life as well. One day, I''ll take from them what they stole from me.


    These thoughts churn endlessly in my mind as I slip into the darkness of sleep.

 The Death Of Maribel

    I am Maribel Holloway, age 12, and one day, I will be an adventurer like my parents and their parents before them.


    I sit at the simple wooden table in our one-room apartment in the commons of Cairndorn, staring at the door. The room is dimly lit by the faint glow of the small metal furnace and a single candle flickering in its iron holder. We don''t usually use wood for the furnace or candles unless it''s absolutely necessary, but today, I need their warmth and light to push back the creeping cold, and the suffocating loneliness.


    My hands clutch the sides of my head as I will the door to open. Please, I beg silently. Please let them come home. I imagine my parents stepping through, their faces lit with triumphant smiles, their arms reaching out to pull me into a hug. I''ve kept the apartment warm and inviting for them, preparing soup that now sits cold in bowls at their places on the table. Everything is ready for their return.


    But they''re not here.


    They were supposed to be back before dark, hours ago. My parents are adventurers, trained to hunt monsters, protect clients, and gather rare materials. Their quests often take them far from home, so I''m used to being alone for stretches of time. I''ve grown comfortable with the solitude, even proud of how independent I''ve become.


    But this is different.


    Though they often leave me behind, they''ve always returned when they said they would. If they were delayed, they''d send a messenger spell to let me know. That''s what adventurers do.


    This time, there''s no message. No word. Just silence.


    It terrifies me.


    My mind races with possibilities, each worse than the last. What if they can''t contact me? What if they''ve been hurt, or worse?


    I know their job is dangerous. Every adventurer''s is. Deep down, I''ve always understood that one day, they might not come home. But my parents aren''t just any adventurers, they''re A-rank, some of the best there are. I''ve seen them take down powerful monsters, seen their skill and strength firsthand.


    Perhaps it was easy to convince myself they were untouchable or Invincible.


    Every passing minute is agony. I sit at the table, my fingers tangling nervously in my hair as I try to hold back the tears threatening to spill. My mind races with desperate reassurances. They''re going to be okay. They have to be okay.


    But what if they''re not?


    The thought claws at me, tightening my chest. What would I do? What could I do?


    My spiraling panic is interrupted by the sound of the door handle turning. I freeze, my heart leaping with sudden hope. The door creaks open, and relief washes over me like a flood, so powerful it nearly knocks me over. A smile breaks across my face as excitement and joy bubble up.


    "They''re back!" I whisper to myself, jumping to my feet. My parents, my invincible, untouchable parents, are home, safe and sound, just like I knew they would be.


    "Mom! Dad!" I call out, my voice filled with joy.


    But then I stop, the words catching in my throat as confusion creeps in.


    The light from the furnace illuminates their faces as they step into the room, or rather, as they are dragged into the room. My father leans heavily against the doorframe, supporting my mother, who sags in his arms. Her head is bowed, her hair falling over her face, hiding her expression. My father''s free hand grips the door handle for support, his knuckles white with strain.


    Something''s wrong.


    "Mom? Dad?" My voice trembles as I step closer.


    Behind them, a third figure emerges from the darkness, a bearded man with weathered skin and eyes as hard as stone. He shoulders much of their weight, helping to guide them through the doorway. The stranger''s rough appearance and unkind expression send a jolt of unease through me, but I can''t tear my eyes away from my parents.


    "What''s going on?" I ask, the joy in my voice now replaced by worry.


    The man doesn''t answer immediately. Instead, he helps my parents to the bed, his breaths heavy and labored. When he finally lets them fall onto the mattress, it''s not with malice but exhaustion, as if he''s carried them a long distance.


    "Sorry, kid," he says gruffly, straightening them on the bed. "Your parents had a bit of trouble."


    I rush to their side, panic rising with every step. Up close, the truth hits me like a blow to the chest.


    My mother''s chest is slashed with deep, jagged wounds, parallel cuts as though from a massive set of claws. My father''s injuries are on his right shoulder and arm, the fabric of his tunic soaked with blood. Their skin is pale, almost gray, and a sickly sheen of sweat glistens under the faint light of the furnace.


    "They were attacked by a Nightshade," the man explains grimly. "Its claws are venomous. Very venomous."


    "They need healing! Or a potion!" I cry, turning to the man. My voice is frantic, but a flicker of hope sparks within me. Potions. Healing magic. It''s not too late. This isn''t the first time my parents have been injured, and they''ve always recovered. Always.


    I cling to that thought, desperate for it to be true. They''ll be okay. They have to be okay.


    The man sighs, looking at me with a mixture of pity and regret. "Sorry, kid. I''m no healer, and I don''t have any potions." His gaze flicks back to my parents, grim and resigned. "They paid me to get ''em home, but I can''t do anything about the poison."


    "Well, what do I do then?" I ask, panic clawing at my chest, tightening my throat.


    The man shrugs helplessly. "I just happened across them in a bad way on the road into town," he explains. "Back then, they were still walkin'' and talkin''. Offered me a silver to bring ''em home." His eyes shift to the floor, and his face twists with guilt. "Didn''t think I''d be carryin'' them before long. They''re too far gone now. That Nightshade venom¡­" He trails off, shaking his head. "It''ll make corpses of ''em, and there''s nothing I can do."


    His words hit me like a physical blow, sharp and heavy. My knees feel weak, and for a moment, the world around me tilts. But I won''t accept it. I can''t.


    "NO!" I shout, my voice shaking with fury, as though I could scare away the despair that threatens to swallow me whole. "If I can get them a potion, they''ll be fine!"


    The man watches as I spin into action, refusing to let his words take root. Money! That''s all I need. If I can find enough coin, I can buy the potions. I dash to the loose floorboard where Dad hides our savings. Dropping to my knees, I pry it open with trembling hands and pull out the small coin pouch inside.


    It feels too light.


    I open it, my heart plummeting as I see what''s inside, ten copper coins and one silver.


    Not enough.


    The dread creeping down my spine tightens its grip, but I refuse to give in. They went on a quest. Dad must have taken most of the money with him. That''s it. There''s more. There has to be.


    I rush to my father''s side. He''s still breathing, but just barely. His breaths are shallow and uneven, his chest barely rising and falling. His half-lidded eyes stare blankly at the ceiling. His skin is deathly pale, and blood stains his shirt, soaking through the fabric and spreading across the sheets.


    "Dad," I whisper, my voice shaking. "I''m sorry." My hand reaches into his pocket, careful not to press against his injuries. "But I need your coin purse."


    The fabric is wet with his blood. My stomach churns as I pull the pouch free, its contents soaked through with sickening shade of red. My hands shake, but I force myself to open it.


    Inside are five silver coins and eight copper.


    That''s six silver and eighteen copper altogether.


    Still not enough.


    My grip tightens around the bloodied pouches, and I clutch them to my chest. The man''s voice startles me. I''d forgotten he was still standing in the doorway, watching me with the same sad, conflicted expression.


    "How much do I need for potions?" I demand, desperation cracking my voice.


    The man sighs heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "You''ll need a curing potion each to counter the poison. Then one healing potion each for their injuries." He pauses, his expression darkening. "You''ll need high-grade potions for what they''ve got. Those''ll run you ten silvers apiece."


    I do the math in my head, my voice breaking as I whisper, "Thirty-four more silver coins? I need forty silver in total?"


    I''ve never even seen that much money in one place before. It might as well be a king''s ransom. My stomach twists into knots as the weight of that number presses down on me.


    "How do I get that much money?" I plead, looking at the man with wide, tear-filled eyes.


    He hesitates, glancing away. "No honest way I can think of..."


    "Please!" My voice rises, trembling with desperation. "There has to be a way!"


    The man''s sad eyes meet mine again, and he speaks softly, almost to himself. "I wish there was, kid. But the world ain''t fair like that."


    "Perhaps you can try selling some of their equipment?" the man offers as he steps toward the door. His tone is detached, as though the suggestion costs him nothing. "Might get you some coin that way. Good luck, kid."


    He doesn''t wait for a response, walking out into the night, leaving me behind with my dying parents and a shattered heart.


    Sell their equipment?


    The thought hits me like a bolt of lightning. Of course! My parents'' gear, they''ve spent years investing in the best tools of their trade. They''re worth something. Maybe even enough to buy the potions.


    I quickly move to my father''s side, unbuckling his sword and scabbard from his belt. My hands shake as I grab my mother''s wand from her waist, its phoenix crystal catching the dim light of the furnace.


    "I''m sorry, Mom. I''m sorry, Dad," I whisper through tears, clutching their prized possessions to my chest. "But I''m going to need these. I''ll get the potions, I promise. And... and I''ll help you on quests to make back the money. I''ll buy you new ones, I swear."


    My voice cracks as tears fall freely, blurring my vision.


    I spare them one last look. They''re barely breathing, their faces pale and drawn, their bodies motionless except for the weak rise and fall of their chests. They look... like death.


    It''s unbearable.


    I turn away, the sight too painful to bear. I don''t want to see them like this. I want to remember them alive, strong, invincible. I cling to the lie, desperate to believe they''re only sick, that this is temporary.


    I tuck the coin pouch into my pocket, combining the bloody coins into one bag, and bolt out the door.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    The cold night air bites at my skin as I sprint through the empty streets, the fog swirling around my feet. Activating my Enhanced Speed spell, I race faster, the world blurring past me. The faint glow of lamps from the market street comes into view, their flickering light guiding me toward my destination.


    At the crossroads, the grand silhouette of the apothecary looms. Its magical lamps cast an inviting glow, a beacon of hope against the darkness.


    When I reach the door, I notice a small line of people huddled under blankets, their faces drawn with desperation, waiting for their own salvation. I ignore them, my need far greater, and pull the door open, only to be stopped by a man in a red-and-white uniform stepping into my path.


    "Halt," he says sharply, his voice firm and unyielding.


    "I''ve got money," I blurt out, holding up the blood-soaked coin pouch, my hand shaking from cold, panic, and exhaustion.


    The guard''s eyes narrow as he studies me, his skeptical gaze moving from my tear-streaked face to the bloody pouch and back again. He doesn''t move, and I can see the calculation in his eyes. He''s used to desperate people like me, commoners who don''t have enough and come begging for miracles.


    "How much coin did you bring, and what are you here to buy?" His tone is cold, almost dismissive.


    My heart races. I know what he''s thinking. He doesn''t trust me. And why should he? I''m just a ragged street rat to him. But I can''t let him turn me away.


    "I need two high-grade healing potions and two poison cure potions that can counter Nightshade venom," I say, my voice trembling.


    His face hardens, the skepticism deepening. I can almost hear his thoughts: That''s more money than this kid could ever hope to have.


    "I have six silver and eighteen copper coins," I begin, but the guard rolls his eyes and moves to shut the door.


    "Wait!" I cry, blocking the door with my foot. Frantically, I hold up the sword and wand, thrusting them into the light. "I have these! High-quality weapons! I can trade them for the rest!"


    The guard pauses, his gaze shifting to the items in my hands.


    "This sword," I say quickly, holding it up, "is enchanted, two enchantments! It was forged by the best smith in Arcadia." I lift the blade higher, letting the light glint off its edge.


    "And this wand," I continue, thrusting it forward, "was crafted with a phoenix''s mana crystal at the Arcadian Academy of Magic. It''s worth a fortune!"


    I can feel my desperation pouring into my words, hoping against hope that he''ll believe me, that he''ll see the value in what I''m offering.


    "Yes, those are fine weapons," the guard said with a sigh, irritation flickering in his voice. "But perhaps you''ve confused us with a weaponsmith. We don''t trade in weapons," he added sharply, pushing my foot out of the way of the door. "Come back when you have actual coin!"


    The door slammed shut, leaving me staring at the unyielding wood, my heart sinking.


    For a moment, the cold hopelessness crept in. Was this impossible? Who would buy weapons in the dead of night? The weaponsmiths weren''t open, and few businesses were at this hour. I clutched the sword and wand tightly, trying to steady my resolve.


    Then it hit me, the Adventurer''s Guild.


    Of course! It was open at all hours and filled with adventurers who needed good gear. More importantly, many of them had worked with my parents before. Mom and Dad had saved their lives countless times. Surely someone there would help, maybe they''d even donate potions or money. The hope ignited a fire in my chest, and I took off down the road.


    I ran faster than I''d ever run before, the image of my parents dying in their bed burning in my mind. I was running out of time. My heart pounded, my lungs burned, but I didn''t stop until I reached the guild.


    The moment I wrenched the door open, I burst inside, gasping for air.


    "HELP!" I shouted, my voice breaking.


    The room was dimly lit but bustling, with a dozen or so adventurers scattered around tables, drinking and eating late into the night. Their heads turned toward me in confusion, some staring, others too drunk to comprehend.


    "Please, someone help me!" I yelled again, breathless.


    A woman with kind eyes, the guild attendant, left her desk and hurried toward me, concern etched across her face. Her gaze fell on my bloodied hands and clothes.


    "Hold on, little lady," she said softly. "What''s wrong? What happened?"


    I turned to her, my voice cracking with desperation. "It''s my parents, Gareld and Tatania Holloway! They''ve been poisoned by a Nightshade! Please, they''re dying!"


    Her face shifted with recognition, and she nodded. "Gareld and Tatania? Oh no¡­"


    "Yes!" I exclaimed, hope surging. "You know them! They''re A-rank adventurers, they''ve worked with all of you for years! Please, they need your help!"


    The guild attendant hesitated, sorrow deepening in her expression. "Are you their daughter? Maribel, right?"


    I nodded frantically. "That''s me! Please, you''ve got to help them!"


    Her shoulders sagged, and she shook her head. "I''m so sorry, Maribel. The guild doesn''t have potions, and I can''t give out guild funds. I¡­ I wish I could do more." She reached into her own coin purse, pulling out a few copper coins.


    I took the coins with trembling hands. "Thank you," I whispered, tears welling up.


    "What about everyone else?" I asked, turning to the adventurers at the tables, my voice rising with desperation. "Please! They''re your friends! You''ve worked with them for years!"


    They averted their gazes, some pretending not to hear me, others staring into their drinks.


    "Please, someone!" I begged, my voice trembling. "You know them! They''ve saved your lives before!"


    The silence was crushing.


    How could these people, who had worked with my parents for so long, abandon them like this? They were adventurers too, didn''t they realize this could be them someday? My parents had saved so many of them before, always willing to lend a hand when someone was in trouble. How could they just stand by now and let them die?


    "If you won''t help them," I said, my voice cracking under the weight of my desperation, "then would anyone be willing to buy my father''s sword or my mom''s wand? They''re high quality; they''re worth at least 34 silver coins!"


    I scanned the room, searching for any flicker of recognition or willingness to help. For a moment, no one responded. The guild lady looked stricken, as though she wanted to help but didn''t know how.


    "I''ll buy them, little lady," came a deep, gravelly voice.


    I turned toward the speaker, a muscular man with wild blond hair and the stench of mead and sweat wafting from him as he approached. His eyes, sharp and predatory, scanned me up and down, never lingering on the weapons I held out. His unsettling grin made my stomach churn, but I forced myself to stand my ground. If he was willing to buy them, then maybe I could save my parents.


    "But," he continued, smirking, "those things won''t fetch more than 16 silver at best."


    My heart sank. "Sir, these are high-quality weapons," I said, my voice trembling but insistent. "They cost over 40 silver when they bought them. They''re worth at least 34 silver, and that''s how much I need to save them. Not a copper less."


    He chuckled, a low, unpleasant sound that made my skin crawl. "I''ll do you a favor and give you 17 silver for both," he said, leaning closer. "And trust me, you won''t find anyone else willing to pay more."


    His confidence felt like a slap to the face, and the way his eyes lingered on me made every instinct scream at me to run. But I couldn''t. My parents were dying. If I could just sell the weapons, I might be able to save them.


    I glanced down, trying to hold back the tears welling in my eyes. "But that''ll only be enough to buy potions for one of my parents," I whispered, my voice barely audible.


    The thought struck me like a hammer: would I have to choose which one of them to save?


    The idea made me dizzy with fear and guilt. How could I possibly choose? But if I didn''t sell the weapons, I wouldn''t have enough to save either of them.


    "Fine," I said at last, my words breaking under the weight of my decision. "I''ll sell them to you for 17 silver."


    Tears blurred my vision as I held out the sword and wand to the man.


    "Smart girl," he said, taking the weapons with a smug grin and slipping them into his belt. "The name''s Bram, by the way."


    He pulled a heavy coin purse from his belt and began counting out the silver coins. My breath hitched as I caught sight of how much was inside, far more than 17 silver. He had plenty to pay the full amount, but he didn''t even consider it.


    Bram dropped 17 silver coins into my bloody hands. The cold metal felt heavier than it should as I clutched them tightly and added them to my coin purse.


    "Pleasure doing business with you," Bram said, his eyes still roaming over me in a way that made me feel smaller and more vulnerable than ever.


    "You know, there is something else you could help me with," Bram said, a creepy smile spreading across his face. "If you do, I¡¯ll pay you another 17 silver."


    A flicker of hope cut through the dread gnawing at my stomach. I ignored the unsettling feeling creeping up my spine. I need that money.


