I had been to these places before, but the first visit wasn't what I expected.
"Ah, you're Arthur Gates, I've heard of you. You look great! Not at all like what they said about you." A man stood before me, his clothes extravagant and rich, adorned with the symbol of a sword pointing downward. He must have been from another noble family—one I should have recognized, but I didn't care.
"Thank you. And may I ask who you are, sir?" I tried my best to sound respectful, though I had no desire to speak with anyone at that moment. My image as the first son of the Gates family was already crumbling, and while I wouldn't have cared under normal circumstances, my mother's reputation was at stake.
"As expected from the joke of the Gates family. I'm Joseph Owlig. Remember my name—it will be in every history book." He mocked me outright during our first meeting. Who did he think he was? A child? Hadn't his family taught him manners, as mine had taught me? At that time, I hadn't yet met my wife, so I hadn't learned to control myself when insulted.
"You do know that no one has heard of your family, right? Let alone your name," I retorted. His face turned red, and I could tell he didn't want to make a scene. He left, muttering some incoherent words as he walked away.
"Arthur," a familiar voice chimed in. "I don't think insulting another noble family is the best thing to do at your age. You need to build good relationships with other families. We should be thankful it was the Owlig family—their heads are reasonable people who won't escalate matters over a squabble between children."
I turned to face the old man. He was wise, as one would expect from someone of his age, but you'd never want to turn your back on him on a battlefield. His fighting skills were not to be trusted.
"I had to teach him a lesson, Uncle," I said. He smiled. He was always by my side, yet he criticized every little thing I did. Still, I loved him. He was my mother's brother, a man I deeply respected.
---
I opened my eyes again. The Drifter was staring at me with his usual emotionless expression.
"So, what are the rules this time?" I asked, forcing a small smile onto my face in an attempt to build some semblance of friendship with him.
I could hear the crowd murmuring. They were all men dressed in the fanciest clothes imaginable—gold and black, or white and gold. I couldn't recall which culture this style of clothing was famous for, but what struck me was the fact that no one seemed to notice us. It was as if we were invisible to them, our voices unable to reach their ears.
As if reading my thoughts, the Drifter confirmed, "They won't see us unless we interact with them. Our goal is to find the assassin and kill him—without harming the nobleman in the gold coat."
Wait, how did he know everything we needed to do in this situation? Was he some kind of guide? Maybe I should have considered that earlier.
"What I understand is that we need to talk to them and find the assassin before he reaches the nobleman in the golden coat. That sounds exhausting. Talking to nobles isn't exactly my hobby," I sighed.
"Who said anything about talking to nobles?" the Drifter replied, his face as expressionless as ever. Was he making a joke? I could proudly say I'd made some progress in cracking his stoic demeanor.
"Then what's your plan?" I asked.
"Kill them all, and let the man in the golden coat live."
What? That was... surprising. Did he mean it metaphorically, or was he suggesting actual killing—chopping off heads, ending lives, and leaving them dead? Someone might think I had a problem with killing, that I didn't want to get my hands dirty. But that wasn't the case. If someone deserved it, why not? Still, this situation felt off. From what I'd been taught, killing someone who lived in peace and posed no danger was wrong...
Again, I sighed.
"They're not real living beings," the Drifter interrupted. "They're just puppets of people who died long ago. They're not real."
I see. He was trying to push me to kill them, expecting me to believe his nonsense.
"Alright, I'll trust what you said. Do you want to do the job, or should I?" I didn't need a long explanation to believe someone who had brought me to a weird castle with moving statues. I wasn't in a good situation right now, and the Drifter seemed the only one I could trust at this moment. Why will I not trust him?
I studied the Drifter's face, searching for any hint of emotion—surprise, perhaps? But there was nothing. He was as cold and unreadable as ever.
"We need to do this quickly—" he began, but I cut him off.
"Quickly? I don't think you've heard about me. If we're talking about speed, I'll always come out on top."
Wait, maybe that was too much. I still didn't know enough about him, so I needed to be more careful with my words.
"You take the sword. I'll protect the nobleman from any sudden attacks," the Drifter said, handing me the sword with what seemed to be complete trust. He then walked over to the man in the golden coat, who was conversing with three others. The nobleman's coat bore a symbol I hadn't noticed before: two hands holding a flower. The Drifter stood behind him, silent and watchful. I could tell he trusted me—or perhaps he was testing me.
I gripped the sword in my hand. The feel of it was familiar and comforting. I took a deep breath. There were at least forty men in the room, so I had to be fast. The absence of guards raised questions, but that didn't matter to me now.
I let my focus slip, allowing my body to move freely. No overthinking—just movement and swings. This was how I fought.
I launched myself at the first group seated at the nearest table. They fell in moments, not even having the chance to scream after seeing the first man die. Now, everyone could see me. Panic erupted.
"Assassin! Guards! Guards!" one of the men screamed, but no one came to their aid.
I leaped toward the next group, their faces filled with horror. Their fear felt too real for puppets, but I chose to trust the Drifter.
"No! No! Thia!!!" one man screamed, likely calling out for his wife or child. I didn't hesitate. I wasn't a cold-blooded killer, but when killing needed to be done, I did it without hesitation.
As I moved from one group to another, I glanced at the Drifter. He was still watching over the nobleman, who had started to run away. I returned to my task, slaughtering more of the men.
Heh... I guess I needed to keep reminding myself that I was doing the right thing.
After killing more than twenty of them, a man in a gold and black coat charged at me with a precise strike aimed at my heart. He was fast, but I was faster.
"Die, you crazy bastard!" he shouted.
I dodged his attack effortlessly, my body moving in an almost unnatural way. I struck him down with a single blow.
---
The world faded into darkness once more. It was just me, the Drifter, and the blood-stained sword, its crimson coating slowly fading away. I handed the sword back to him without a word. He took it, equally silent. We didn't speak, as was often the case, and then the next door opened. It was the third room.
---
"Mrs. Emilia, you must teach your son some manners. He doesn't listen to us. He only listens to you. So please, control him."
A voice from the past.
"Have you not heard what he said about our traditions? The way of the sword that the Gates family has upheld for generations? If Arthur continues to disrespect our ways, I can not stop what could happen to him. Think carefully, Mrs.Emilia."
I sat there, listening.
Listening to what my mother had to endure because of her reckless, irresponsible son.
I closed my eyes.
And I apologized.