The battle ignited like a storm, raw power colliding in an explosion of Essence. The bandit leader's golden aura flared like wildfire, radiating heat and energy that crackled in the air. His stance was controlled, calculated—nothing like the reckless, frenzied attacks of common raiders. He was trained. A soldier.
Across from him, Roderic stood unmoving, his own silver Essence flickering to life, pulsing in rhythm with his breath. His blade, heavy with latent energy, hovered in the space between them, steady and waiting.
Alex barely had time to blink before the first clash erupted.
The bandit leader vanished in a burst of speed- then reappeared behind Roderic, his blade already arcing for a killing strike.
Steel met steel in a violent explosion of force. The impact sent a shockwave through the clearing, rattling the trees, shaking the earth beneath their feet.
Alex took a step back, his heart hammering in his chest. This wasn't like the pits. This wasn't even close.
The two warriors moved faster than sight, their weapons striking and countering in a seamless dance of pure combat mastery. The air hummed with Essence, each clash sending ripples of energy outward, warping the space between them.
The bandit leader smirked.
"Faster than I expected," he admitted, shifting his blade into another stance. "I suppose they don't call you the Fallen Knight for nothing."
Roderic didn't react, but his footwork shifted ever so slightly. Alex could tell—he was reading his opponent, calculating.
The bandit pressed the attack. His blade lashed out in a series of precise strikes, each one aimed at Roderic's vital points. His Essence flared as he moved, pushing him faster, striking harder.
But Roderic was faster.
He dodged, parried, twisted away from a killing stroke, then countered with a lightning-fast riposte. His blade slashed across the bandit leader's side, drawing first blood.
The man staggered but didn't retreat. Instead, he grinned through the pain.
"You're no ordinary sellsword," Roderic observed, voice calm. "Your movements—your technique—you were trained for something greater than banditry. Who were you before this?"
The bandit's smirk twitched. For the first time, hesitation.
Then his grin returned—wider, sharper, almost manic.
"Before this?" he chuckled, shifting his grip on his sword. "I was a fool. A fool who thought serving a kingdom meant something. A fool who thought protecting the weak was worth dying for."
His golden Essence burned brighter, his blade vibrating with power.
"Now?" he snarled. "Now, I only serve one master—whoever pays the highest price."
And then he exploded forward, attacking with the force of a man with nothing left to lose.
Roderic met him head-on.
The two warriors clashed again, their Essence colliding in bursts of light and sound. Each attack was a calculated deathblow—dodged by inches, parried with the smallest margins.
Felix muttered under his breath, eyes wide. "Holy shit."
Gareth, the unshakable veteran, exhaled sharply. "I knew Roderic was strong, but this..."
Even Rivka, usually silent and detached, watched with narrowed eyes, fingers gripping the stock of her crossbow.
They weren't just watching a fight.
They were watching a legend in motion.
The bandit leader pivoted, trying to gain an advantage, but Roderic was already moving.
The killing blow came in a flash.
"Battle Technique—Piercing Iron Fang."
A crescent wave of silver Essence erupted from Roderic's blade, slamming into the bandit leader with crushing force.
The man was launched backward, trees shattering like brittle bones as he tumbled across the clearing. When the dust settled, his golden Essence had dimmed to embers. His hands trembled, his breath came ragged.
The battle was over.
Or at least, it should have been.
Alex was still frozen in place, staring.
His chest tightened, his breath shallow. He had just witnessed something impossible—something so far beyond him it made his victories in the pits seem like child's play.
But that wasn't what terrified him.
It was the Abyss.
The moment Roderic had landed the final blow, something had stirred inside him.
A whisper.
"Power."
Then—his vision flickered.
The clearing vanished—replaced by an endless abyss. A chasm stretched beneath him, so deep it swallowed light itself.
He saw chains descending into the void, their weight heavy and ancient.
Something moved in the dark.
A voice—not a whisper this time, but a command.
"Take it."
Alex gasped.
His body jerked violently as he was yanked back into reality.
And suddenly—the bandit leader was on his knees, trembling.
His golden Essence flickered violently, like a candle in the wind. His hands clutched at his chest as though something had been ripped from him.
His breath came in ragged, panicked gasps.
And his eyes—his eyes were locked on Alex.
Not on Roderic.
On Alex.
"What… was that?" the man croaked, his voice shaking with something beyond fear.
Alex had no answer.
But he had felt it.
Something inside him had reacted—fed on something.