    "Yes," I said quickly. "Whatever you need. I just need the money, and I need it fast."


    "Good girl," he said, gesturing toward the door. "Come with me. I only need your help for a short time, and then I¡¯ll pay you the rest."


    "Wait," the guild lady interjected, her voice tight with concern. "I don¡¯t think you should go with him."


    I turned back to her, bitterness flaring in my voice. "Why? Are you going to give me the money to save my parents?"


    "I... no, but¡ª"


    "Then I have no choice," I snapped, cutting her off. "He¡¯s the only one offering to help."


    Her expression crumpled with guilt, but she said nothing more. I walked out, Bram holding the door open for me like some twisted gentleman.


    The cold night air stung my face as I followed him down the street, deeper into the city¡¯s commons. My unease grew with every step, the streets growing darker and quieter as we moved further from the lit main roads.


    "Sir," I asked hesitantly, "what help do you need from me exactly? I¡¯m in a hurry."


    Bram glanced back at me with that same unsettling smile. "You¡¯ll see when we get there. But you¡¯re right, let¡¯s pick up the pace."


    Without warning, he grabbed my hand and pulled me forward, walking faster.


    At first, it felt like he was simply leading me. But when I tried to pull my hand away, his grip tightened painfully, and my heart sank. He wasn¡¯t letting go. A wave of panic surged through me, my instincts screaming to fight or run. But I shoved it down.


    If I run, I lose the money. And if I lose the money... my parents will die.


    We arrived at an old inn on the edge of the commons, a dilapidated building that catered to the poorest travelers. The wooden structure loomed over the street, its faded sign creaking in the cold wind. There was no decoration, no warmth¡ªjust a dark, grim place.


    Bram didn¡¯t stop at the front desk. He led me straight to the staircase, dragging me along as my pulse pounded in my ears.


    "Where are we going?" I asked, my voice trembling.


    Bram didn¡¯t answer. His silence was worse than any words he could have said. The uneasy pit in my stomach twisted into full-blown fear.


    Up the stairs and down a dingy, dimly lit hallway lined with doors, Bram dragged me along until he stopped abruptly at one. He pulled an old iron key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and shoved it open. Without warning, he pushed me roughly inside. I stumbled forward, barely catching myself before I fell.


    The room was stifling and suffocatingly filthy. A dirty, threadbare bed sat prominently in the center, its crumpled sheets stained and reeking of sweat and other things I didn¡¯t want to name. The floor was littered with piles of discarded clothing and trash, and the corners were dark with grime.


    It wasn¡¯t a home. It was a predator¡¯s den.


    The door clanked shut behind me, the lock snapping into place. My stomach twisted as I caught sight of a few women¡¯s garments scattered among the mess, like the bones left behind by a beast.


    ¡°Relax,¡± Bram said with a twisted smile, his shadow looming over me as he moved closer.


    I took a step back, my legs shaking beneath me. ¡°What... what do you need me to do?¡± I asked, my voice trembling, still desperately clinging to the hope that this wasn¡¯t what it so clearly was.


    But his expression gave me the answer before he said a word.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make this difficult,¡± he growled, advancing.


    The next hour was a blur, a nightmare I couldn¡¯t escape. I tried to fight. I screamed, I begged, I pleaded. But he was too strong, his fists and words silencing me until I couldn¡¯t speak anymore.


    I felt myself retreat, shutting down piece by piece, until I was nothing but a shell. I couldn¡¯t cry, couldn¡¯t scream anymore. I lay there, staring blankly at the cracked ceiling, willing myself to survive. Just survive.


    When it was over, I stumbled out of the inn, barely aware of my surroundings. My clothes were torn, my body aching, blood and essence trickling down my inner thigh and my soul felt hollow. The heavy weight of 17 silver coins in my pouch was the cruelest reminder of what I¡¯d just endured.


    I hated myself more than I¡¯d ever hated anyone.


    This is my fault. The thought latched on and wouldn¡¯t let go.


    I am broken, ruined, worthless. Who could ever love me now?


    But even as shame and self-loathing threatened to drown me, one thought cut through the fog: I have to save them.


    I couldn¡¯t fall apart. Not yet. Not while they needed me.


    I limped through the cold streets of Cairndorn, the apothecary¡¯s lights burning like a distant beacon. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to keep moving. I could fall apart later. I could hate myself later.


    For now, I had a mission. And I wouldn¡¯t fail them.


    When I reached the apothecary, I slammed my blood-soaked coin purse onto the counter and demanded the potions. The clerk eyed me warily but counted the money, nodded, and handed over the four vials. The potions shimmered faintly in their glass containers, lifesaving medicine that I had paid more than just coin to obtain. My parents'' salvation was in my hands, but the cost¡ªit was so much more than I could have imagined.


    Without wasting a second, I turned and sprinted back toward home, pushing my body beyond its limits. My Enhance Speed spell burned through my mana reserves as I ran faster than I¡¯d ever thought possible. My chest heaved, my legs ached, and the cold night air bit into my skin, but none of it mattered. All that mattered was getting these potions to my parents in time.


    When I reached the apartment, I burst through the door, the warmth of our little home a stark contrast to the biting chill outside.


    ¡°Mom, Dad! I have the potions! You¡¯re going to be all right!¡± I shouted, my voice cracking with desperation.


    I stopped mid-step. The furnace was cold, the candle extinguished, leaving only the dim, pale glow of moonlight filtering through the window. My father''s face was faintly visible in the light, his expression still, his eyes closed.


    The room reeked. A sickening, unmistakable odor.


    ¡°No... no, no, no,¡± I whispered, trembling as I stepped forward. The air felt heavy, suffocating. I dropped to my knees beside their bed.


    ¡°Mom? Dad?¡± I choked out, my voice a thin wisp of hope clinging to denial.


    I opened a potion, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped it. Pulling out the stopper, I tipped the vial to my father¡¯s lips. The liquid glowed faintly green as it slid into his mouth, illuminating his face in a soft, ethereal light.


    But nothing happened.


    The potion pooled uselessly in his mouth before dribbling down his chin.


    ¡°No, please, no!¡± I sobbed, scrambling for another potion. This time, I turned to my mother. I poured the healing elixir into her mouth, praying it would work.


    Nothing.


    Potions can¡¯t heal the dead.


    I collapsed to the floor, the empty bottles rolling from my trembling hands. I stared at their lifeless faces, at the faint sheen of dried blood on their wounds, at the hollow stillness that filled the room.


    It all felt unreal. Like some cruel nightmare I couldn¡¯t wake from.


    Tears streamed down my face as I cried out to no one. ¡°I was too late... I was too late...¡±


    I don¡¯t know how long I sat there, curled on the floor beside them, clutching their cold hands as though holding on to them could bring them back.


    Hours passed, or maybe minutes, I couldn¡¯t tell. Eventually, the tears stopped, leaving a hollow ache in their place.


    I looked at the empty potion bottles beside me, their once precious contents now meaningless. The fortune I had paid, the cost I had endured, all for nothing.


    That night, I lost everything.


    My parents. My home. My innocence.


    Even myself.


    The girl I had been, the girl who laughed with her parents, who dreamed of becoming a great adventurer like them, died alongside them that night. What was left was a shell. A bitter, broken thing too stubborn to give up, too angry at those who had taken everything from me, and too envious of those who had never had to suffer like I had.

 Guardian Of Stonebrook

    I am Maribel Holloway, age 15, and I am a worthless street rat trying to survive as an adventurer.


    Currently, I am walking down the worn stone road leading north from Cairndorn, heading toward the village of Stonebrook. On horseback, this journey would take just a few hours. By carriage, it might take half a day''s light. But on foot, I''ll be lucky to arrive at the relative safety of the village by nightfall. For that reason, I walk with purpose, taking steady, determined strides. I need to make it there before dark; the thought of being caught out on the open plains at night fills me with dread.


    I''ve learned to avoid taking risks and stick to safer missions because, as poor as I am, a single injury could mean I can''t work. And if I can''t work, I''ll starve. Of course, I''ve become quite adept at stealing from nobles, which is how I managed to gather all the food packed in the old burlap sack strapped across my back with a length of rope. The sack and rope themselves were sourced from the storage room of a wealthy noble, crafted into this makeshift backpack by my hands.


    I''ve been able to steal most of what I need to get by, but that strategy has its limits. I have to be cautious, only taking what won''t be missed and won''t raise suspicion. A loaf of bread or an empty sack disappearing from a restaurant''s pantry might go unnoticed. But if I stole something valuable, gold, for instance, it would draw immediate attention and spark an investigation. If I were caught with stolen goods, I''d lose my ability to work as an adventurer, and worse, I could end up rotting in jail or sold into slavery.


    Because of this, stealing gold is too risky. To make money, I depend on completing guild quests, which is why I''m making my way to Stonebrook now. I''ve taken a quest to gather Vitabloom, Aspen Root, and Hassle Wood Moss, herbs essential for producing magical potions. These ingredients are usually farmed in the gardens of the Arcadian Academy of Magic and grow wild across the Dragon''s Cradle. But over the last year, demand for these herbs has surged, and they''ve become scarce in the valley. Gathering these herbs is one of the safest ways for me to earn coin, but their growing rarity has become a serious problem. It''s gotten so bad that I''ve had to venture this far from the capital just to find them.


    As I walk, the rhythmic sound of hooves and the rattling of wagon wheels echo behind me. I glance over my shoulder to ensure I''m clear of the road, but when I see who''s driving the wagon, my face lights up with unexpected joy.


    Sitting at the reins is none other than Mr. Shadow, the masked and hooded weirdo who saved me the other day with a potion. I hurriedly wave toward him. I am excited to see Shadow for a few reasons. In large part I''d bet he''d be willing to give me a ride, and in small part because I want to thank him again for helping me before and ask him how his quests have gone.


    I wonder if he''s had as much trouble as me.


    As Shadow''s wagon draws nearer, he waves at me and slows his horses, eventually coming to a stop so that the wagon is parallel to where I''m walking. From the driver''s seat, he looks down at me, and I can''t help but feel a jolt of surprise. Up close, Shadow looks... different. He''s taller, significantly so, and his limbs have an unnatural bulk to them that wasn''t there before.


    "Hey! It''s you... Miss Maribel, right?" Shadow says in a friendly tone, his voice deep and resonant.


    "Yeah, that''s me, but... are you really Shadow?" I ask, squinting up at him in confusion. "What happened to you? Did you somehow get that much taller in just an arc?"


    "Oh wow... it really has been a whole arc, hasn''t it?" Shadow says, rubbing the back of his head. His casual response only deepens my curiosity, but it''s clear he''s dodging the question.


    "Anyway," he says, smoothly changing the subject, "what are you doing all the way out here? Need a ride?" He extends a gloved hand toward me, his tone genuinely kind.


    I glance at his hand, hesitating. My heart tightens, and a chill creeps up my spine. The thought of taking a man''s hand, a man''s touch, still fills me with dread, even after all this time. My hand twitches halfway to his, and I hesitate, unsure if I can do it.


    Get over it, Maribel. Shadow''s not like that. If he wanted to hurt me, he wouldn''t have saved me before or given me that potion for nothing.


    "Something wrong?" Shadow asks, his voice gentle but curious.


    "No. I mean, yes... I mean," I shake my head, forcing myself to take a deep breath. "I''d love to join you," I finally say, reaching out and placing my hand in his.


    In a single motion, Shadow lifts me with effortless strength, pulling me onto the wagon seat beside him as if I weigh nothing at all. His grip is firm but gentle, and his hand feels oddly hard and cold, like stone. The lift is so quick that I barely have time to react before I''m seated beside him. My heart races, and the familiar pang of fear starts to bubble up, but then Shadow silently shifts, sliding himself to the far end of the bench.


    He gives me plenty of space, his gaze focused down the road, as if completely unaware of my momentary panic.


    "Let''s get moving," he says with a flick of the reins, the horses pulling the wagon back into motion.


    I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. He''s a gentleman, I remind myself, silently cursing my lingering fear. I shouldn''t have worried. The last thing I want is for him to have noticed my discomfort.


    "Maribel, may I introduce you to my friends Huckleberry and Buttercup," Shadow says, gesturing toward the horses with a subtle tilt of his head. Then, almost sheepishly, he adds, "I didn''t name them, by the way..."


    A surprised laugh escapes me, breaking the tension, I''d felt just moments before. "I think they''re adorable names," I reply with a smile. Turning to the horses, I add, "Nice to meet you, Huckleberry and Buttercup."


    For a while, the two of us ride in companionable silence. The rhythmic clatter of the horses'' hooves and the creak of wagon wheels against the stone road fills the air. Around us, the Dragon''s Cradle unfolds in all its beauty, a valley of sprawling grasslands interspersed with vibrant patches of wildflowers and clusters of fern bushes. In the distance, I can see the quilted patchwork of farm fields stretching toward the horizon, their golden and green hues shimmering under the afternoon sun.


    After enjoying the luxury of riding rather than walking, I turn my attention to my eccentric companion. Now that I''m sitting so close to Shadow, I begin to notice just how peculiar he truly is. The growth spurt is one thing, but the way he sits, completely unnaturally still, strikes me as odd. Most people have subtle movements, a natural sway or the rise and fall of their chest as they breathe. But Shadow? He sits perfectly still, as if even the concept of fidgeting is foreign to him.


    And then there''s the mask. My curiosity about it builds with each passing moment, growing until I can''t hold it back any longer.


    "Mr. Shadow," I blurt out, the words tumbling out before I can stop them, "if you don''t mind me asking, why do you wear a mask? Are you¡­ not human or something?"


    As the question hangs in the air, another thought occurs to me, and I glance at the wagon and horses. Perhaps Shadow is wealthier than he lets on. "Or are you trying to hide your status as a noble?" I add, trying to piece together the puzzle that is Shadow.


    Shadow turns his head toward me, saying nothing at first. The silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity, and I start to worry that I might have offended him.


    "I''m sorry," I begin to say, my voice faltering, "I didn''t mean to"


    "It''s okay, Ms. Maribel," Shadow cuts in, his tone patient. "I understand it''s odd that I wear a mask. And I know it makes me rather conspicuous."


    "So, why do you wear it?" I ask again, this time more calmly.


    Shadow tilts his head slightly, as if considering his words. "Well, I''m not a noble, and I''m not horribly disfigured," he explains evenly. "The reason I wear a mask is because being an adventurer comes with risks. It means I''ll likely make enemies, bandits, criminals, and worse. And being a skilled adventurer, should I ever become one, will come with the cost of being well-known."


    His tone shifts, becoming more serious. "Fame is a double-edged sword. It can bring support and admiration, but it also makes it easier for your enemies to find you, and the people you care about. They''ll go after those you love to hurt or control you. It''s just how this world works."


    I nod, starting to understand. "So, you have people you care about that you''re trying to protect."


    Shadow looks down at the reins in his hands, his voice quieter but still firm. "I have one person I care about, and it''s my job to keep them safe."


    "I get it," I say softly, empathizing with his reasoning. Adventuring is dangerous, not just for the adventurers but for anyone close to them. That''s why most adventurers stay unmarried or settle down once they start a family. My parents were the exception.


    "It''s fine," Shadow replies, his cheerful tone returning as if he wants to shift the focus back to lighter topics.


    "So, the last time we met, you were heading off on your first mission. How did that go?" I ask, curious.


    For the next hour, Shadow shared with me with the stories of how he has struggled a great deal completing quests. The first quest to cull some wolves resulted in him nearly being killed. He says he had used the last bit of his mana to heal himself, which lucky enough was enough to save his life.


    "Sounds like your first quest was almost your last quest hu?" I remarked


    "Just about was. I learned to be a lot more careful after that." Shadow responded.


    He also told a story of a time when he accepted a quest to transport a parcel, not knowing that the parcel was a wagon load of potatoes.


    "And I didn''t even have a horse," Shadow says, his voice tinged with exasperation and humor. "So, there I was, pulling this thing myself all day. And, as if that wasn''t bad enough, halfway there, the wheel on the borrowed wagon broke."


    I can''t help but laugh. "What did you do?"


    "I had to fix it, of course," he replies with a mock sigh of resignation. "It was a hassle, but I managed."


    Shadow went on to explain that he''s taken on all sorts of quests, from culling boars and horned rabbits to searching for missing children and pets, and, of course, collecting herbs. One particular story stood out: a quest issued by a nobleman named Lord Cromwell. The lord had hired Shadow to find his missing daughter. Shadow managed to track her down, but it turned out she hadn''t been kidnapped. She had run away to escape her abusive father, who planned to marry her off into another noble''s harem for money and status. Shadow told me he refused to return her, choosing instead to fabricate evidence that she had been killed by monsters while fleeing the city at night.Stolen story; please report.


    Listening to his stories, I learned a few things. First, despite his impressive magical capacity, Shadow has struggled and faced setbacks, just like me. He''s endured injuries and difficulties, though he has the advantage of being able to heal himself more easily than I can. Second, I realized that Shadow has strong morals, he prioritizes doing what''s right over making money. That realization put my mind at ease, and I found myself relaxing around him a little more.


