The assassin's blood had vanished, leaving only the memory of the silent battle under the moonlit sky.
Azrael Kaelthorne stood alone in his tent, fingers steepled, golden eyes narrowed in deep thought.
Why are they appearing now?
The assassin's movements, their technique, their aura—all of it pointed toward an enemy that shouldn't exist yet. In the original novel, this faction only surfaced after his death.
But they were here.
And that meant something had changed.
Azrael exhaled slowly.
The System, his lifeline, his guide through this world, had given him nothing.
No warnings.
No quests.
No explanations.
It knows something, Azrael thought. And it's staying silent.
For the first time since he had awakened in this world, he felt like he was standing at the edge of an abyss—and the System refused to catch him if he fell.
Something was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
---
Piecing the Puzzle Together
Azrael paced slowly, going over the events in his mind.
The war ended too easily.
Yes, it had been a hard-fought victory, but in the novel, it was supposed to drag on longer. His death was meant to be the breaking point, the moment that shifted the empire's power structure.
But he was alive.
He had crushed the rebellion early.
And now?
A hidden enemy had moved ahead of schedule.
Did my survival change everything? Azrael clenched his jaw.
The novel's plot was crumbling.
If he couldn't rely on his past knowledge anymore—
Then he'd have to adapt.
---
The Empire Watches
Far from the battlefield, in the heart of the empire, word of Azrael Kaelthorne's unprecedented victory was spreading like wildfire.
To the commoners, he was a hero.
To the nobles, he was a threat.
A bastard of the Kaelthorne family shouldn't have won this war.
Yet he had.
He had crushed his enemies, executed traitors without hesitation, and stood unchallenged.
Some nobles whispered of a rising warlord.
Others feared a tyrant in the making.
And some—the most dangerous of them all—saw an opportunity.
---
Spies in the Dark
Late that night, shadows moved through Azrael's war camp.
Men dressed in plain clothing, their noble sigils hidden beneath their cloaks, slipped between tents, listening, watching.
They carried no weapons.
Their blades were information.
Each one had been sent by a different faction—barons, counts, and even some high-ranking dukes—all eager to uncover the truth about Azrael Kaelthorne.
Had he truly grown strong on his own?
Or was there something else behind his rise?
They needed answers.
And if Azrael was too powerful to control—
Then perhaps he needed to be removed.
To be continued…
---