Roderic turned toward him slowly.
His gaze was unreadable.
But Alex could tell—he had noticed.
The Iron Fangs stood in tense silence, their eyes flicking between Alex and the defeated enemy.
Roderic exhaled. "That should be enough."
The bandit leader let out a breathless laugh.
"That's… not something a washed-up mercenary should be capable of," he rasped. "'The Fallen Knight'... how very fitting."
"Likewise," Roderic said coolly. "Who trained you?"
The bandit's smirk wavered.
Then he reached into his coat.
Alex tensed—a weapon?
But instead of a blade, the man pulled out a small wax-sealed scroll.
He tossed it onto the dirt.
"Checkmate," he muttered.
And then, he collapsed.
Roderic bent down, retrieving the scroll. He broke the seal, eyes scanning the contents. His face, always composed, darkened as he read, the flickering firelight casting jagged shadows across his expression. The others gathered around, tense and waiting.
Felix, impatient as always, leaned in. "What does it say?"
Roderic remained silent, his grip on the parchment tightening. The usual sharpness in his gaze was gone, replaced by something far more unsettling—recognition.
Gareth, ever the pragmatist, stepped closer. "Roderic?"
Roderic exhaled slowly, then read aloud.
"The stolen weapons ," he said, voice measured, but edged with something colder. "They were meant for a force that isn't supposed to exist."
Silence settled over the group.
Rivka frowned. "A third faction?"
"More than that," Roderic muttered, turning the parchment toward them. "Look at this."
The bottom of the scroll bore an official seal—not the Duke's, but one belonging to a noble house within the kingdom.
Felix whistled low. "That's… not just some minor lord's mark."
"It's the crest of House Aldric," Selene said, her voice quiet but certain.
Alex's stomach turned. Even as a newcomer to the world of mercenaries, he had heard the name. House Aldric was one of the oldest and most powerful noble families in the kingdom, known for their influence over the military. If they were involved, this wasn't just a matter of stolen weapons.
Gareth folded his arms. "Why would House Aldric fund an underground army?"
"Because they aren't just funding them," Roderic said. "They're building them."
The weight of his words sank into the group.
Dain scowled. "You're telling me a noble house is stockpiling weapons for an unofficial force? That's treason."
Roderic didn't answer immediately. He seemed… distant. Not in thought, but in memory. Then, finally, he spoke.
"This isn't the first time they've done this."
The others exchanged glances.
Alex noticed it then—the way Roderic's fingers curled just slightly over the parchment, his knuckles turning white. It wasn't just anger. It was personal.
"What else does it say?" Rivka pressed.
Roderic hesitated, then continued reading. "Orders confirm multiple shipments over the past year. But here—this part lists recruitment details." His voice dipped lower. "They aren't just gathering weapons. They're gathering soldiers."
Felix tensed. "Who are they recruiting?"
Roderic's jaw tightened. He scanned the scroll one last time—then stopped.
His breath hitched so slightly that only Alex caught it.
Then, Roderic folded the scroll, tucking it into his coat.
"That's enough for now," he said.
Felix blinked. "Wait, that's it? What else did it say?"
"Doesn't matter," Roderic muttered.
Alex studied him. The way his shoulders squared, the way his usual smirk had vanished—he was hiding something.
Selene's gaze flicked toward the scroll. "It named someone, didn't it?"
Roderic didn't respond.
But his silence was answer enough.
Alex's mind raced. Who was on that list? Who had shaken Roderic so much that he wouldn't say it aloud?
Before anyone could press further, Gareth spoke, his voice gruff. "The real question is, what do we do with this?"
They all looked at Roderic.
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "We have choices."
• Turn it over to the Duke. If House Aldric is planning something, he'll want to know.
• Use it as leverage. This scroll is worth a lot to the right people.
• Bury it. This is bigger than us. Walking into this war could get us all killed.
Felix exhaled. "And what do you think?"
Roderic didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the fire, the embers crackling softly.
Alex had seen this look before.
It was the look of a man staring into his past.
Finally, Roderic met their eyes.
"We take it to Mira first," he said. "She'll know how to play this."
Gareth frowned. "And if she already knows?"
Roderic smirked, though there was little humor in it. "Then we'll know just how deep this goes."
The group exchanged uneasy glances.
Alex remained silent, his mind swirling with thoughts.
This was no longer just about a job.
This was the first step into a much larger game.
And whether they wanted to be or not…
They were already pieces on the board.