    Eventually, Shadow turned the conversation back to me. "So, how have you been faring since we last met?" he asked, his tone light but curious.


    I lied. "I''ve been doing well," I said with a forced smile, unwilling to admit the truth of my struggles.


    Shadow tilted his head slightly, the silence that followed suggesting he didn''t believe me. But instead of calling me out, he nodded knowingly, as if choosing to let me keep my pride.


    "Well, I''m glad to hear that," he said finally. "But I still think it''d be safer for both of us if we teamed up. I''d hate for you to get any more leg injuries and not be able to afford to heal them."


    I stiffened. Leg injuries... plural? How does he know about the second time I got hurt?


    Before I could ask, Shadow pointed ahead, changing the subject. "Look there," he said. "That''s the village of Stonebrook."


    Sure enough, the wooden wall marking the village''s border came into view. As we drew closer, we passed farmland being worked by citizens, not slaves, to my surprise. The sight was a stark contrast to the capital, where nearly all such labor was performed by enslaved people.


    Before long, we approached the village gate, where a young guardsman stood sentry. He wore armor over a blue and white tunic, and his face broke into a wide smile the moment he saw Shadow.


    "Master Shadow! Welcome back!" the guard greeted him warmly, his tone carrying a note of respect that caught me off guard.


    Did he just call him "Master"? Who exactly is Shadow that he''s being addressed like that?


    "Good to be back, Mr. Lodan," Shadow replied gleefully. "Stonebrook is my second home, after all."


    "And who''s your friend?" Lodan asked, nodding toward me.


    "She''s an adventurer joining me on a quest," Shadow explained. "Do you need to see her guild card?"


    "Nah, if you vouch for her, that''s good enough for me," Lodan said with a shrug before stepping aside. "Come on in. Our community is always happy to have you, Master Shadow."


    As the wagon rolled forward, I sat in silence, bewildered by the exchange.


    "What was that guard checking for?" I asked, my curiosity finally bubbling over.


    Shadow glanced at me before responding. "Well, the quality of life and job market here in Stonebrook is much better than in the capital," he explained as the wagon passed quaint cottages with large plots of land and personal gardens.


    "Many people suffering from the lack of work have tried to move to Stonebrook in the last few years," Shadow explains. "In fact, several thousand have already made the move. But there are only so many jobs and homes in the village, nowhere near enough for everyone who wants to come here."


    "So they''re keeping people from escaping the capital? That seems kind of heartless," I say bitterly.


    How many people have starved to death because they couldn''t leave the capital?


    "It''s not because they don''t care about those people," Shadow adds, almost as if he could hear my thoughts. "If everyone who wanted to live here could just come, there wouldn''t be enough food, jobs, or housing to support them. Not only would the newcomers struggle to survive, but the current residents would also suffer trying to accommodate them."


    "So the alternative is to just leave the people in the capital to starve?" I ask, annoyance creeping into my voice.


    "Well," Shadow replies with a sigh, "the true solution to this problem depends on the king and nobles in the capital. But the lord of this domain, Lord Griswald, is doing everything he can. He''s paying to build as many new homes as possible and create jobs to accept as many people as the community can handle."


    Our wagon rolls toward a bustling outdoor market, where the street opens into a wide, flat, circular area of stone road in the middle of the village. At least a thousand commoners walk among rows of stalls that line the inner and outer edges of the circle. The position of the stalls creates a circular road with entrances at four sides. At the very center stands a large statue of a man in a mage''s military uniform, atop what appears to be a magical fountain. Water cascades from the base of the statue into a pool where a que of merchants with their horses have lined up to allow their animals drink.


    "It sounds like you really like this Lord Griswald guy," I say, unable to keep the disdain for his noble status out of my voice.


    Shadow looks as though he''s about to respond, but before he can, a friendly older woman in a pale blue and white dress and a brown apron dusted with flour steps out from behind a bakery stall. She waves enthusiastically, calling out to Shadow.


    "Master Shadow! Thank the Spirits you''ve returned!" she exclaims, hurrying toward the wagon with surprising energy for her age. She carries several loaves of bread in her arms.


    As she reaches us, she hands the bread up to Shadow. "Please, take these, Master Shadow!"


    Master Shadow? That''s the second time someone''s called him that. Who is this guy, and why does everyone here seem to know him?


    "Oh, Lady Lidia, thank you, but I''ve done nothing to deserve this," Shadow says, feigning humility even as he accepts the bread.


    "Nonsense!" Lidia retorts with mock sternness. "You healed my husband and didn''t ask for a single coin in return. A bit of bread is the least I can do for the great Protector of Stonebrook!"


    At this point, my jaw practically hits the floor. This Shadow guy is clearly some kind of celebrity here. I stare at the back of his head, practically boring holes into him with my eyes, silently begging for an explanation. How in the world has he become so famous in just a single arc?


    "Thank you so much, Lady Lidia, but there''s no need to call me that," Shadow says, embarrassment creeping into his voice. He turns his masked face toward me, almost as if gauging my reaction.


    It wasn''t just Lidia. Her raised voice had drawn the attention of many marketgoers. Several people were now waving and calling out greetings to Shadow. A young man in a wide-brimmed hat and a gray tunic approaches the left side of the wagon. As Lidia says her goodbyes and turns back to her stall, the man hands up a cloth-wrapped package to Shadow.


    "Master Shadow, may Voltheron be with you!" the man says with a bright smile. "Please accept this gift from my family. By ridding us of those beasts, you saved our herbs and our livelihood."


    "Oh, thank you, Hecter. Your family is too kind to me!" Shadow replies warmly. "And your dried beef is incredible!"


    As Shadow exchanges pleasantries with the villagers, several others approach, offering him gifts of food. Meanwhile, I notice something even stranger. Many people passing by the wagon are stopping to pat Buttercup and Huckleberry on their heads or feed them bits of vegetables. Though the noise of the crowd drowns out their words, it''s clear they''re addressing the horses with familiarity and fondness.


    Even the horses are famous here. Seriously, what the hell is going on...


    For a while, I sit in silent bemusement, watching Shadow interact with the villagers. He accepts their gifts graciously, filling his magical bag with a seemingly endless supply of food. The warmth with which he''s greeted is undeniable. It stirs a pang of envy deep within me.


    I wish people just handed me food like that...


    Eventually, Shadow waves goodbye to the crowd, insisting that he has to get going. The villagers reluctantly part, allowing the wagon to move forward. As we leave the market, the cheerful atmosphere lingers in my mind. Watching how people treated Shadow, how loved he was, erases any hesitation I might have had about joining his party for quests. In fact, a part of me hopes that by staying with him, I might one day experience a fraction of the kindness and goodwill he seems to receive so effortlessly.


    The wagon clatters onward, leaving the market behind and heading north along the main road. For a while, we pass older cottages like those on the outskirts of the village, but soon we come upon a cluster of newer homes. These houses are built much closer together than the earlier ones, though still far more spaced out than the cramped apartments of the capital. The new construction is modest yet sturdy, far better than the squalid living conditions many endure back in Cairndorn.


    "So, you''re really popular here, huh?" I say, raising an eyebrow.


    Shadow chuckles lightly. "Well, when I saw how Lord Griswald was taking care of the people here, I decided I wanted to support what he was doing. I ended up accepting almost every quest he posted," he explains. "And as you can see, most of those quests were for the benefit of his people."


    "I''m sorry," I reply, my tone skeptical. "But in a world where it''s normal for people to be awful, I find it hard to trust anyone who''s nice for no reason."


    "Maybe Griswald understands that if he wants to prosper, he needs to take care of the people who are the source of that prosperity," Shadow says thoughtfully. "In the end, he''s using the taxes he collects to protect his people and ensure they can keep paying taxes. So maybe it''s not altruism, but pragmatism?"


    "All true what-ism? Prag i-what? Were those even words?" I ask, whatever Shadow just said sounded like a completely different language.


    Shadow lets out a small sigh. "I think he takes care of his people because he benefits from their success," he simplifies.


    I nod, finally understanding. As we exit through the northern gate of Stonebrook, a guard waves us off, wishing Shadow safe travels.


    We travel in relative silence for a while. My thoughts drift back to the happy faces and comfortable lives of the commoners in Stonebrook. They looked so content, so at peace. For the first time in years, I find myself thinking about happiness, something I gave up on a long time ago. People like me aren''t meant to have it, or at least, that''s what I''ve always believed. But seeing them, it''s hard not to want it.


    The wagon slows, then comes to a stop. I glance around, noticing we''re alongside a field about 100 yards from the tree line of the Forest of Souls. Shadow gestures toward the field. "Here we are." It doesn''t take long for me to spot the treasure in front of us, the ground is covered in herbs essential for healing potions.


    I can''t stop the grin spreading across my face. This field is a bounty, practically begging to be harvested. There are so many herbs here that we could make a fortune. And with the wagon, we could probably collect them all. My mind starts spinning with the possibilities of how much we could earn. Just as I''m imagining the massive payout, a loud growl interrupts my thoughts, my stomach.


    Shadow and I both glance down at the source of the sound, and I feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment.


    "Guess you should eat some of this food before we get to work, huh?" Shadow says with a note of humor.


    He reaches into his magical storage bag and pulls out a blanket, laying it out on the bench seat between us. Then he begins unloading the bread, dried meats, and fruits gifted to him by the villagers. My stomach twists with hunger, and my mouth starts to water as the smell of the food wafts up to me.


    I glance up at Shadow hesitantly, silently asking for permission to dig in. Every ounce of self-control is keeping me from tearing into the food like a starving animal.


    "Dig in," Shadow says simply, gesturing to the spread.


    I don''t need to be told twice. Grabbing a fistful of meat and bread, I take hurried bites, barely chewing as the flavors hit my tongue. It tastes incredible, better than anything I''ve eaten in years. Before I know it, I''ve worked through a fair amount of food. I finally pause, looking up to see Shadow sitting perfectly still, seemingly watching me eat. His unnerving stillness strikes me again, making my appetite falter for a moment.


    I swallow the last bite in my mouth and frown at him. "Why aren''t you eating?"


    "Not hungry," Shadow says with a shrug. "But don''t let that stop you."


    Before I can question him further about his strange behavior, Shadow abruptly stands, causing the wagon to shudder. A few pieces of fruit roll off the bench. I instinctively catch the dragon fruits before they hit the ground, clutching them to my chest as I look up at him.


    Shadow''s head is turned toward the forest, his posture rigid.


    "Maribel, stay behind me," he says, his tone serious. "We''re about to be attacked."


    I follow his gaze and spot three large beasts charging toward us from the forest. My eyes widen as they grow larger with each second, barreling toward us at a terrifying speed. They''re monstrous, their hulking forms unmistakable even at a distance.


    "What are those things?" I ask, standing and instinctively reaching for my weapon. The fruits tumble from my hands, forgotten, bouncing off the wagon seat to the ground.


    "Those are Mithril Fur Bears," Shadow says grimly. "Strong, B-rank monsters. Their fur is as hard as iron and resistant to magic."


    Damn it. I was hoping this would be an easy herb-gathering quest.


    "We can''t run from them; they''re too fast," Shadow warns. "I''m going to have to slay them." Without waiting for a response, he leaps down from the wagon, the sheer force of his landing causing the vehicle to shudder and spring up as it''s relieved of his weight.


    I hop down beside him, my movements light and nimble in contrast. "We''ll slay them," I say firmly.


    Of course, I''m not going to let him face these things alone. We exchange a brief look, unspoken understanding passing between us. We both know the odds. We''re just E-rank adventurers, barely capable of handling C-rank monsters. Taking on three B-rank beasts? It seems almost impossible.


    Shadow raises his arm, the gesture sharp and deliberate, and without a word, he unleashes three massive blasts of Fire Lance. The searing heat ripples through the air, leaving charred, blackened paths in the grass as the projectiles streak toward the charging bears. The spells collide with their targets, detonating with tremendous force. The ground shakes beneath us, and the area ahead is engulfed in a fiery explosion. For a brief moment, I''m convinced the bears must be obliterated.


    But as the smoke and flames dissipate, I see the massive forms emerge, still charging toward us. Unphased. The blasts didn''t even slow them down.


    It''s clear now: these monsters are very resistant to magic.

 Unbearable

    I am Shadow, age 40 days, a golem imbued with a copy of Prince Ren Drakemore''s consciousness. Right now, I am facing three bloodthirsty Mithril Fur Bears charging toward me and Miss Maribel.


    Their resistance to magic is formidable; out-damaging them with spells alone isn¡¯t going to work. That leaves us with only one viable option, physical attacks.


    I quickly place a hand on Maribel''s shoulder to cast a series of physical enhancement spells. She flinches slightly and glances at my hand with a mix of confusion and apprehension. Perhaps I applied too much pressure in my haste. I ease my grip slightly and begin chanting the spells aloud.


    Iron Hide


    Enhanced Speed


    Thought Acceleration


    Strength Magnification


    Lion''s Heart


    The effects take hold immediately. Maribel¡¯s eyes widen as she gasps sharply, her entire body tensing as though she had just plunged into icy water. Then, just as quickly, her expression transforms. A wide, almost feral grin spreads across her face, the rush of power taking hold. Being under the influence of multiple enchantments can create quite the intoxicating power high.


    "Thank you, Shadow!" she exclaims, her previous fear replaced with exhilaration.


    ¡°To defeat them, we¡¯ll need to bypass their fur¡¯s magical resistance and strike physically,¡± I explain, my gaze locked on the bears drawing closer. ¡°I¡¯ll aim for their unprotected areas, like their eyes or any gaps in their armor.¡±


    Maribel unsheathes her twin daggers, each resembling a slender ice pick, and raises them with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. ¡°My Fatal Strike ability allows me to pinpoint their weak spots and guide my blades with precision.¡± Her grin sharpens, the confidence in her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. ¡°If you can keep their attention, I¡¯ll strike them from behind. Once I pierce their fur, they¡¯re done for. My daggers are venomous.¡±


    Venom? That¡¯s a detail I hadn¡¯t known. I take a fraction of a second to activate my analysis skill, scanning her weapons. Sure enough, her daggers are coated with Nightshade Venom, one of the deadliest poisons.


    ¡°Yeah, I think that¡¯ll work,¡± I reply, my focus snapping back to the advancing beasts. Maribel nods before vanishing through a portal, her confidence and speed fueled by my enhancements.


    ¡°Just leave the distraction to me,¡± I add, sprint forward to engage the lead bear. The earth trembles beneath my heavy steel frame as I close the gap, my footsteps pounding the ground below me.


    The lead bear rears up, its massive claw raised to strike me down. Behind it, the other two begin circling, preparing to flank me. There¡¯s no time to hesitate. I draw my paralyzing blade and dive under the bear¡¯s incoming strike, using the momentum to kick off the ground and thrust my blade upward, aiming for the beast¡¯s right eye.


    But the bear turns its head at the last second, dodging my attack. Instead of connecting with its vulnerable eye, my arm is caught in the bear''s massive jaws. Its teeth clamp down on my right arm at the elbow, trapping my sword in its mouth. With a furious growl, the bear slams me into the ground.


    The impact reverberates through the earth, a thunderous crash that leaves a crater beneath me. The bear¡¯s paw comes down hard on my chest and driving me further into the dirt. I feel the immense pressure as it tries to rip my arm free from my body. But this time, my reinforced metal frame holds firm.


    Again, I am thankful I can''t feel pain


    I channel my energy and release a supercharged Fire Lance spell from the hand still trapped in its mouth. The explosion is instant and catastrophic. Plasma rips through the bear¡¯s body, blasting out from its eyes, ears, nose, and even its hindquarters. The shockwave sends the charred remains of the bear flying backward, its blackened carcass landing in a smoking heap twenty feet away.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "Shadow!" Maribel''s scream cuts through the chaos. She¡¯s been distracting the other two bears, firing poison darts from the miniature crossbow built into her gauntlet. Her concern is evident as she glances between me and the remaining threats.


    I pull myself from the dirt, patting out a flame licking at my coat. The glove and sleeve on my right arm are now charred away, leaving my metal arm and sword scorched but functional. "I¡¯m fine," I call back, my voice steady despite the heat of the moment. "Keep your distance!" Without hesitation, I charge at the second bear.


    As I close the gap, I notice one of Maribel¡¯s poison darts embedded in the bear¡¯s left eye. Black blood gushes from the wound. The bear roars in pain but remains focused, swiping a massive paw at me.


    I raise a barrier spell just in time. The claws collide with the translucent shield, producing a sharp, grating noise as they scrape across the surface. To my shock, the bear¡¯s claws dig into the barrier, tearing through the magical protection like paper.


    Not good.


    I hastily conjure a second barrier to block the beast''s other paw. This one meets the same fate, shredded by the bear¡¯s claws. Before it can launch a third attack, Maribel appears. She drops from a portal directly above the bear, one of her spike-like daggers aimed with deadly precision.


    The blade pierces through a vulnerable spot at the base of the bear¡¯s neck. The impact is brutal, a wet, ripping sound emanating as the weapon burrows deep into its flesh. The bear roars in agony, thrashing wildly. Maribel is thrown off its back with tremendous force, but she twists in midair, landing gracefully behind me.


