The room spun as I tumbled into my chambers, bloodstaining my hands and armor. I fought to draw breath and felt a faint hum of power from Gluttony remaining like an itch that had no one to scratch it.
Dark elves. They had invaded the castle. Disguised themselves as Gregor and gods knows who else. And worse, they weren't acting alone.
The memory fragment replayed in my mind: Alaric's fury, the dark elf's taunts, and the words that chilled me to my core. You already know.
But I didn't. Not yet.
I slumped into a chair, wincing as the fresh wounds across my shoulder and side protested. The status window flickered into view as if sensing my turmoil.
STATUS WINDOW
Name: Alaric Varelius
Title: King of Varestia
Level: 8
Health: 50/100 (Recovering)
Mana: 60/60
Strength: 18 (+3)
Agility: 15 (+3)
Endurance: 13 (+3)
Intelligence: 13 (+2)
Charisma: 18 (+4)
Unique Skills:
Gluttony (Active): Absorb stats, skills, and memories from slain enemies.
Regression (Locked): Revert to a fixed point upon death.
The sight of that locked Regression ability made my stomach twist. If I'd died tonight, would I have come back? Or would this chapter of my new life have ended here, in this blood-soaked castle?
I dismissed the thought with a shudder. The fight was over, but the danger wasn't.
A knock on the door jolted me from my thoughts. My hand instinctively went to the hilt of my sword as Gregor stepped inside, his face drawn with concern.
"Your Majesty," he said, his voice low. "We've secured the castle. The remaining guards have been accounted for, and the noble quarters are under watch. But."
"But what?" I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.
Gregor hesitated, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. "There's no sign of how they got in—or who might have helped them. The outer gates were untouched, and the guards on duty saw nothing."
I leaned back, letting out a slow breath. Of course, they'd seen nothing. The dark elves' morphing magic was precise, seamless. If one of them could mimic Gregor so perfectly, who knew how many others had slipped through the cracks?
"Keep looking," I said. "Question the guards again. Someone must have noticed something."
Gregor nodded, his jaw tight. "And the bodies?"
"Burn them," I said flatly. "I don't want their kind leaving any. traces behind."
Once he was gone, I turned back to the glowing status window. It wasn't just the skill descriptions that drew my eye this time—it was the inventory.
Shadowbane Blade: A sword forged to pierce the shadows. Bonus damage against beings of darkness.
The weapon shimmered faintly as it manifested in my hand, dark steel almost weightless. Pulses of meaning danced from the runes etched along the blade, and their content lay just beyond my fingertips.
I swung it, and the air hummed with the motion. That wasn't a tool or just a weapon. No, it was made specifically for the kind of foes I was up against now—the kind Eravon would be arming likely.
The door opened again, this time without a knock. I looked up sharply, my grip tightening on the sword.
Lady Ceryna stepped inside, her green gown rustling softly. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes held a flicker of something I couldn't place—curiosity, maybe. Or fear.
"Your Majesty," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I heard about the attack."
I raised an eyebrow, gesturing for her to sit. "And?"
She hesitated, her gaze flicking to the bloodstains on my armor. "And I thought you might appreciate some. perspective."
Her words were careful, but the implication was clear: she knew something.
I leaned forward, fixing her with a sharp look. "If you've come to tell me how the court doubts my survival for the twentieth time, spare me the theatrics."
Ceryna's lips curled into the faintest smile. "Hardly, Your Majesty. I'm here because I think we share an enemy of some sort."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You think I don't see what's happening? The whispers in the corridors, the sudden shifts in alliances. Duke Eravon has been sowing seeds of discontent for months—perhaps longer. And now, this." She gestured vaguely toward the bloodstains.
"And why should I trust you?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
Ceryna tilted her head, her smile widening slightly. "Because I have no interest in seeing the court torn apart by his ambition. Or by yours."
Her words hung in the air, heavy and pointed.
I watched her carefully, searching for any hint of deception. But if she was lying, she was damn good at it.
"And what do you suggest?" I asked finally.
"Watch him," she said. "Closely. He's moving faster than you realize, and if you wait too long to act, you'll find yourself without allies—or a throne."
With that, she rose, smoothing the folds of her gown. "Good luck, Your Majesty. You'll need it."
She left without another word, leaving me alone with the silence and the flickering glow of the status window.
I stared at the empty doorway for a long moment before pulling up the memory fragments I'd absorbed earlier. They came in flashes—images, sounds, emotions—all jumbled together in a way that made my head throb.
But one stood out.
A map.
Alaric stood before a table much like the one in the council chamber, his fingers tracing the outline of a region marked in red. The name was unfamiliar, but the sense of urgency in his movements wasn't.
"Send word to the border," he said sharply. "They're moving faster than expected. If we don't reinforce the southern gates—"
The memory ended abruptly, leaving me gasping for air.
I opened my eyes, my chest heaving. The southern gates. That was where the dark elves were coming from, wasn't it? The memory felt distant, like a half-forgotten dream, but the urgency in Alaric's voice was enough to send a chill down my spine.
I gripped the Shadowbane Blade tightly, my resolve hardening. If Eravon wanted to play games in the shadows, fine. But I wasn't going to sit back and wait for him to strike again.
It was time to take the fight to him.