By the time the battle ended, the caravan was in shambles, its guards either defeated or fleeing. The Iron Fangs celebrated their victory, cheering as they rummaged through the wagons for supplies and evidence.
Kieran, meanwhile, sat on a log, his head in his hands. Meliora approached, her expression unreadable.
"You were... impressive," she said carefully. "But that was more than strategy, wasn't it?"
Kieran glanced up at her, his face pale. "Let's just say my methods are... unconventional."
Fredrick joined them, his grin wide. "Unconventional? Master, you're a genius! Those traps were flawless!"
Kieran managed a weak smile, but inwardly, his thoughts churned. His system was growing stronger, its influence more direct—and more unpredictable. And with each new display of power, the line between his lies and reality blurred further.
As the Iron Fangs regrouped, Elyra approached with a grim expression, holding a stack of documents retrieved from the caravan.
"We've got what we came for," she said, her voice low. "But it's worse than I thought."
She handed the papers to Kieran, her eyes hard. "The Baron's been dealing with something far more dangerous than mercenaries. This... this is just the beginning."
Kieran stared at the documents, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. Whatever game the Baron was playing, it was clear that they were all just pawns—and the stakes were far higher than any of them had realized.
+
The documents Elyra handed to Kieran weren't just ordinary ledgers. They were full of coded entries, obscure symbols, and cryptic names. Sitting at the edge of the campfire, he squinted at the parchment, flipping it over to see if anything made sense upside down. It didn't.
Fredrick sat beside him, holding a piece of dried meat and chewing loudly. "Master, what's it say?"
"It says that nobles have terrible handwriting," Kieran muttered, waving the parchment like it was a fly he was trying to swat. "And apparently, they also dabble in amateur cryptography."
Meliora leaned over his shoulder, her brow furrowing as she studied the symbols. "This isn't just a ledger. These symbols look like they belong to a runic system."
Fredrick perked up. "Runes? You mean, like magic stuff?"
"Exactly," Meliora said, tracing one of the symbols with her finger. "This isn't just accounting. These entries are connected to something... ritualistic."
Kieran's stomach twisted. Of course, it's rituals. Why wouldn't it be rituals?
"Ritualistic," he repeated aloud. "And here I thought we were just dealing with corrupt business practices. Lovely."
Elyra returned, her expression grim. She had shed her usual air of confidence and instead looked like someone carrying the weight of an unwelcome revelation. "You've gone through it?"
Kieran shook his head, holding up the ledger. "We're working on it. Apparently, your buddy Drennor has a side hustle in spooky runes and ominous symbols."
Elyra's jaw tightened. "That confirms it. He's dealing with them."
"Them?" Fredrick asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy.
"The Shadowed Order," Elyra said, her voice dropping to a near whisper.
Meliora straightened, her usually calm demeanor cracking slightly. "The Shadowed Order? Are you certain?"
"Certain enough," Elyra said. "These symbols match what little we know about their activities. They're a cult operating in the shadows, manipulating power behind the scenes. They specialize in ancient magic and... sacrifices."
Fredrick nearly dropped his dried meat. "Sacrifices? Like, human sacrifices?"
Elyra nodded. "Exactly."
Kieran groaned, tossing the ledger onto the firewood pile. "Great."
Fredrick, as always, tried to see the silver lining. "But Master, with your powers, we can handle this, right?"
Kieran froze, staring at his disciple. "What powers?"
Fredrick blinked. "You know... the traps you summon out of nowhere, the curses you cast. You've already proven you can take down anyone who tries to stop us."
The camp fell silent as the words hung in the air. Kieran could feel the weight of every gaze, the growing belief in their eyes. Meliora, who had always been the most reserved, was now looking at him with a glimmer of something that could only be described as... faith.
"Right," Kieran said weakly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Of course. I've got it all under control."
The system chimed in.
[System Notice: Belief level rising. Probability of success increasing.]
"Why does that feel like a curse more than a blessing?" Kieran muttered under his breath.
As night fell, Kieran sat with Meliora to decipher the ledger. The others were busy preparing for what might come next, sharpening weapons and tightening armor straps. The air buzzed with tension, everyone aware that they were getting pulled into something far bigger than themselves.
Meliora flipped through the pages with meticulous care. "This entry," she said, pointing to a sequence of symbols. "It mentions a place—'The Hollow Sanctum.' It's a known site of ancient rituals."
Kieran leaned in, his interest piqued despite himself. "And where is this spooky sanctum?"
"In the heart of the Whispering Woods," Meliora replied. "It's said to be a nexus of magical energy, but also cursed. Those who go there rarely return."
"Of course," Kieran said, throwing up his hands. "Why wouldn't it be cursed? That's exactly the kind of place I love to visit."
She ignored his sarcasm, her tone serious. "If Drennor is working with the Shadowed Order, this could be their base of operations. It's possible he's been funding their activities in exchange for power."
Fredrick wandered over, his broom resting on his shoulder. "So what's the plan, Master? Do we storm the place?"
Kieran stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Storm the place? Fredrick, we're not storming anything. I'm all for staying as far away from cursed death cults as possible."
"But Master—"
"No buts," Kieran snapped. "We're talking about people who sacrifice others to ancient gods. They're not exactly the type you can reason with."
"Unless," Meliora interjected, "you use their own beliefs against them."
Kieran froze. "What do you mean?"
Meliora's gaze was sharp. "You've already demonstrated your ability to command belief. The guards at the caravan dropped their weapons because they believed in your words. If the Shadowed Order is built on rituals and faith, you might be able to exploit that."
"Exploit how?"
"You become something they can't ignore," Meliora said. "A figure of power they're forced to reckon with. A false prophet to upend their dogma."
The thought sent a shiver down Kieran's spine. "So... you're saying I should con my way into a cult of murderous lunatics?"
Meliora gave a faint smile. "You've done stranger things."
The campfire crackled as Kieran stared into the flames, his thoughts racing. The plan was insane. It relied entirely on his ability to bluff his way through a situation that could very easily get them all killed.
But wasn't that how he'd survived so far?
He glanced at Fredrick and Meliora, who were watching him with unshakable belief. Garrik and Elyra lingered nearby, their gazes filled with wary respect. They were all looking to him for answers, for guidance.
[System Notice: New opportunity detected. Unleash potential through cultivated belief.]
"Fine," Kieran said aloud, standing up. "If we're doing this, we're doing it my way. No storming, no reckless heroics. We infiltrate, gather information, and then get out before anyone realizes what's happening."
Fredrick's eyes lit up. "What's the plan, Master?"
Kieran smirked, his confidence—real or otherwise—beginning to return. "Simple. We give them what they want: a prophet of power. And then, when they're too busy believing, we make our move."
Meliora raised an eyebrow. "And if they see through the act?"
"Then we run," Kieran said. "Preferably very fast."
As the group began preparing for their next mission, Kieran couldn't help but feel a mix of dread and exhilaration. He had no idea if this plan would work—or if his system would bail him out when things inevitably went sideways.
But one thing was certain: the Shadowed Order wasn't going to know what hit them.