    ¡°Nice timing,¡± I say waiting no time spinning around to face the third and final Monster.


    As I turn, I see in between me and the charging bear is Maribel with monster bearing down on her. The bear attempts lunge at Maribel, but she responds by throwing one of her daggers at his open mouth and then she drops back into a portal, disappearing right before the bear would have crashed through her. Instead, she appears above the beast as it cokes and spits out a torrent of blood. Again, Maribel drops out of a portal above the back of the bear''s neck.


    She reappears above the bear, descending from another portal with her second dagger poised for a lethal strike. Her eyes glow red with the focus of her Fatal Strike spell, her face displaying intense focus and a crazed smile. But as she plunges toward the weak point in the beast¡¯s neck, I notice something she doesn¡¯t. The bear, despite its injuries, has already begun to rotate, its massive paw rising to intercept her midair. Maribel''s gambit may have worked the first time, but this time the bear''s claws threaten to rend her body in three.


    I create three layers of force fields between Maribel and the bear¡¯s swipe. The paw crashes through them, each barrier slowing it down, but not enough to completely deflect the attack. The claws tear into Maribel¡¯s midsection, cutting deep into her stomach and spraying blood across the battlefield. She lets out a blood-curdling scream as her body is thrown aside, tumbling to the ground in a lifeless heap.


    Fuck, no...


    She lies on the ground, unconscious, blood pooling beneath her. Her entrails spill grotesquely from the gaping wound in her abdomen, twitching faintly as though clinging to life.


    The bear, weakened but relentless, turns its bloodied maw toward her. Black blood drips from its jaws, rage burning in its eyes. It limps closer, lifting a trembling paw, determined to take Maribel with him into death.


    Before it can strike, with all the force I can muster, I drive my metal fist into the bear¡¯s skull. The impact lands with a deafening clang, snapping the creature¡¯s head to the side and sending its massive form collapsing lifelessly to the ground.


    Wait, I could have just punched them? no... no, it''s probably just the poison.


    I turn my attention back to Maribel. Her condition is critical, blood loss, trauma, and the sheer brutality of her injuries threaten to end her life at any moment. I pull out two healing potions, remove their toppers, and pour them directly onto her wounds. The faint green glow of the magic spreads across her body, sealing the torn flesh and muscles. Her entrails slither back into place, coiling like snakes before the skin knits itself back together.


    That was gross, if I were able to be nauseous, I would probably vomit.


    Her body is healed, but she remains unconscious, her face pale and drawn. The trauma of her injuries may take longer to mend than the flesh. I lift her carefully, cradling her in my arms as I carry her back to the wagon. She needs rest and time to recover, and the inn at Stonebrook will provide both.


    Before leaving, I carve out the remaining good eyes from the bears as proof of our victory. As I climb onto the wagon and steer it back toward Stonebrook, I glance over my shoulder at my handywork. I see with a pang of annoyance that the field of Herbs I had intended to harvest to improve Maribel''s life had been reduced to ash.


    Mission failed successfully again.


    The next question is, when she does wake up, what will she say about my exposed metal arm?


    I glance down at the scorched remnants of my sleeve, my steel arm gleaming in the sunlight. There¡¯s no hiding it now. Maribel¡¯s sharp¡ªshe¡¯ll notice right away. When she does, she¡¯ll ask questions I might not be ready to answer.

 A New Life

    I am Maribel Holloway, age 15. I am a worthless street rat, and I think I just died.


    It started with a bright light, so intense I couldn''t see anything beyond it. Then came a sensation, first at my fingertips, then spreading across my whole body. Something warm, soft, almost comforting. Am I in the afterlife? The world between worlds? In mere moments, will I stand before Celestia, the goddess of creation? Is this her divine embrace? Or perhaps I''ve rejoined the Great Spirit, becoming one with nature? I don''t know. I suppose I''ll soon learn which religion had it right, just in time to be judged for believing in none of them.


    I move a finger, feeling it slide against something soft and cushioned. I shift slightly, and a pang of stiff soreness shoots through me. Pain? Soreness? The dead don''t feel these things. At the same time, the piercing light starts to fade, and my eyes adjust. I see its source, an open window letting sunlight spill into the room. Sounds follow: at first muffled and distant, but soon clarifying into the sweet chirping of birds and the soft rustle of wind through trees.


    "You''re finally awake," comes a familiar, deep voice nearby, resonating with a steady calm.


    I turn toward the voice as my vision sharpens further, revealing a hooded and masked figure seated in a wooden chair at the foot of the bed. Shadow. His large frame leans forward slightly, his posture casual, but his attention fixed on me.


    I blink, trying to process my surroundings. A bed? My eyes drift down to see my legs covered by a simple blanket, then further down to my stomach. Slowly, I lift a hand and trace my fingers over the fabric, pressing lightly against my gut. The memories rush back all at once, I was sliced open. I remember seeing my insides spilled onto the grass. My heartbeat quickens, and flashes of the battle flood my mind. I can see the bear lumbering toward me. It''s teeth, it''s massive teeth coming at me. And then, right before I passed out I saw...


    "Don''t worry, you''re fully healed." Shadow remarked cheerfully. "Not even a scar."


    My eyes snap back to Shadow, my mind fog lifting. Did I really see Shadow punch a 5-ton armored monster? Did I really see him break its neck with a punch? My eyes are now locked on Shadow''s right arm.


    "I see you''ve replaced your burned clothes... Shadow" I say a bit accusingly.


    Shadow wears a fresh, long-sleeved shirt and thick leather gloves beneath his cloak, leaving no part of him exposed. In fact, his entire outfit seems meticulously chosen to cover every inch of skin¡­ if he even has skin. The memory flashes back to me: during the battle, his clothes burned away from his right arm, and I saw it, metal. A metallic arm and fist striking down the bear with unnatural force before I blacked out.


    "Maribel, I''m sure you have questions about what you may have seen..." Shadow begins, a note of unease in his voice.


    His tone betrays discomfort, but his posture remains unnaturally still, no human can be that still. He''s hiding something.


    "What are you, Shadow?" I demand bluntly, my eyes snapping to the mask, staring where I imagine his eyes should be¡­ if he were human.


    Shadow hesitates before responding. "I think we make a good team, and I want to continue working together."


    "That doesn''t answer my question," I interrupt sharply.


    Shadow sighs, his shoulders shifting slightly before he continues. "Please, be patient. I''ll answer that question if you want, but first, I need to explain something."


    "Fine," I reply tersely, crossing my arms. "I guess I owe you that much for saving my life¡­ twice."


    "Alright," he begins, his voice steadying. "The way I see it, we make a great team. I''m durable, but I lack the offensive precision you bring. You, on the other hand, are incredibly lethal but vulnerable. Together, we complement each other perfectly. We just defeated three monsters far beyond both of our skill levels because we worked together."


    "I only did as well as I did because you boosted me," I retort, my voice laced with frustration.


    "And I only did as well as I did because you supported me," Shadow counters smoothly.


    "I nearly died!" I snap back, the heat rising in my voice.


    "And if you had gone herb-picking alone that day, you would have died. Alone," Shadow shoots back, his tone rising as he stands abruptly.


    The sudden movement makes my heart lurch. Shadow''s size and presence are undeniably intimidating now that I know what he''s capable of. My words catch in my throat, and the fight drains out of me. But deep down, I know he''s right. If Shadow hadn''t been with me, I would have wandered to the same spot, found those bears, and they would have torn me apart. No one would''ve even noticed I was gone.


    "You don''t need to be alone anymore, Maribel," Shadow says, his tone softening into something genuine, almost caring. It slices through the tension he had just created, easing the heavy atmosphere.


    "I''m fine on my own," I lie in a low, unconvincing tone, avoiding his gaze.


    "We''re both struggling, Maribel," Shadow says, his voice urgent now. "I know you need my help, and the truth is¡­ I need your help too. I need your experience and your skills¡­ and I need someone I can trust."If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Shadow moves to the side of my bed, sitting down carefully. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and the bedframe groans in protest. He leans forward slightly, seemingly meeting my gaze directly.


    "I want to make a deal with you, Miss Maribel," Shadow says earnestly. "I want you to work with me. I promise to protect you. I promise to heal you when you need it. And together, I know we''ll be far more successful than we could ever be alone."


    I hesitate, the words sticking in my throat. "So¡­ you want me to join your party?" I ask quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "But being a team means trust, and trust means honesty. I''d need to know what I''m working with."


    Shadow straightens slightly, his tone growing serious. "You''re right. I want you to trust me, so it''s only fair I tell you what I am." He pauses, as if bracing himself for something difficult. "I am a human soul cursed to be trapped in a metal golem."


    He leans forward, his voice softer now but filled with genuine concern. "It''s a huge risk for me to tell you this. If people find out what I am, my days as an adventurer would be over. They''d see me as a monster and hunt me down."


    I shift back against the headboard, my gaze locked on Shadow. A golem? That doesn''t make sense. Golems are mindless constructs brought to life by magic, nothing more than tools following their creator''s commands. But Shadow¡­ he''s not mindless. He thinks and acts on his own like a real person.


    "If you''re a golem," I say cautiously, narrowing my eyes, "then who''s your master? Golems always have masters, right?"


    Shadow''s tone sharpens. "I''m not a mindless puppet with a master. I''m a real person, trapped in this metal body. I can''t sleep. I don''t eat. I don''t feel pain. I can''t be poisoned. But this body, it''s a prison."


    "You''re right," I say with a bitter edge. "People probably wouldn''t believe you if you told them. But you know what, Mr. Shadow?" I smirk, a sly grin spreading across my face. "I don''t care if you''re a bit of a monster. You''re less monstrous than half the humans I''ve met."


    Monsters are made by their actions, not their form. I''ve seen true monsters, human ones, and the scars they left behind run deeper than anything else. Shadow doesn''t scare me. If anything, he''s been the first person in a long time to show me kindness.


    "Miss Maribel," Shadow says, his voice steady but sincere. "This is the deal: I''ll work with you, protect you, and together we''ll accomplish great things. All I ask is that you keep my secret and don''t press me for more until I''m ready to tell you."


    It''s a reasonable request. He''s already shared more than I expected. Besides, I haven''t exactly been forthcoming about my past either. Trust takes time. Before I can respond, Shadow pulls out a coin pouch and places it on my lap. The weight presses down heavily, and I look at it in surprise.


    "What''s this?" I ask, startled.


    "Your share of the reward for the three bears," Shadow says with a hint of pride. "Lord Griswald was very pleased. It''s also half of the payment for the herbs I managed to¡­ salvage," he adds, his tone tinged with embarrassment.


    Herbs? Did he really go back to the field after dropping me off? I glance at the bag, astonished. It''s stuffed with more coins than I''ve ever held in my life. Not needing sleep must be an incredible advantage.


    "Where am I, exactly?" I ask, glancing around the cozy room.


    "This is the Rabbit''s Paw Inn in Stonebrook," Shadow explains. "Each room has a private restroom, and your stay includes three meals a day at the restaurant downstairs."


    As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly, breaking the tension. Shadow chuckles softly.


    "I recommend heading down, they''re serving lunch right now," he says. Then, with a more serious tone, he adds, "But before you go, can you tell me what you''ve decided?"


    I don''t need much time to think. Life alone has been nothing but a series of struggles, always a day away from starving, a day away from dying, or a day away from losing myself completely. But since meeting Shadow, I''ve felt something I haven''t in years: hope. With him, there''s a chance for a better future. A future where I don''t have to fight alone.


    I meet his gaze and smile. "Shadow, I''d love to join you. And your secret is safe with me."


    A broader grin stretches across my face as I add, "Besides, even if you are a monster, you''re my friend."


    Shadow stands, moving toward the door. "Thank you. Then it''s a deal. From now on, you''ll live here at the inn. I''ll meet you every morning to discuss quests. There''s a guild branch here in Stonebrook."


    He opens the door, then pauses and looks back. "I look forward to working with you, Miss Maribel. Get some food and rest. I''ll see you tomorrow."


    "See you then," I reply, slipping out of bed, eager to try some fresh cooked food for the first time in a long time.


    I stand up and look myself over. Someone had removed my outer clothes, and glancing around, I see them folded neatly on the bedside table, freshly laundered. The thought of someone undressing me makes my cheeks flush with embarrassment. However, I quickly decide that no good will come from dwelling on that question. I check myself over, everything seems undisturbed. I sigh in relief and begin getting dressed.


    Once I''m ready, I grab the pouch of money Shadow gave me and step out of the room. As I close the door, I note the number on it: Room 10. I make my way down the hallway and staircase, passing through a door that leads into the main lobby.


    The inn is warm, clean, and brightly lit, with numerous lamps casting a cozy glow on the walls and the tables in the restaurant below. The room buzzes with activity, patrons chatting and waitresses bustling about with trays of delicious-looking food. As I approach the service desk, the mouthwatering aroma of roasted beef envelops me, making my stomach growl in anticipation.


    "Hello, ma''am," I say, addressing the friendly middle-aged woman standing behind the desk. She''s dressed in a neat red dress with a white apron, her long blond hair styled into a braid that falls gracefully down her back.


    "Hello, sweetheart!" she responds with a warm smile. "You must be Master Shadow''s friend, Lady Maribel. It''s so nice to see you up and about!"


    I blink in surprise at her words. "Ah, yes. Thank you, ma''am," I reply, feeling slightly awkward at being called Lady. It''s not a title I''ve ever been associated with, but I suppose being Shadow''s companion changes how people view me here.


    "Are you joining us for lunch, my dear?" the receptionist asks kindly.


    "Yes, I''d like to," I say, hesitating for a moment before continuing. "But I also wanted to ask how much I owe for my stay." Despite Shadow''s instructions, it feels strange to stay at a place like this without knowing the cost. Spending money on something as luxurious as an inn feels indulgent after so many years of scraping by.


    "Miss Maribel, Master Shadow already paid for your stay for the next forty days," the woman explains. "You don''t owe a thing."


    I''m momentarily speechless. Shadow paid for an entire arc''s stay upfront? That must have cost a small fortune. Did he know I''d agree to work with him, or was he simply taking a gamble? Or perhaps¡­ perhaps it didn''t matter to him. Maybe, regardless of my decision, he just wanted to help me without expecting anything in return.


    I don''t know, but I''m certain of one thing: I''ve just taken a massive first step toward a future I never thought possible. For years, my path has been shrouded in darkness, filled with suffering and despair, with no light at the end. But now, walking beside Shadow, I feel the faint stirrings of hope.


    This new future will undoubtedly be dangerous, of that, I have no doubt, but for the first time, I won''t be facing it alone.

 Captain Of The Guard

    I am Gavin, 28 years old, Captain of the Royal Guard of Arcadia.


    The sharp, rhythmic clinks and clangs of swords fill the training room as Ren and I spar, locked in a relentless exchange of strikes and parries. Moving as though in a choreographed dance, we shift around the room, testing each other''s limits with precise footwork and rapid strikes.


    Ren, only 8 years old, has become an exceptional swordsman despite his age. Though he lacks the raw strength of an adult, his meticulously practiced technique and potent physical enhancement magic make up for it. Each swing of his blade carries force and precision beyond what one might expect from a boy his size.


    I shift into Ochs (the "Ox" guard), holding my blade high to threaten his position. Ren, ever quick, counters with a low stance, fluidly transitioning from defense to offense as he strikes at my leg. I barely dodge his blade. His attacks are swift and powerful, his sword a blur as it arcs toward me. I deflect his strike and respond with a downward blow, but he sidesteps nimbly, pivoting into position for a riposte.


    The dance continues, our blades clashing faster and faster, until they''re almost too quick to follow. Ren adapts fluidly, his footwork impeccable as he circles me, maintaining the perfect distance to defend or attack. His strikes are relentless yet calculated, forcing me to push myself harder than I expected.


    I no longer hold back against him. Despite his youth, he''s already mastered techniques that many of my guardsmen still struggle with. As the sparring intensifies, I realize there''s little more I can teach him about the long sword.


    "Enough," I say, and both Ren and I step back, letting our swords drop to rest.


    Ren looks at me intently, expecting guidance or correction. His breathing is controlled but sweat drips steadily from his brow after the hour of intense training. I smile at him and sheath my sword.


    "Very well done, kiddo," I say proudly. "There isn''t much I can teach you about this weapon."


    Ren lowers his sword, his expression shifting to surprise and concern. "No... Master Gavin, I still have so much more I need to learn to be a master."


    I chuckle. "You''re far from being a master, but that will require experience. If you keep training like this and growing your magical skill, you will be a master one day. I have no doubt about it."


    Ren sheathes his sword as well. I walk over and place a hand on his shoulder, leaning down to meet his gaze. "Don''t look so glum, kiddo. I''m not saying I''m done training you. I''ll still be your sparring partner."


    "So, you''re going to keep training with me in the evenings?" Ren asks, still a flicker of worry in his tone.


    I pat his shoulder firmly, causing him to wobble slightly under the weight of my hand as I let out a booming laugh. "You kidding me, boy? I wouldn''t give up seeing my favorite prince."


