“This dagger?” Kyle’s voice cracked as he answered, his gaze darting to the bde held in the man’s other hand. “It was given to me… by my mother.”

  The blonde man’s scoff was sharp, his lips curling in disdain. “Bullshit,” he snapped, his tone colder than the steel in his hand. “Who is your mother, exactly, to own a weapon like this?” He leaned in slightly, his piercing blue eyes boring into Kyle’s. “Do you have any idea what you’re holding? This dagger has six fucking runes on it. Six! Even the high-knights of this kingdom don’t carry weapons with more than three.”

  Kyle blinked, his breath hitching. Six runes? The man’s words echoed in his mind, shaking loose memories of his childhood. He stared at the dagger, its dark surface glinting faintly in the waning light. His mother had given it to him when he was so young that the memory of receiving it was little more than a blur. The dagger had always been there—familiar, unremarkable—until now.

  “I-I didn’t know,” Kyle stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “It really was given to me by my mother, sir. I swear. But it only has five runes, not six.”

  The man tilted his head, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Five?” he repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief. “That’s still more than enough to make it a weapon of legends.”

  Kyle clenched his fists and his mind began to race. He hadn’t thought much about the runes before—just that they worked when he needed them. Poison, effective only against Beasts. A Curse that slowed recovery from wounds. Fire hot enough to melt tungsten. Healing, a peculiar enchantment that sped up his own recovery, this was what had helped him out the most in the past couple of days. And the st one, the ever-present rune that made the bde unyielding—impossibly sharp and sturdy.

  “It really was my mother’s,” Kyle repeated, more firmly this time. “I don’t know how she got it, but,” He said but was interrupted.

  “For a single moment, let’s assume this bde was given to you by your mommy,” the blonde man said, his voice dripping with mockery. His sword eased just slightly from Kyle’s cheek, though the threat still loomed. “That still doesn’t expin how you’ve got the skills to fight and kill three beasts. I saw you from afar, your footwork, your reflexes. You’re not half bad.”

  He took a step back, his sharp gaze never leaving Kyle. “If you had to face a B-rank adventurer without any Shard abilities or buffs, you’d come out on top in nine out of ten matches. That’s not the kind of skill someone like you just stumbles upon. So tell me, where did a no-name like you, without an Awakened Shard, learn to fight like that?”

  Kyle’s breath caught in his throat. His mind raced for an answer, he couldn’t tell him the truth. The visions that had guided his skills weren’t something this man would believe, nor could he afford to reveal them. It would sound insane, even to himself.

  He swallowed hard, forcing a calm expression onto his face. “I learned from an adventurer,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension coiling in his chest. “He was someone my mother healed a long time ago. He ended up staying in our vilge for over a month while he recovered. During that time, he taught me how to hunt and fight beasts.”

  The blonde man’s piercing blue eyes narrowed. His lips twitched into a skeptical smirk, but he didn’t immediately call Kyle’s bluff. “An adventurer, huh?” he said, voice low and thoughtful. “And this generous teacher just happened to pass on enough knowledge to make you the bastard who gave three wolves and a Twin-Horned hell?”

  Kyle nodded, clenching his fists as he steadied his voice. “It’s the truth,” he said, refusing to waver under the piercing gaze of the blonde man standing before him.

  Silence hung heavy between them, the air charged with tension. The man tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if peeling back yers of Kyle’s words to expose the core. “What’s your name?” he asked finally, his tone calm but probing, each word carrying weight.

  “Kyle,” he answered, his voice firm despite the unease creeping in. “Kyle Darkstone.”

  The man studied him, the smirk on his lips faint but growing. “And where are you from, Kyle Darkstone?”

  “Cragmere,” Kyle replied, trying to keep his composure, though his chest felt tight.

  The man’s smirk widened. “Say, Kyle. If I gave you the power to change this world, what would you do with it?”

  The unexpected question caught Kyle off guard. For a moment, he faltered, but then his expression hardened, disillusionment flickering in his eyes. “I’d destroy this world... and rebuild it.”