    I turn toward the exit of the training room, rolling my shoulders in a post-training stretch. "And I certainly wouldn''t give up eating Lady Willow''s amazing cooking."


    Ren hurries to catch up, walking beside me. "Besides," I continue, "I can still train you on other weapons. You''ve only mastered the techniques for ONE type of sword."


    I wave my hand ahead of us dramatically. "There''s a wide world of weapons out there for you to master, Spears, Hammers, Axes..." I smile in nostalgic joy. "Awe yes, axes, I love axes!"


    But I''m more partial to axe wounds.


    "Well, it would be nice to practice dueling with my off hand," Ren says thoughtfully.


    "When has that been a problem?"


    "Uh, it hasn''t¡­ but what if my sword arm were incapacitated?" Ren counters, his tone a bit evasive.


    I raise an eyebrow, smirking. "That''s a pretty big word for an 9-year-old."


    "I''m 8," Ren corrects with a slight pout. "You were at my birthday."


    "Forgive me, you''ve always acted older than you really are." I say with another laugh.


    "In any case, that''s no problem, we can mix in off-hand sparring starting tomorrow." I add with a shrug.


    I glance back at Ren with a sly, knowing smile. "I want to make sure you have all the skills in case you ever want to masquerade as an adventurer one day."


    Ren meets my gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to discern whether I know his secret. I let my grin widen but say nothing more, continuing toward the exit of the training room. Of course, I''ve seen the masked figure sneaking in and out of the castle. Knowing who comes and goes form this castle is my job, and I am damn good at it. So of course, I investigated, and I found the hidden passage to the prince''s tower, the truth became obvious.


    I wasn''t angry or worried, I was too busy being proud of the kid.


    His impressive advancement in skill must partly come from his moonlighting as an adventurer. And honestly, I respect him for it. The boy is probably out there culling horned rabbits, picking herbs and finding lost pets. What''s the harm in that? It''s probably the only fun he has, so I''ll keep his secret. He doesn''t need to explain himself, and I won''t force him to.


    As we exit the fourth-floor training room, the scent of roast pork wafts up to meet us, and my mouth waters instantly.


    "Yes! Roast pork tonight!" I say, quickening my pace down the spiral staircase. Practically skipping down the last few steps, I burst into the second-floor dining room, making a less-than-graceful slide into my seat. Unfortunately, I hit the table harder than I intended, causing it to shake. Plates and silverware clink precariously, and I wince at the threatening glare Lady Willow shoots my way.


    She softens instantly when she turns to Ren. "Perfect timing, young master," she says sweetly, placing the roasted pig''s platter on the table.


    "Thank you, Willow, looks great!." says Ren taking the seat at the head of the table and eagerly placing food onto his plate. Lady Willow pours ice water into Ren''s glass.


    I nod appreciatively. "Thank you. Your food looks amazing as always, Lady Willow."Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    She acknowledges me with a small nod before taking her seat across from me, beside Ren. True to her usual demeanor, she sits quietly, her hands folded neatly in her lap, making no move to eat. I assume, that she will dine alone later after her master has finished, as most servants do.


    Ren and I dig into the food, and as always, it tastes just as incredible as it looks. Truthfully, I''m deeply grateful for these meals. I don''t have anyone at home to cook for me, and the sorcery that is the culinary arts remains a mystery to me. The warmth of a hot meal and the company of Prince Ren and Lady Willow have been a precious treasure to my lonely heart.


    It'' almost like having a family again.


    "Willow," Ren begins, cutting his seasoned correl-root into precise pieces. "Can you teach me how to use healing magic? I''ve read a few books on it, but everything says that healing magic requires hands on training to learn correctly."


    "Teaching you healing magic would require a steady supply of injured people to practice on," Willow replies, her tone carrying a faint, mischievous edge.


    "There are a lot of sick and injured people at the apothecary," Ren suggests, with a wary look at Willow.


    Willow shrugs lightly, seemingly losing interest abruptly. "Sure, that could work too," she says, her tone less than enthusiastic. "We can talk to Lady Muara. She may be willing to take you on as a part-time apprentice."


    "As busy as she is, she''d probably appreciate the help." I add.


    "That''d work," Ren mutters almost to himself, his gaze fixed on his plate, clearly lost in thought.


    I glance at the boy, marveling at his ambition. Learning healing magic on top of everything else he''s already doing? His talent is undeniable, but how does he find the time, or the motivation, to juggle it all? If I had a son, I hoped he''d have a fraction of the drive Ren has.


    "Master Gavin, you''re a baronet, right?" Ren asks between mouthfuls.


    "Correct"


    "Then why do you go by your given name? Why do you go by your family name?" Ren inquires.


    I pause, setting my fork down as I consider the question. "Well, I was stripped of my family name when I was fifteen."


    The sharp screech of Ren''s knife against his plate echoes through the room, a clear sign of his shock. "Why is that?" he asks, his voice filled with disbelief.


    "I am the second son of Lord Cromwell, one of the twelve leading noble families of Arcadia. My older brother Paul was born to my father''s wife, while I was born to his concubine. Because of that, my brother, being older and born of the marriage, should have been the undisputed heir to our family''s noble title."


    I pause, a heavy sigh escaping me. "But things weren''t that simple. For lords with large domains, the support of their people and retainers is vital. Unfortunately, my brother had a reputation for being self-absorbed and incompetent. Though I had no intention of challenging him, I became popular among the retainers. My father, fearing I might one day claim the title, demanded that I renounce the family name the day I became an adult."


    Ren''s gaze sharpens, disbelief plastered all over his face. "And you agreed?"


    "He gave me little choice," I explain with a regretful tone. "He offered me ten gold coins in exchange for my name and a promise to leave quietly. My father made it clear that one way or another I would be leaving the family, by choice or by force. If I had refused it would have cost me much more than a name."


    I pause, staring at the piece of pork on my plate. "That was the day I learned how easily family can betray you when power and titles are involved."


    "I''m sorry, Master Gavin," Ren says, his voice tinged with concern, and looking unsure of how to respond.


    "You should never give someone your name," Willow interjects with an odd air, as though recalling something amusing. "Rookie mistake."


    Ren and I exchange a baffled glance in her direction, but Willow waves a dismissive hand. "Don''t mind me, continue with your tragic story."


    I chuckle softly at her bluntness and continue, "After giving up my name, I became a commoner. The best path for a commoner to earn a noble title is through the military, advancing with hard work, skill, bravery, and a good measure of luck."


    "And we''ve all heard your war stories. That''s how you earned the title of baronet?" Ren asks with curiosity.


    "That''s right!" I say, forcing a smile. "Even though I''m not a mage, I was able to work my way back to a noble title, albeit the lowest one, and eventually earned the position of Captain of the Royal Guard."


    At that moment, Lady Willow tilts her head slightly, as though hearing something the rest of us cannot. "Someone is approaching the door," she states, rising gracefully from her seat and descending the stairs. A moment later, a faint knock echoes through the halls.


    "How does she do that?" I muse aloud.


    Ren''s attention returns to me. "Have you seen your family since then? Their domain is just northwest of the capital, in the city of Ashford, right?"


    I shake my head slowly. "No. Per their wishes, I''ve stayed away. But I''ve heard plenty of rumors. My father is advanced in age and has passed management of the lands to my brother. From what I hear, the retainers are unhappy, he''s been running the domain poorly and punishing anyone who dares to speak out."


    Before I can say more, Lady Willow reappears at the staircase, followed closely by a petite beastkin maid with vibrant orange hair, cute fox ears and a fluffy tail swishing behind her. It''s Abigail.


    For a moment, my mind goes blank. Abigail''s radiant smile and graceful steps completely overtake my thoughts. Her delicate beauty, paired with her small, quick strides as she tries to match Willow''s longer ones, is almost too much for me to process.


    "Master Gavin, you''re staring," Willow remarks flatly as she leads Abigail into the room.


    I don''t care. Would you ask a starving man not to look at a feast set before him?


    "Good evening, Gavin. I wasn''t expecting to see you here," Abigail says sweetly, her voice soft and melodic. A slight blush creeps across her cheeks under my gaze.


    Her words jolt me back to reality.


    I''ve been staring too long.


    I scramble to compose myself, attempting to lean casually on the table, but my elbow lands on the edge of my plate, sending a piece of pork flying onto the floor.


    "Hey, my d-darling Miss Abigail," I stammer, quickly correcting my posture and trying to recover. "It''s so good to see you. How was your trip from Stonebrook?" I say, pretending like there wasn''t a chunk of pig meat splattered on the floor feet from us.


    Abigail giggles softly, her smile growing warmer. "It''s always a pleasure to see you, Gavin," she says before turning to Ren. "Thank you for the food, Prince Drakemore."


    "You''re very welcome." responds Lady Willow.


    "The trip was fine." Abigal continues. "Though my carriage wheel broke along the way. Luckily, a passing adventurer helped repair it."


    Ren nods. "What a stroke of good luck."


    "Convenient," Willow adds dryly as she places a plate and utensils in front of Abigail.


    "I''m so glad you''re ok, you must be exhausted." I say, watching Abidel take dainty little bites of pork.


    "I''m tired, but I would like to head back after I eat." Says Abigal sounding a bit fatigued "As a slave I try to spend as little time in the capital as possible." Abigal adds, gesturing to the ornately embroidered cloth collar she wears that identifies her as a slave to the Griswald family.


    "If you are planning to go back tonight, I will go with you. The roads can be dangerous at night." I say with concern.


    Abigal looks overjoyed, responding with a little squeal and placing one of her small hands on my comparably large forearm. "Oh that would be great! I would feel so much safer with you and your company would make the long trip more enjoyable as well.


    JACKPOT!


    Six hours of uninterrupted time with Abigail? That sounds perfect! Ever since Lord Griswald brought her home from the slave market and freed her, I''ve been captivated by her charm. Her kind heart, infectious smile, and gentle nature are irresistible. I found myself making up every excuse possible to visit Lord Griswald so I could see her. Thankfully Abigail seems to enjoy my company as well.


    We''ve stolen countless moments together, talking about her dreams, her homeland, and the things that make her happy. I''ve fallen for her completely. I dream of one day making her my wife, but marriage between humans and beastkin is forbidden in Arcadia.


    Many times, I have offered to leave everything behind and run away with her to the beastkin territories of Fukeysujin, where such laws don''t exist. However, Abigail refused. She didn''t want me to abandon the life I''d built. Instead, she suggested I purchase her from Griswald so we could be together legally.


    The thought of keeping her as a slave, even as a formality, bothers me. She deserves freedom, dignity, and happiness, not chains, no matter how gilded. One day, I hope this kingdom will abolish slavery altogether. Until then, I''ll do whatever it takes to protect her and build a future where we can truly be free together.

 D-Rank Couple

    I am Shadow, 2 arcs old, a metal golem enchanted with a portion of Prince Ren Drakemore¡¯s soul, and I am an adventurer.


    Thundering hooves pound the ground as five massive razor boars charge toward us. Each one is a half-ton of muscle, standing four feet tall on four stocky legs, with razor-sharp tusks jutting from their lower jaws. The earth trembles beneath their hammering steps as they barrel through the farmer¡¯s field toward us.


    <i>Fifty feet. </i>


    <i>Thirty feet. </i>


    <i>Ten feet.</i>


    <b>CRASH!</b> All five boars slam into my solid mana barrier with a force that shattered bones in a cacophony of sickening cracks. Their heavy bodies collide with the transparent shield, their momentum brought to an abrupt stop. Compressed against the barrier, they slide lifelessly to the ground in a heap. Two of the boars twitch, their dying brains firing off erratic signals in telltale death throes, while the remaining three struggle, disoriented, to get back on their feet. Their shattered bones make their bodies look twisted and deformed grotesquely.


    Before they can rise, three rapid <i>twangs</i> echo from behind me as Maribel¡¯s arm-mounted miniature crossbow fires three poisoned bolts. The projectiles zip past me, striking the injured beasts. Though the bolts inflict little damage on their own, their potent poison acts quickly, causing the boars to thrash in agony. Blood begins to pour from their eyes, ears, noses, and mouths as they let out guttural roars of terror and pain. Within moments, they collapse, taking their final shuddering breaths.


    ¡°Your barriers are really strong,¡± Maribel remarks, her tone impressed as she reloads her crossbow.


    ¡°Thanks. I sort of specialize in defensive magic,¡± I reply, drawing my skinning knife from my belt.


    ¡°You took them out with one spell,¡± Maribel says, pulling out her own knife and approaching one of the fallen beasts. ¡°And you found them right away¡­ again¡±


    <i>It¡¯s too early to tell her about the bird puppets scouting for me.</i>


    ¡°My magic lets me sense targets from far away,¡± I say, which isn¡¯t a lie. However, it was my hummingbird puppet, tirelessly circling above us, that pinpointed the boars before we even arrived. My puppets ensure Maribel and I don¡¯t waste valuable time searching for our targets.


    Kneeling by one of the boars, I set to work. I press the blade into its thick hide to make the initial cuts around the legs. The first cut should go just above the joint of each leg. I slide the knife in, but the blade moves too easily. The skin pulls apart under elastic tension, and my blade slips upward, carving too deep.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Maribel says urgently, leaning over my shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re cutting it wrong, Master Shadow.¡±


    ¡°I know. Sorry,¡± I reply in frustration, pulling the knife free. ¡°I know where to cut, but my lack of tactile sensation makes it hard to do delicate tasks like this.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t feel anything?¡± Maribel asks, kneeling beside me.


    ¡°Yes, I can''t feel anything.¡± I admit with a sigh. ¡°Feeling things used to remind me I was alive, that this was all real. Without it... without the warmth of the sun or the wind on my face, I feel trapped. Like I¡¯m in limbo between life and death.¡±


    Maribel hesitates, then places a tentative hand on my shoulder. ¡°That sounds terrible,¡± she says sympathetically.


    For a moment, there¡¯s only the sound of the light breeze blowing through the tall wheat stalks in the field around us. I shift the blade, aiming to attempt the cut again.


    ¡°Here,¡± Maribel says gently, breaking the silence. ¡°Let me handle the skinning. If you do it, we won¡¯t get paid the full amount for the pelts.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say, feeling embarrassed.


    ¡°Sorry for what?¡± Maribel scoffs, a sly grin tugging at her lips. ¡°I¡¯m just glad there¡¯s something you actually need me for. Chelestia knows you didn¡¯t need me to kill them.¡±


    Maribel sets to work skinning the boars with the practiced ease of an expert hunter. Thanks to Huckleberry, Buttercup, and the wagon, we¡¯re able to take not only their pelts but also a large portion of their meat. While Maribel took care of the skinning I took care of removing and packaging their meat. Once everything is loaded onto the wagon, we set off for Stonebrook. It¡¯s a short journey, no more than two miles.


    As we arrive, we make our way to Stonebrook¡¯s Adventurer''s Guild branch.


    I tie up Huckleberry and Buttercup outside while Maribel and I head in. The guild hall has the rustic charm of a hunter¡¯s lodge, with beast heads mounted on the walls above sturdy wooden tables and chairs where adventurers enjoy food and drinks.


    We¡¯re greeted by several adventurers as we walk to the service counter at the back of the hall. I nod and wave at a few familiar faces, while Maribel seems to shrink under the attention. Unlike the grand guild hall in the capital, this branch is smaller and only handles local quests. Still, it offers all the same services to the roughly 40 adventurers who work out of Stonebrook. Most of them are E or D rank, with only two C-rank adventurers among them.


    ¡°Welcome back, Master Shadow and Lady Maribel,¡± chirps a familiar cheerful voice.


    Behind the counter stands Iris, one of the guild attendants. Her long red hair is tied into two butt-length braids that drape neatly over the back of her crisp uniform. Due to her petite stature, she stands on a wooden stool to better reach the counter.


    ¡°We have the pelts for five razor boars in the wagon out front to fulfill this quest, Miss Iris,¡± I say, placing the quest form on the counter.


    ¡°Woo, fast work as always, sir!¡± Iris exclaims, leaning forward to snatch the form with a big friendly smile. ¡°We¡¯ll confirm the delivery and get your payment in a flash.¡±


    She hands the request form off to Kip, a male guild attendant I recognize, who nods and strides toward the exit to inspect the wagon. Meanwhile, Iris opens the coin drawer behind the counter and starts counting out the reward, 7 silver coins for slaying the boars and 5 copper coins for each pelt.


    ¡°It¡¯s all there!¡± Kip yells from the front door. ¡°I¡¯m going to offload them,¡± he adds before disappearing outside.


    ¡°Here¡¯s your payment, 4 silver and 25 copper,¡± Iris says with a bright smile, pushing the neatly stacked coins as far across the counter as her short arms will allow.


    I¡¯ve always wondered if she¡¯s part dwarf. Not a full dwarf, she¡¯s not stocky or muscular enough for that, but her stature certainly fits the image.


    <i>Perhaps she¡¯s a halfling? </i>


    ¡°Before you go, Master Shadow,¡± Iris continues, pulling out two file folders from behind the counter, ¡°The guild has evaluated your performance and would like to upgrade you to D-rank.¡±


    ¡°Oh, congratulations, Master Shadow!¡± Maribel says, her tone a mix of surprise and admiration. ¡°I¡¯ve been E-rank for three years, and here you are making D-rank in just two arcs. Impressive!¡±


    ¡°I mean both of you, Miss Maribel,¡± Iris corrects before I can respond.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± I ask, taken aback.


    I know I¡¯ve completed a lot of quests, but most of them didn¡¯t go perfectly. I thought ranking up depended on completing quests <i>well,</i> not just completing them.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take a look,¡± Iris says, flipping open the first folder. ¡°Master Shadow, you¡¯ve completed 42 E-rank quests, 12 D-rank quests, including today¡¯s and 1 C-rank quest: those Mithril Fur Bears. Of the gathering quests, you delivered sub-par or damaged materials 18 times.¡±


    <i>Ouch. That stings.</i>


    ¡°And for Miss Maribel,¡± Iris says, opening the second folder and scanning its contents, ¡°you¡¯ve completed 113 E-rank quests, 9 D-rank quests, and 1 C-rank quest, again, the Mithril Fur Bears. You¡¯ve also failed 31 quests during the same period but were only noted for delivering damaged or sub-par materials twice.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of quests,¡± I remark, glancing at Maribel.


    ¡°You¡¯re one to talk,¡± Maribel retorts, smirking.


    ¡°It¡¯s also a lot of failures.¡± Maribel adds darkly.


    ¡°In addition to your quest records,¡± Iris continues, ¡°the guild received a letter from Lord Griswald thanking the two of you for rescuing one of his servants who was stranded on the road to Cairndorn.¡±


    ¡°Oh, well, that was nice of him,¡± I say, surprised but pleased.


    ¡°Though you¡¯ve both faced challenges,¡± Iris concludes, ¡°the Guild Master believes you¡¯ve clearly met the requirements for promotion to D-rank.¡± She beams at us. ¡°Now, may I please see your guild cards?¡±


    Maribel and I both pull out our small, rectangular metal guild cards and hand them to Iris. She places them, one at a time, into a small black box. After a brief glow of light, she retrieves them and hands them back to us.


    ¡°Thank you¡± Maribel and I say in unison.


    ¡°Go ahead and confirm your rank,¡± Iris directs politely.


    I press my thumb against the bottom right corner of my guild card to activate it. The card glows green, confirming my ownership, and black lettering appears: my name, magic capacity, home guild, and rank. My rank now reads <b>D</b>, and my magic capacity displays <b>10,732</b>.


    ¡°Your capacity has gone up a lot in two arcs,¡± Maribel comments, peering around my shoulder to look.


    ¡°Still not high enough,¡± I reply. Too many times I¡¯ve come close to running out of mana. I¡¯m tired of walking the line between victory and defeat.


    ¡°It¡¯s way higher than mine,¡± Maribel says, tilting her guild card toward me. Her card reads <b>4,560</b>.


    ¡°You have less, but you use what you have far more effectively than I do,¡± I respond encouragingly.


    ¡°Congratulations on your promotion, Master Shadow and Lady Maribel!¡± Iris announces loudly, her cheerful voice cutting through the clamor of the guild hall.


    The room erupts with cheers, adventurers raising their mugs in a toast to us. The sudden attention causes Maribel¡¯s face to flush a deep red.


    ¡°We should celebrate,¡± I say casually, turning toward Maribel.


    ¡°Celebrate how?¡± she asks, looking slightly uncomfortable.


    ¡°How about we get you something to eat?¡± I suggest, glancing around the raucous room. ¡°Somewhere quieter than here.¡±


    ¡°That sounds great,¡± Maribel agrees, relief clear in her tone.


    We make our way out of the guild hall, stepping into the crisp air outside. The boar pelts have already been offloaded from our wagon. I hold out my hand to help Maribel climb onto the driver¡¯s seat. She accepts it hesitantly, stepping up and taking the reins while I untie the girls from their posts. Once the horses are free, I climb up beside her, taking care not to rock the wagon too much.


    ¡°If we go to the market, we can sell the meat to the butcher and use the money to buy something special to celebrate,¡± Maribel suggests.


    ¡°Good idea,¡± I reply as we set off toward the butcher.


    After tying the horses outside, I carry the heavy bundles of boar meat into the shop. The butcher inspects the cuts and hands me 21 silver coins in exchange. Once the deal is done, we leave the horses and wagon tied outside the butcher shop and head off on foot to a small caf¨¦ nearby, called <b>Garden Spot</b>.


    The caf¨¦ is charmingly quaint, decorated with fresh flowers and a single, striking painting of a field of blooms hung on the wall. The lounge room is tiny, housing only four small round tables, each set for two. The air smells faintly of herbs and flowers, a refreshing contrast to the bustling market outside.


    I hold the door open for Maribel, and as she steps in, I hear a soft gasp escape her lips. Her eyes sweep over the delicate d¨¦cor apprehension flickering across her face. I approach the only open table and pull out a chair for her. She hesitates briefly, her eyes darting toward the other patrons, before sitting down. Her cheeks flush red again as I push the chair in for her.


    <i>I wonder what she¡¯s nervous about.</i>


    Once she¡¯s seated, I take my place across from her. A young blond waiter approaches our table, wearing a pink apron embroidered with colorful flowers over a crisp white shirt and black trousers.


    <i>They¡¯re really leaning into this flower theme.</i>


    ¡°Hello, lovebirds. What would you like to order?¡± asks the boisterous young waiter, his smile almost too large for his face.


    Hearing his words, everything suddenly clicks. I glance around the room and notice that each of the other patrons is sitting in pairs, couples. Turning back to Maribel, I finally understand the look of horrified embarrassment on her face.


    ¡°We¡¯re not a couple, sir,¡± I say, attempting to dispel the awkwardness. Maribel, meanwhile, looks like she wants to speak but can¡¯t quite find her voice.


    ¡°My apologies! You just looked like such a¡­err¡­cute couple,¡± the waiter stammers, realizing halfway through his practiced line that it doesn¡¯t exactly fit, considering he¡¯s speaking to some weirdo wearing a mask and smelling of blood. ¡°What would you two like to order?¡±


    ¡°Just give us one of your most popular dish, please,¡± I reply, hoping to shorten the interaction and ease Maribel¡¯s discomfort.


    ¡°One Lover¡¯s Platter coming right up!¡± announces the waiter loudly, drawing more attention than I¡¯d like. Maribel hides her face in her hands, her cheeks glowing even redder.


    The meal begins awkwardly, but it doesn¡¯t take long for us to realize that the other patrons are far too absorbed in each other to pay any attention to us. Eventually, Maribel relaxes enough to talk and enjoy the food. She comments that it¡¯s pretty good, though she¡¯s shocked by the price, four copper coins. Personally, I found the cost reasonable, but I¡¯ve never paid for a restaurant meal before today. Not wanting to reveal my ignorance, I avoid asking what a fair price for a meal actually is. As a result, I still don¡¯t know if t coppers is expensive or not.


    When we leave the restaurant, Maribel is in much better spirits, a satisfied smile on her face and a full belly.


    ¡°There¡¯s one more place I¡¯d like to visit in the market,¡± I say, stopping outside The <b>Garden Spot</b>. ¡°Follow me.¡±


    Maribel trails behind as I lead her along the outer ring of the market center to a tailor¡¯s shop, <b>Rosita¡¯s Fashions</b>.


    ¡°What do you need to buy here?¡± Maribel asks, her brow furrowing in confusion.


    ¡°Well, I couldn¡¯t help but notice you only have one set of clothes,¡± I reply matter-of-factly.


    ¡°You want me to buy new clothes?¡± she asks, clearly surprised.


    ¡°Oh no, I¡¯m going to buy them for you as a gift,¡± I say cheerfully.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do that¡­¡± she murmurs, her eyes drifting to the shop window. Despite her attempt at refusal, she¡¯s clearly excited at the idea of owning new clothes.


    ¡°Nonsense. You shouldn¡¯t have to wear your adventurer¡¯s clothes even when you¡¯re resting or off duty,¡± I insist. ¡°It must be a huge hassle for you only having one set of clothes.¡±


    Maribel hesitates, seemingly uncomfortable with the idea of spending money on herself, but it doesn¡¯t take much persuasion for her resistance to melt into giddy excitement. Once inside, she flits through the shelves and racks with a bright smile. That is, until she stops in front of a blue and white dress that catches her eye. She then notices the price tag, 30 copper coins.


    <i>Most of the dresses here cost half that. This dress reflects the cost of 10 days of work by a tailor.</i>


    ¡°Are you sure about this, Shadow? How much were you planning to spend?¡± she asks, her voice timid. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m worth this¡­¡±


    I step over to her and very gently place a hand on her shoulder. ¡°Maribel, you¡¯re worth a lot to me,¡± I say earnestly.


    <i>She is an important piece for my game board, and so maybe more. </i>


    Her expression softens, her eyes glistening as she looks up at me with a watery-eyed smile. I add. ¡°You can get four complete sets of clothes. Don¡¯t worry about the price.¡±


    <i>This shop caters to commoners, so it isn¡¯t particularly expensive. I¡¯m confident I can easily afford this.</i>


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say¡­¡± Say Maribel looking joyfully up at me. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Maribel then spends the next hour moving excitedly through the store, practically glowing as she examines the various clothes and shoes on display. Even the items she doesn¡¯t pick seem to bring her joy just by looking at them. The shopkeeper, sensing a large sale, looks equally pleased, practically hovering nearby with an eager smile and occasionally complementing her choices.


    Finally, Maribel gathers an armful of clothing and approaches the tailor, clutching her selections like priceless treasures.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, do you have a changing room?¡± she asks brightly.


    ¡°Yes, my dear, just at the back,¡± the tailor says, gesturing toward a curtained-off area behind the counter.


    ¡°Thank you!¡± Maribel responds, her excitement overflowing. She then turns to me and says, ¡°Let¡¯s go, Shadow.¡±


    ¡°Wait¡­ me?¡± I stammer, caught off guard.


    ¡°Yes, you, silly,¡± she replies, grabbing my hand and attempting to tug me forward, though she fails to move me even an inch. ¡°You¡¯re paying for these, so you should see how they look!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t go¡­¡± I begin to protest, but to avoid her straining herself further, I reluctantly allow her to lead me toward the changing area.


    ¡°Maribel, I really shouldn¡¯t¡ª¡± I try to explain, but she cuts me off again.


    ¡°And you won¡¯t! Like a gentleman, you¡¯ll turn around, close your eyes, and only look when I tell you to,¡± she declares, practically bubbling with enthusiasm as she pulls me into the changing room.


    ¡°That¡¯s not going to-¡± I try again.


    ¡°Enough! Sit here and close your eyes,¡± Maribel insists, guiding me to a chair and placing it so that I¡¯m facing the wall, away from where she¡¯s about to change.


    Before I know it I am sitting on the chair facing the wall as she starts undressing behind me. Off goes her shirt and It¡¯s too late. I go silent.


    What I had been<i> trying</i> to explain earlier is that I don¡¯t have eyes to close. My vision doesn¡¯t work like a human¡¯s; it comes from a series of magical sensory enchantments that provide me with 360-degree awareness of my surroundings. This means that, despite my best intentions, I am completely aware of everything happening behind me. Maribel is entirely undressing, trying on new garments, including underclothes.


    <i>She is nice to look at though. Not complaining. </i>


    The awkwardness of the situation leaves me trapped. Any protest I might make now feels both too late and too disruptive. So, I sit still in this chair pointlessly facing the wall and doing my best to pretend I¡¯m oblivious.


    Meanwhile Maribel eagerly tries on each of the four outfits, showing them off with giddy excitement and demonstrating how she can mix and match pieces to create even more combinations. I offer the obligatory compliments.


    ¡°That looks great on you!¡±


    ¡°Wow, this is a good style for you!¡±


    <i>Ren once read a book titled T</i><b><i>he Gentleman''s Guide to Understanding and Managing Women.</i></b><i> In it there was a whole chapter about the importance of compliments. </i>


    They all look equally good on her. Truthfully, I don¡¯t care much about the outfits themselves. I found the periods when she removed them far more interesting.


    Yes, I know it¡¯s wrong to watch someone undress without their knowledge or permission. I <i>tried</i> to tell her, but she wouldn¡¯t listen. This is <i>basically</i> her fault. The problem is, with each outfit change, her potential anger level If I tell her increases.


    <i>Completely unjustified, of course.</i>


    The clothes altogether cost 16 silver and 5 copper, a price I considered more than worth what I got for it. On the ride back to the Rabbit¡¯s Paw, Maribel hugged the package containing her new clothes tightly and thanked me repeatedly. It was clear she had never been able to shop so freely without worrying about the cost. Her happiness was contagious and there was no way I was going to ruin it with some pesky truth. Before we parted ways, she surprised me with a hug before darting into the inn.


    <i>Today was a good day. </i>

 The Good Healer

    I am Angela Muara, age 42, Master Mage and head healer of the Wyvern Division of the Arcadian Army.


    I have always hated the idea of war. I dreamed of a world where the boundless potential of magic could be harnessed to end suffering, heal the sick, eliminate poverty, and bring peace to all. I knew those were lofty, perhaps even impossible goals, but that vision fueled my studies when I first began my education as a mage 30 years ago. That idealism is what led me to the path of a healer. Never did I imagine that my many years of mastering the art of mending the broken would one day place me on a battlefield, surrounded by such devastation¡­¡­.


    The deep, mournful groan of battle horns blares from the horizon, echoing across the vast plains of Dreamor as the Demon Lord¡¯s legions march forth. The horde spills from the Dark Citadel Netherspire like a shadow stretching across the land, the earth trembling beneath the thunderous cadence of countless armored feet. Demonic banners snap violently in the icy wind. Marching alongside the horned demons clad in armor are iron clad giant trolls, ogres and minotaurs each wielding massive clubs, axes and ballistas.


    My heart tightens. The sight before me, a wall of nightmares advancing without end, seizes my breath, making it catch in my throat. I grip the frost-rimmed stone of the barricade, steadying myself as I peer over the fortifications. From this elevated vantage, the master mages and I man the rear-line magical bombardment position, a half-circle of stone battlements enchanted with protective spells.


    Fear lingers, sharp and cold, threading through the gathered ranks. The other master mages exchange glances, their expressions mirroring my own, apprehension mingled with grim resolve. The battle has already begun.


    This is the great crusade of the combined forces of the known world to end the demon threat. The armies of the elves of Elandriel, joined by the iron phalanxes of the dwarves of Ravenmark, the savage warbands of the beastkin tribes of Fuketsujin, and the proud banners of every kingdom of men are all arrayed between us and the approaching horde.


    Even with our combined forces It is clear that we are badly outnumbered.


    A year has passed since Malakar Brackus descended from the frozen north, his armies leaving only ruin in their wake. Dreamor''s people were decimated as the Demon King¡¯s forces swept south, seizing the fortress city of Netherspire, making it the new capital of the demon nation. All the known world has responded, sending their armies in a unified campaign to drive this scourge from our world. I am part of the Wyvern Division, a force of 3,000 mages and knights sent to represent the Kingdom of Arcadia in the joint operation.


    Drawing a deep breath, I turn away from the advancing tide to gaze down at our commander, the Grandmaster Mage Edric Drakemore. Even in the face of such overwhelming darkness, he stands unmoved. Clad in robes of deep midnight beneath a breastplate etched with ancient glyphs, he embodies Arcadia¡¯s strength. The crimson crystal atop his staff, nearly the size of a man¡¯s fist, pulses with contained power, ready to unleash devastation at his command.


    On either side of Commander Edric stand Master Mages Lady Harris and Lord Lunts, positioned beside crates of mana crystals, ready to recharge Edric and ensure he does not run out of mana during the battle. In front of Edric, a crystal ball rests in a small, ornate stand on the ground. From it, multiple rectangular sheets of light emit, displaying the battlefield from the perspectives of the sentry mages stationed at each of the ten Arcadian bombardment positions. I see Edric study the images carefully as I descend from the barricade.


    On the screens, the demon army''s long front line has finally halted just one hundred yards from the allied forces. Flashes of light, fire, and lightning spells accompany a rain of arrows exchanged rapidly between the two armies. Explosions erupt across the battle line as spells and projectiles collide against the defensive barriers raised by both sides.


    The booming sounds of the spells seem far to close.


    Edric then speaks in a deep, commanding voice. "Open fire!" His words carry over the monitoring crystal to the other bombardment positions.


    Lifting his staff, Edric begins a powerful chant. Above us, a massive fireball begins to form, bathing the area in an intense, searing light. What had been a cold, icy day now feels unbearably hot as waves of heat pulse from the massive fireball, growing larger and larger as Edric channels more mana into the spell.


    I shield my eyes, unable to withstand the blinding heat. As I turn away, I notice identical fireballs forming above each of the other nine bombardment positions, all poised to rain down armageddon on the enemy.


    ¡°Greater Meteor!¡± Edric roared, his deep, commanding voice reverberating magically through the air, as though even the words themselves held power.