  The man didn’t respond right away. He just nodded, the smirk lingering as if Kyle’s words amused him more than they should have. Then, with a casual tone that felt almost out of pce, he asked, “So, Kyle, how much would it take for you to part with that dagger?”

  Kyle’s fingers instinctively tightened around the weapon at his side. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said firmly. “It’s not for sale.”

  The man raised a brow, his curiosity apparent. “And why is that?”

  Kyle hesitated, his voice softening. “Because it’s the only thing I have left of my mother.”

  For the first time, the man’s demeanor shifted slightly. His smirk faded, repced by a look of mild intrigue. “Your mother... she’s dead?”

  Kyle’s jaw tightened, his throat bobbing as he answered. “No.”

  “Then?” The man asked the very next moment.

  “She was falsely accused of a crime she didn’t commit. Then she was taken to the eastern front, to heal the Eclipsing of the soldiers there.” Kyle said, his soul on the verge of breaking down.

  The blonde man didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he studied Kyle, his blue eyes unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice had softened, just a fraction. “I see.”

  “I think we should help him,” A feminine voice came from Kyle’s right.

  ***

  The room smelled faintly of incense, a cloying sweetness mingling with the musk of sweat and fleeting intimacy. Moonlight streamed through the partially closed shutters, casting pale silver streaks across the rumpled bed and the woman sprawled upon it.

  Her auburn hair spilled across the pillow in waves, a stark contrast to her abaster skin. Eyes of emerald gazed distantly at the ceiling, as if caught between thought and void. She didn’t bother pulling the sheet up to cover herself. It didn’t matter.

  Near the room's edge, a man adjusted his pants, his movements methodical, almost rehearsed. His shirt hung loosely over his frame, unbuttoned and half-forgotten, as he reached down to ce his boots. For a moment, he gnced back at her, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

  “Thank you,” he said, his tone polite, almost formal, as if they had just concluded a business arrangement.

  The corners of her mouth curled upward, a smile so faint it barely surfaced. Her eyes didn’t meet his. Instead, they lingered somewhere between the cracked pster of the ceiling and the thick shadow that clung to the corners of the room.

  A few minutes ter another man entered the room. She could feel the immense amount of Eclipsing he was somehow bearing. With a stoic expression, yet a friendly demeanor, she got ready to heal this man.

  It had been a few days since she had arrived at the fort, a pce where the air was thick with the tension of war. The soldiers here were not the same as Rowan and his men, there was no arrogance or pretense in the air.

  These men were different; they were suffering, many of them showing the brutal marks of Eclipsing. The men, broken and worn from battle, had no choice but to carry on.

  Despite the harshness of their situation, she didn’t hold any grudge against them. They were just soldiers doing their duty, much like any others in the world. They were not the enemy, just pawns in a much rger game.

  She treated them like patients, like she had treated the adventurers back home.

  She didn’t have the luxury of time, though, not with the sheer number of men pouring in. So, she focused on quick, direct treatment. She was a potent healer, she could heal them with mere physical intimacy, but nothing beat intercourse in how effective it was.

  She had done it many times even back at home, even before that as well. The war that took pce twenty years back was even worse than this. So she didn’t find any problem in this method, instead she found pleasure.

  Pleasure found in seeing the smile and uplifted spirits of the men she treated.

  They thanked her, sometimes with words, sometimes with a simple nod, their expressions showing genuine appreciation. It was a relief, really, to see some kindness in a pce where there was so much pain.

  The time she spent here was better than the time she had spent in prison. Just remembering the moment when she had to give into Rowan’s demands made her shudder. The moment she first lifted her dress and revealed herself to him was etched into her mind. The moment she got onto her knees for the first time wanted to make her vomit. The moment she let him consume her made her feel even worse.

  But, now all she had to do was to wait. Until the person who got her in this position arrives.

  Someone like Rowan, or the Baron couldn’t pull such strings. Most people didn’t know this, but Shadow Sves were rare and strong men. Shadows don’t exist without masters, that’s why all Shadow God’s followers had to find masters, and it had to be a person stronger than them, more powerful than them, someone they could truly submit to.

  And just like that, after some time, that person arrived at the fort.

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