    Commander Edric swung the head of his staff forward, launching the massive fireball toward the enemy line. The projectile rocketed toward the demons, accelerating with each passing moment. On the screen before me, I watched as the fireballs struck the demon horde just behind their front line. A blinding flash of light initially obscured the images, but as the brilliance faded, a shockwave of fire spread across the demon¡¯s defensive barrier, only to dissipate into smoke.


    They had blocked it. My heart sank. I turned my gaze back to our commander. Would even his magic fail to stop that endless army? The Grandmaster Mages of Arcadia were our greatest hope, the trump cards of the allied forces of the known world. If even they couldn¡¯t break the demon lord¡¯s defenses, what hope did the rest of us have? Were we all going to die today?


    Lord Edric, though visibly tired, maintained his determined gaze on the battlefield projections before him. Lady Harris handed him a mana crystal, which he gripped tightly. A pulse of blue light surged from the crystal, washing over his body and restoring his strength. Reinvigorated, Edric cast the spent crystal aside and immediately resumed his chant, channeling the next colossal fireball.


    How does he maintain such unwavering confidence in the face of near-certain death? My knees felt weak as I stared at the ongoing clash. The demon army continued to exchange spells with the elven forces holding the frontline between us and the enemy. But their barrier was visibly weakening. Even with equal numbers of mages, maintaining a barrier against relentless magical assault consumed far more mana than the offensive spells themselves.


    The cracks in the elven defense were beginning to show. A few demon spells pierced through, crashing into the elven soldiers. Limbs and fragments of armor were hurled into the air as entire sections of the elven warriors were obliterated.


    ¡°Master Edric, our allies'' barriers are going to fall! We must reinforce them before they collapse entirely!¡± I said, my voice rising in desperate realization.


    ¡°Greater Meteor!¡± Edric roars again, his eyes glowing red as mana spills from him, sending another massive torrent of fire toward the enemy.


    As the spell crashes into the demon horde, Edric whips around to face me, growling, ¡°Our task is to attack, not defend.¡±


    He snatches a fresh mana crystal from Lunts¡¯ hand, absorbing its energy while glaring at me. ¡°If we do not maintain fire superiority, none of us will survive,¡± he declares with a tone of finality.


    Before I can argue, Edric begins channeling another fireball, the oppressive heat and light returning. I glance back at the projection just as a massive boulder, hurled by a troll, breaches the elven barrier. It crashes into their formation, rolling through and crushing dozens of their fighters.


    No doctrine of fire superiority can make me stand idly by as those men and women are shredded to pieces. I¡¯m a healer¡ªmy duty and impulse are to protect my allies, to heal the wounded.


    It sickens me to watch the elves being decimated. I know that if they collapse, the only force standing between us and the demon horde will be the 200 Arcadian knights stationed at the base of the barricades. It seems inevitable that we are all going to die.


    Edric launches his third fiery meteor. This time, when it strikes the demon barrier, it breaks through. The shockwave engulfs a large swath of enemy troops, burning them to ashes.


    ¡°YES! Their barrier is down!¡± Edric shouts, echoed by cheers from the mages on the battlements.


    I do not cheer. Fear and dread have consumed me too fully. Edric grabs another mana crystal from Harris, drains it, and begins chanting for his next fireball.


    On the projected images, the demon army charges the front line. Without their barrier, they close the distance quickly. Trolls and ogres smash through the elves, their massive weapons scything through the defenders. Those not crushed underfoot or hacked apart are set upon and cut down by the demon warriors.


    The cries of fear and pain echo around me, punctuated by the rising explosions. The massacre advances closer.


    At the center of the enemy charge, a demon warrior on horseback stands out, clad in obsidian armor with golden embellishments. His helmet is shaped like a horned skull. Amid the chaos, he directs the assault with a commanding presence. Is this their general? The Demon Lord himself?


    Suddenly, the horror vanishes in a blinding flash of light. At first, I don¡¯t understand. Then, as the brilliance fades, I see Edric¡¯s fireball has struck the center of the elven line. The shockwave crashes into our barricade with a thunderous force I feel in my chest. Some of our mages are knocked from the battlements by the blast.


    The entire front line, elves and demons alike, is reduced to a smoking crater, the ground littered with mutilated and charred corpses.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± I gasp, horrified, looking back at the commander.


    ¡°I did what I needed to,¡± Edric responds coldly, absorbing mana from another crystal and discarding it on the ground.


    ¡°You killed our allies!¡± I say in disbelief.


    ¡°They were already dead,¡± Edric retorts, his tone unwavering as he begins channeling his next fireball. ¡°And did you see? I killed their commander,¡± he adds proudly before returning to his spellwork.


    Turning back to the projected image, I see another wave of the demon army charging past where the elves had fallen. At the center of the field, a massive demon, twice the size of the others and clad in jet black armor, kneels beside the charred remains of the demon commander I had seen earlier.


    Spells begin raining from our battlements as the enemy draws closer. Fear grips me, freezing me in place, my mind going blank.


    ¡°Lion¡¯s Heart,¡± Lady Harris intones, casting the spell on me.


    "Snap out of it, Muara," Harris added sharply, apparently noticing me freeze up.


    The enchantment washes over me, clearing my mind instantly. My fear dissipates, replaced with a fierce determination. My feet spring into action as I hurry around the back of the barricade to join the knights positioned outside. As I approach, I see them formed into a tight phalanx, mages behind them rapidly firing attack spells over their shoulders at the oncoming demon horde.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Such is the standard strategy of the Arcadian military¡ªmages focusing on overwhelming firepower while the knights, bolstered by enchanted armor and physical enhancement magic, form an unyielding steel wall to protect their mage counterparts.


    I rush to join the mages behind the knight''s formation, ducking my head as arrows rain around me, stones crash into the battlements behind, and spells zip overhead, exchanged from both sides. Another of Edric¡¯s fireballs rockets by, slamming into the middle of the advancing demon formation. The spell explodes against the demon army¡¯s restored barrier. The searing heat and brilliant light wash over us, nearly toppling the mages. Yet, the stalwart knights hold firm, their heavy armor and tight shield formation anchoring them as the demon assault looms closer.


    I duck down beside a mage who is firing Fire Lance spells in rapid succession, his face dripping with sweat and looking weak in the knees, likely suffering from low mana. Then I hear clearly amongst the chaos of sound around us the sharp crack  behind be followed by a scream. I look back to see a mage falling limp over the battlements, landing in a heap with a thud, his body smoking. He must have been struck by a lightning spell, I think to myself and I rush over to him.


    Crash! Looking over my shoulder I see a boulder had landed right where I had been crouching a moment before. The corpse of the mage that has been standing there lays crushed, his inside splattered across the ground, nothing remains of his face. There is nothing I can do for him, I turn back to the human lightning rod.


    I extend my hand to heal him, but another thunderous crash halts me. A massive troll has smashed through our shield wall, sending several knights flying. A tall young knight wielding a massive broadsword breaks formation to fill the breach. Moving with impossible agility for a man his size, he dodges the troll¡¯s axe with a roll, rising and cutting down a demon soldier in a wide arc before cleaving through the troll¡¯s leg. The beast collapses with a deafening roar, crushing more demons beneath its weight. Before it can react, the knight severs its head with a decisive swing.


    I refocus on the smoldering mage¡¯s body. ¡°Focus, Muara! You have a job to do!¡± I whisper to myself, though the words are drowned by the clashing steel and cries around me. The Lion Heart enchantment helps me block out the noise, my mind narrowing on the broken body before me. Pale green light emits from my hands as I channel healing energy, sealing his life-threatening wounds while conserving mana by ignoring minor injuries. The mage rises, still bleeding from a gash above his eye, nodding in silent thanks before resuming his spells.


    As I turn to leave, I spot a knight locked in brutal combat with a demon, bashing its head with his own helmet. Blood and gore spray with each strike. An arrow whistles past my cheek. I twist around just in time to see the mage I had healed collapse, an arrow embedded between his eyes. My stomach clenches, but Lion¡¯s Heart suppresses the grief.


    I press on, reaching the struggling knight. Grabbing a thick arrow shaft lodged in his back, I rip it free, tearing flesh but immediately closing the wound with healing magic. The knight briefly pauses, perhaps to thank me, before returning to battering the corpse below him. I don¡¯t hear what he says as I am already moving on.


    The battle lines have collapsed entirely. Arcadian knights, mages, and demons are intermingled in a chaotic melee. I step past another mage, his skull caved in, clearly beyond saving. An arrow glances off my barrier, sapping a fragment of my mana. The enchantment keeps me numb, numb to fear, to pain, to my own self-preservation. This isn¡¯t courage. My mind is blank, guided only by the drilled instinct of my training. Find the next one. Evaluate. Heal. Move on.


    I set off in search of my next patient, stepping over mutilated corpses as arrows and spells rained down around me. My task was made easier when a knight was flung through the air and landed before me, sprawled out on the ground. Well, most of a knight¡ªhis left leg hadn¡¯t completed the journey with him. I quickly stopped the arterial bleeding from the stump and focused on healing his other critical wounds, including a cracked skull and deep lacerations.


    Once healed, the knight sat up but did not spring into action. Instead, he looked around, dazed. I had healed his body, but the psychological trauma remained. I cast ¡°Lion¡¯s Heart¡± to restore his courage, but nothing happened. Either he was too far gone, or my spell wasn¡¯t strong enough. I reached down to pull him to his feet when something suddenly yanked me backward by the collar of my robes.


    As I was dragged back, I saw iron-clad demons swarming toward us. Two drove their spears into the one-legged knight I had just healed, ending his life before he could even defend himself.


    The mana I had spent healing him was wasted.


    A massive sword swung over my head, cleaving through the demons chasing us. My eyes followed the blade back to its wielder¡ª the young knight who had slain the troll earlier. With one hand, he dragged me backward while expertly swinging his massive broadsword with the other, fending off our attackers with incredible dexterity.


    I stared in awe. Blood drenched his armor, a raw cut marred his cheek, but despite it all, his face remained strikingly handsome. Then I noticed his lips moving, snapping me out of my numb silence.


    ¡°We need to go, little lady,¡± he said in a commanding tone. ¡°Commander ordered a retreat.¡±


    The knight pulled me through a gap in the shattered garrison wall, still swinging his sword. He sliced one of our pursuers cleanly in half as if they were made of parchment. Then, with surprising ease, he bodily tossed me at the feet of Commander Edric.


    As I scrambled to my knees, I slip on the spent mana crystals that littered the ground. The barricade was in ruins, massive gaps blown apart. Beyond the rubble, we were surrounded on all sides by demon soldiers, their armor dripping with the blood of my fallen allies. The young knight positioned himself protectively, his back toward Edric, his blade unwavering as he faced the encroaching horde.


    ¡°Mana crystal, woman!¡± roared Edric. ¡°Hand me a mana crystal!¡±


    I look up to see Edric facing down a massive demon, towering twice the height of the others, clad in black armor with golden embellishments. The figure stands in a massive breach at the center of the shattered fortifications.


    It¡¯s the Demon Lord.


    ¡°Mana crystal!¡± yells Edric again, snapping me from my daze.


    Frantically, I begin searching for a fresh mana crystal. The crates that once held them have been destroyed, the ground littered with shards. I drop to my hands and knees, desperately digging through the debris.


    ¡°You invaded my lands,¡± booms a voice so deep and guttural it seems more beast than man. ¡°You burned our fields, razed our villages, and slaughtered our women and children.¡±


    ¡°What? I didn¡¯t know a beast like you could speak the common tongue,¡± taunts Edric with feigned confidence. ¡°I was expecting grunts and snorts... maybe even clicks.¡±


    The Demon Lord steps forward, dragging a massive axe at his side, the blade carving a furrow into the ground.


    ¡°And today you took my son from me,¡± he growls, his voice thick with growing menace. ¡°Not only will I kill you, Commander Edric Drakemore, but I will be a curse upon your entire bloodline.¡±


    Edric responded by firing a lightning bolt from his staff at the Demon Lord, who effortlessly blocked it with a barrier and retaliated with a rock blast, sending a high-speed stone projectile. Edric narrowly dodged the attack and returned fire with a Fire Lance spell, but the flames were absorbed harmlessly into the Demon Lord. In return, the Demon Lord unleashed a barrage of Fire Lance spells, forcing Edric to block with a shimmering barrier.


    As the magical duel raged, the demon horde surged forward around us. The young knight swung his massive sword in wide, sweeping arcs, cutting down demon warriors with remarkable speed and precision. His footwork was as graceful as a bard''s, yet each thunderous step carried the weight of a colossus. He danced around Edric and me, his blade cleaving through attackers, deflecting spells, and intercepting arrows and stones meant for us. His armored body acted as a shield, intentionally absorbing blows to protect us.


    Meanwhile, my frantic search for a usable mana crystal finally bore fruit. I snatched up the precious shard and handed it to Edric, who seized it in a flash. The blue glow of mana surged into his eyes as his aura expanded outward in a shockwave of energy.


    Standing back on my feet, my medical diagnosis magic revealed the increasing severity of the knight¡¯s injuries, though he showed no sign of slowing. He was moving too fast and erratically for me to heal directly. My only option was the far more difficult and less effective area healing spell. Staying close to Edric¡¯s barrier, I placed my palms together and began channeling the Sanctuary spell, bathing the three of us in a pale green glow.


    Edric, focusing intently, aimed his staff carefully at the Demon Lord. A bright light formed at the tip, growing steadily brighter. A heartbeat later, the orb of light zipped across the battlefield, striking the Demon Lord¡¯s upper right helmet. Surprisingly, there was no explosion, not even the clang of metal. The Demon Lord ceased his spellcasting momentarily, raising a hand to his head in apparent confusion.


    Then the area of impact began to turn dull grey, spiderweb-like cracks spreading rapidly across the helmet. In a desperate move, the Demon Lord wrenched the dissolving helmet from his head, but it was too late. With the helmet came his right horn, and the grey corrosion continued to spread across his scalp and crimson hair. His face contorted in agony and rage.


    ¡°Enjoy my parting gift, you filthy animal,¡± Commander Edric said, drawing a golden amulet with a brilliant blue gem from around his neck.


    The young knight continues to fight with relentless vigor, his sword carving through the demon horde even as his blood seeped from beneath his scorched and cracked armor. My Sanctuary spell was working, but far too slowly to keep pace with the injuries he was sustaining. For a brief moment when he paused, I could see the blood flowing steadily from his wounds.


    I look back at Edric, searching for a sign of hope or a plan. What I see instead is the Demon Lord charging at us, clutching his right hand to his head as light emanates from his gauntlet. His left hand winds up, preparing to bring his massive axe down upon us. At the same moment, Edric smiles broadly, pressing his thumb to the amulet around his neck.


    A blinding white light erupts, accompanied by intense, gale-like winds that send me stumbling to the ground. My hands touch grass¡ªgrass? We weren''t standing on grass. The blinding light vanishes as quickly as it came, and I find myself on my hands and knees in a field of lush green grass and wildflowers.


    Looking up, I hear the raucous cheers of a thousand voices. A throng of Arcadian mages and knights surrounds us, roaring and shouting joyously. Many of them are covered in ash and mud from the battle, with some bearing visible injuries. I reason these must be the mages and knights posted at the other bombardment positions, who, like us, used the teleportation rune to reach our fallback position.


    ¡°All hail the Commander Edric Drakemore!¡± a knight bellows, spurring a fresh wave of cheers.


    The crowd closes in, and I feel a large, iron-clad hand pull me to my feet. Turning, I see the young knight, his face marred by burns and cuts, one eye swollen shut. Yet, by adrenaline, magic, or sheer willpower, he stands upright despite his shattered armor and grievous wounds. Instinctively, I place my hand on his chest and begin to heal him.


    ¡°Thank you, little lady,¡± he says as the swelling in his eye subsides and the cut on his cheek knits back together. ¡°You did great out there.¡±


    ¡°The name is Lady Muara, not little lady,¡± I retort. ¡°And I didn¡¯t do much of anything. Not nearly enough.¡± A dull pain throbs in the back of my mind, threatening to break through my magically suppressed emotions.


    ¡°My name''s Gavin. Just Gavin,¡± he responds with a kind smile. ¡°And I saw you out there, healing everyone you could.¡±


    ¡°They all died,¡± I say flatly, withdrawing my hands from his chest, the healing complete.


    ¡°Not everyone. Without you, the commander and I would be dead too,¡± Gavin says, patting my shoulder with a heavy hand that nearly buckles my knees.


    ¡°Whoops,¡± Gavin mutters, catching me as I stumble and pulling me back up.


    As I dust myself off, I notice the crowd parting, with four knights carrying an unconscious Commander Edric away.


    ¡°Looks like he depleted his mana with that teleportation spell,¡± Gavin says, his eyes following the commander being carried off. ¡°We really did just barely make it out.¡±


    <hr>


    <hr>


    That was 10 years ago, and now, at age 52, I have long since left military service behind me, yet I have remained a healer. I spent several years teaching healing at the Arcadian Academy of Magic before establishing the largest apothecary in the region. Now, I devote my days to healing all those I can. However, my mind often returns to that day, that battle. When the false bravery of Lion¡¯s Heart wore off, I was left with deep trauma and profound regret for what happened.


    I went on to check on every mage and knight who made it off the battlefield that day, healing those in need. Afterward, I found a small number of demon soldiers caught in the teleportation spells during our retreat. About twenty were tied up, all injured to varying degrees. I began healing them as well, believing that even prisoners deserve respectful treatment. My efforts, however, were in vain. Before I could finish healing even the first one, another Grandmaster mage ordered their immediate execution to avoid delaying our withdrawal.


    Of the 3,000 Arcadians who fought that day, 1,152 made it home. We were the lucky ones. The rest of the coalition, every elf, dwarf, beastkin, and soldier of men, was massacred by the demon horde. Those other kingdoms had few mages, and none with the skill to cast teleportation magic, even with the assistance of runes.


    Later, when the tales of this battle were told, the people of Arcadia praised the brave and gallant Commander Edric Drakemore for leading the army that crippled the demon forces so severely that the Demon Lord ceased his campaign for more land. They said Edric personally slew the Demon Lord¡¯s son and grievously injured the Demon Lord himself. Rumors persisted that the Demon Lord had been permanently crippled, as he never returned to the battlefield.


    Edric was further celebrated for ordering the retreat, staying on the field until the last possible moment to ensure the survival of as many of his soldiers as possible. He was canonized as the great hero of Arcadia.


    However, the story told by the other peoples present that day was far different. To the elves and dwarves, it was remembered as a tragic day marking the beginning of their kingdoms'' decline, later defeated and annexed by their former human allies. To the beastkin, it was a tale of defiant heroism. Their warriors were said to have fought the demon horde for an entire day after the Arcadians fled. The beastkin tribes still thrive today, honoring those who perished and regarding the Arcadians as cowards for abandoning the battlefield.


    For me, that battle never truly ended. I see it often when I sleep. I see the faces of those I couldn¡¯t save. And every day, I wake trying to cover my past failures by healing those I can today.

 I Can Fix You

    I am Ren Drakemore, age 8, the unwanted second prince of Arcadia, the future King, and apparently, I am really bad at healing magic.


    ¡°What do you see?¡± Lady Muara asks patiently as we sit in one of the clean white treatment rooms in the back of her apothecary.


    ¡°She¡­ has very little mana,¡± I say, squinting at the little girl sitting on the treatment table, my eyes narrowed in concentration.


    This is my first day of healing magic apprenticeship with Lady Muara, and it is not going well. I have been here for three full hours and haven¡¯t healed a single person. Muara told me right away that I wouldn¡¯t be able to heal anyone until I first learned medical diagnosis magic. So, all morning, I have stared at each patient she''s seen with increasingly desperate focus, trying to will myself to divine the nature of their injuries or illnesses.


    ¡°Young Master, you can¡¯t treat this like throwing fireballs. You don¡¯t just chant the spell and pump as much mana into it as possible. Both diagnosis and healing magic are about finesse, not brute force,¡± Lady Muara explains patiently for what must be the tenth time.


    ¡°I know, you keep saying that, but all my magical senses are showing is that she has very low magical capacity, is physically weak, and is not a threat,¡± I say, evaluating the metrics I¡¯m far more familiar with thanks to Shadow.


    ¡°Hey, why is this boy making fun of me!¡± the grumpy little 5-year-old girl exclaims indignantly, glaring at me from the treatment bed.


    ¡°I am paying you to heal my daughter, not insult her,¡± says the girl¡¯s father, a lesser nobleman, now looking concerned as his daughter continues her dramatic display. He appears far more worried about her temper than any actual insult.


    Her father is a young, well-dressed man who gives off the impression of someone born into wealth, having never worked a day in his life. This privilege seems to have led to a false sense of superiority and a warped perception of the importance of his present issue.


    ¡°Daddy, I¡¯m dying!¡± the little girl whines, swooning dramatically. ¡°Make her heal me, Daddy!¡±


    <i>Is this how little girls act? They are so high-pitched and annoying.</i>


    ¡°Sir, training new healers is an important part of our service,¡± Lady Muara explains with a calm smile but a distinctly dismissive tone. ¡°My apprentice will¡ª¡±


    ¡°But DADDY!¡± the girl screams, flailing around, her face flushing red. ¡°WHAAA, WHAAA!¡±


    ¡°I think I see what¡¯s wrong with her,¡± I say loudly, trying to be heard over the girl''s continued wailing.


    ¡°Oh good, what¡¯s her issue?¡± Lady Muara turns to me, wincing at the noise assaulting her ears.


    ¡°Bad parenting,¡± I say, covering my ears as the noise escalates. The girl¡¯s father, too distracted calming his irate child, doesn¡¯t seem to hear me.


    ¡°What MEDICAL issue?¡± Muara asks, working hard to suppress a smile.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I say with exasperation.


    <i>I can¡¯t even hear myself think right now.</i>


    ¡°Look again, but this time, relax, calm your mind, block out the sound and everything around you,¡± Muara instructs, leaning in close to be heard over the girl¡¯s tantrum. ¡°Only when your mind is still can your senses sharpen to view the smaller details.¡±


    ¡°DADDY, make them heal me right now!¡± The girl switches seamlessly from theatrical tears to furious demands directed at her father. The man looks desperately to Lady Muara, who shoots him a ¡°Say one word and you¡¯ll regret it¡± kind of glare. He looks completely stuck between a rock and a hard place.


    ¡°Try again, but first calm your mind,¡± Muara says to me.


    ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll try again,¡± I sigh.


    I close my eyes, trying to quiet my mind. I¡¯ve never tried not to think before. Ironically, my mind floods with thoughts, the fear I won¡¯t be strong enough, my loneliness, my worry about facing my father, my fear of failing to help others, and strangely, Maribel. Yet with a deep breath, I let those thoughts slip away like water through my fingers. I open my eyes, focusing solely on the medical diagnosis spell.


    Suddenly, the glow of mana swirling around the tantrum-throwing girl sharpens. Her entire structure becomes clear, like a mechanical toy with interconnected parts. Everything fits, except for one small, conspicuous irregularity.


    ¡°She has a cold,¡± I say, smiling at Lady Muara. ¡°A very mild case of the common cold.¡±


    ¡°Correct!¡± Muara responds with a sly smile, lazily stretching out her hand and emitting a brief, green-glowing healing spell toward the little girl. ¡°Your daughter¡¯s life is saved. Please pay the receptionist on your way out.¡±


    Both the nobleman and his daughter turned to Lady Muara in surprise. The girl paused her tantrum just long enough to register Lady Muara¡¯s words with her angry little face before deciding on her next complaint.


    ¡°That¡¯s it? You didn¡¯t heal me enough!¡± she raged.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, is there anything else you can do?¡± the nobleman pleaded with Muara.


    ¡°Well, I could offer you some contraception if you like,¡± Lady Muara replied with a passive shrug. ¡°Though, it may be a bit late for that.¡±


    <i>What is con-tra-cep-tion? It must be some sort of cure for obnoxious children. </i>


    ¡°I want cake, Daddy!¡± the little tyrant demanded, hands on her hips. ¡°Right now!¡±


    <i>What does cake have to do with being sick?</i>


    ¡°Your daughter is healed. Please take her and go so we can tend to our next patient,¡± Lady Muara says, standing and gesturing toward the door.


    The exhausted nobleman picks up his daughter, who was still kicking and screaming about wanting sweets, and carries her out of the room. Lady Muara exhales deeply and brushes off her white and red healer¡¯s uniform, as if dusting off the difficult customer from her mind.


    ¡°Good work, Ren,¡± Lady Muara says with a smile. ¡°Keep practicing your diagnosis while I heal. This will help you identify the types of illnesses and injuries and how I treat them.¡±


    And practice I did. I spent the rest of the day¡¯s light at the apothecary, carefully analyzing each patient Lady Muara treated. Before long, I could accurately identify nearly every patient¡¯s condition. However, Lady Muara didn¡¯t let me attempt any healing or curing spells. She insisted I practice diagnosing for a few more days, explaining that healing magic done incorrectly could be dangerous.


    Lady Muara kindly agreed to let me apprentice with her three times a week. She is a very patient teacher, truly passionate about her profession. From what I can tell, she would prefer to provide her services for free to the commoners but is prevented from doing so by threats from the Merchant''s Guild, who have warned they would revoke her license if she did.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    At the end of the day, I left the apothecary feeling surprisingly exhausted for someone who had mostly just stared at people all day. I walked through the market street under the moonlight, the sun long since set, the streets illuminated by streetlamps. Few people are still out at this hour, and the walk home is quiet and still, not even a breeze stirring the night air.


    It is so quiet and still tonight that it¡¯s particularly easy for me to sense the four people following me as I leave the apothecary. I keep walking as though unaware, allowing myself to observe them while getting closer to home. I shouldn¡¯t be worried¡ªI have my sword on my hip and my razor-wing hawk circling above me.


    I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I walk down the empty street, focusing on my threat detection. The four men move to encircle me: two closing in from behind while the other two run down alleys to get ahead. None of them feel close to me in magical capacity, but together, they could be a challenge.


    My hair stands on end as they close in. I¡¯ve fought monsters before. I shouldn¡¯t be scared. So why is my heart racing? Why do I want to run?


    <i>Calm down. You can do this.</i>


    One thing I remember from military strategy is never to let the enemy dictate the field of battle. If there¡¯s going to be a fight, I need to ensure the location favors me.


    I take an abrupt right turn into a narrow alley, forcing the men ahead of me to double back. Now all four are chasing me from the same direction down the confined path between a warehouse and a blacksmith¡¯s shop. The alley is dark and ends in a tall wall, a dead end from another business.


    I reach the dead end and turn around. My pursuers, halfway down the alley, slow their approach. They think I¡¯m cornered. Little do they know¡ªit¡¯s they who are ensnared in my trap.


    With the dead end behind me and the narrow walls closing them in, I have limited their angles of attack and cut off their retreat. Unbeknownst to my adversaries, I sense a powerful dark aura closing in at frightening speed. I don¡¯t know why these men are targeting me, but it¡¯s clear they expect a defenseless child.


    <i>They are about to receive a very rude awakening.</i>


    The four men close in, and even in the pale moonlight filtering into the alley, I can see them clearly. They wear a mix of light iron and leather armor, the kind worn by lower-ranked adventurers. Two wield simple longswords, another has a bow with an arrow strung, and the fourth grips a basic wand. Their gear is not the quality expected from military or professional assassins. They must be desperate or unscrupulous enough to accept a job to murder a child.


    <i>I guess picking herbs isn¡¯t cutting it in this economy.</i>


    ¡°Nowhere to run now, kid,¡± jeers one of my would-be murderers, a younger man with messy hair.


    ¡°Yeah, I''ve got you cornered now?¡± I reply with a sly smile, trying to mask my fear.


    The tall, lanky archer apparently doesn''t find my sarcasm amusing, as he looses an arrow aimed straight at my head. The arrow barely makes it two yards before glancing off an invisible barrier, reflecting back and striking the mage in the pelvis. He drops his wand with a scream, clutching his crotch as blood pools beneath him.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Messy Hair says, dragging the edge of his sword against the barrier. His eyes widen as he realizes the barrier stretches up and around them.


    ¡°Ouch, that looks bad¡­¡± I say, glancing at the writhing mage. ¡°Shame I can¡¯t heal.¡±


    The remaining three assassins hack frantically at my barrier, their weapons bouncing off harmlessly. ¡°You can¡¯t keep this up forever, kid,¡± Messy Hair snarls, glaring at me. ¡°And when it falls, I¡¯m going to gut you for this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not the one you should be worried about,¡± I reply, glancing around. I can feel it¡ª the powerful dark aura closing in. The energy isn¡¯t the warm blue of mana but a deep, cold blackness that triggers an instinct to flee.


    A chill races down my spine as the men continue pounding their weapons against my barrier. Their desperate sounds suddenly vanish, as if I¡¯ve gone deaf. Then I feel it¡ª a rush of wind behind me and the cold pressure of a large, clawed hand gripping my left shoulder.


    ¡°Sleep,¡± whispers a voice, not in my ears but inside my mind, a deep, monstrous growl commanding my thoughts. My vision blurs, my body feels impossibly heavy, and I slump to the ground. Yet even as the voice echoes in my mind, my reflexive mental protection spell activates, dispelling some of the enchantment.


    I collapse, but my vision clears. As I look into a dark puddle reflecting the moon, I lift my gaze to see a terrifying demon creature towering above me. Its jaws clamp down on the head of the messy-haired assassin, and with a sickening crunch, it tears his head from his body. Blood sprays over the creature¡¯s body in a gruesome torrent.


    I immediately wretch, overcome by nausea at the sight of the demon spitting out the man¡¯s mutilated head before sinking its teeth into his neck, seemingly draining blood from the lifeless body. The monster is vaguely humanoid, resembling a naked woman, though standing ten feet tall with jet black skin, elongated limbs ending in clawed hands, bright glowing orange eyes, and an unnaturally wide mouth filled with sharp teeth. Its entire form seems to dissolve into smoke at the edges, moving as though weightless.


    The demon discards the limp, shriveled, headless corpse and, with a burst of speed, flies through the air like a trail of smoke, catching the archer attempting to flee down the alley. The creature slams him face-first into the ground with such force that his skull caves in. Lifting the body effortlessly, leaving behind a streak of blood and brain matter, the demon repeats its gruesome act¡ªbiting down and draining his blood before tossing the corpse aside.


    I am sick, trembling uncontrollably, my breath ragged from dry heaving, yet I can''t look away from the horrifying scene. I''ve never witnessed anything so terrifying in my life.


    The third assassin swings his sword desperately, but the demon dodges with fluid grace before slicing off his head with its clawed fingers. The blood draining from his neck is consumed just as brutally as the others.


    The demon then turns to the final assassin. The mage, lying in a pool of his own blood with an arrow still lodged in his groin, barely stirs. The creature grips his legs with both clawed hands and hoists him upside down. Blood drains down his body, over his pale face, pooling on the ground. With a single, effortless jerk, the demon bends his legs sideways, his hips dislocating grotesquely. Then, it bites down, draining his blood as well before dropping the withered corpse to the ground in a crumpled heap.


    With the last assassin dead, sound rushes back into the alley. I can hear my own ragged breathing, the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears. The demon, still drenched in blood, turns toward me. Its wide, toothy grin remains, but its glowing eyes no longer burn with bloodlust. Instead, there is something... softer. Concern.


    <i>I recognize that look.</i>


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, young master. Hold still,¡± a deep, monstrous growl resonates in my mind as Willow swoops down in front of me. ¡°I can fix you.¡±


    She gently grasps me around the torso with one giant clawed hand, lifting me effortlessly from the ground and bringing me close to the same maw I had just watched tear the heads off men. My heart races in pure terror. I don''t want this. I want it to stop.


    Willow brings her free hand close to my forehead, a long, clawed finger poised inches from my skin. ¡°I can make this all go away,¡± she coos softly.


    ¡°Wait! I want to make a contract!¡± I yell desperately, causing Willow to freeze in place.


    Willow¡¯s monstrous face adopts an unmistakable look of surprise and then confusion. I can tell she wanted to remove my memories of what I had just seen. Or at least, that¡¯s what I¡¯m guessing from what she said. I''ve noticed strange gaps in my memory before, waking up without remembering going to sleep, or missing parts of days where I recall picking herbs or walking through the commons. I¡¯ve long suspected that Lady Willow may have removed my memories before. Now I think I know why.


    ¡°What are the terms?¡± Willow asks cautiously.


    ¡°I want you to agree never to erase my memories again, not now, not ever. And in return, I will give you one thimble of blood,¡± I say, choosing my words carefully.


    ¡°If I don''t erase your memory, you''ll be scared of me,¡± Willow says, sounding unsure. ¡°If you''re afraid of me, you''ll run. And if you run, I can''t protect you.¡±


    ¡°Then I promise to give you one thimble of blood, and I won¡¯t run away from you. If I do, the contract is void, and you can erase my memories,¡± I counter, determined.


    Willow slowly retracts her clawed hand from my forehead and taps her chin, considering. ¡°But I need to protect you from the fear of me.¡±


    ¡°Lady Willow,¡± I plead, meeting her glowing eyes, ¡°some of the most fearsome beasts can have the kindest hearts. It¡¯s okay if you¡¯re scary, you need to be scary to protect me.¡±


    Willow¡¯s fierce expression softens, and for the first time, her terrifying mouth seems to form a genuine smile. She gently sets me back down, placing my feet firmly on the ground.


    ¡°Okay, Master Ren,¡± she says softly, ¡°We have a deal.¡±


    As she speaks, Lady Willow¡¯s demonic form shifts back into her beautiful human appearance. With a wave of her hands, her usual clothes materialize from nothingness, wrapping around her and curing her of her nakedness. I draw my sword and, with great care, begin to slice open my palm. It takes several attempts, it¡¯s surprisingly difficult to cut yourself on purpose, but eventually, I manage it. The moment blood wells from the wound, Lady Willow gently takes my hand, pressing it to her lips as she drinks a small amount. Immediately afterward, she casts a healing spell, closing the cut entirely. Then, with a smile, she takes my hand in hers and walks me back home.