The silence in the King's study is so thick it feels like a physical presence. Roxis and Elian stare at me, their faces masks of disbelief. Me, their commander? The idea is so absurd, so contrary to the natural order of the world, that they seem to be struggling to process it.
"Your Majesty," Roxis begins, her voice trembling with a contained emotion, "with all due respect, Reinhardt is a Bronze-ranked adventurer. He has no experience with military command, nor with the Frontier. Sir Elian and I are Holy Knights trained to..."
"To obey," the King cuts her off, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Your training has taught you to follow orders, to fight in formation, to die for the kingdom. This man's training has taught him to survive. For this mission, survival is more valuable than honor. His unique skills are our best chance. Your role is to protect him, to support him, and to execute his orders. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," they reply in unison, their knightly discipline taking over their shock. But I see the doubt in their eyes. And worse, I see pity.
The audience is over. We are dismissed.
We walk in silence through the castle's corridors. The weight of my new command is a lead cloak on my shoulders. It is not an honor. It is a test. And as I suspected, it is a leash. The King has placed the two people I care about most under my responsibility. If I succeed, we live. If I fail, I will not be the only one to pay the price. It is a masterstroke, a political maneuver as brilliant as it is cruel.
"Reinhardt," Elian finally says, once we are far enough away not to be overheard. "What does this mean? Why you?"
"Because I'm a monster," I answer bluntly. "And the King needs a monster to hunt other monsters."
"Don't say that," Roxis intervenes, her voice soft. "You're not a monster. You're a survivor. The King recognized that. This is an opportunity, as strange as it may be. We will follow you. We trust you."
Her words are meant to reassure me, but they only add to my burden. Their trust is a weight I am not sure I deserve.
The next day, at dawn, we leave Kryndal. Not with fanfare, but discreetly, through a side gate. Three horses await us, along with equipment provided by the Crown: detailed maps, high-quality travel rations, and purses filled with gold for expenses. We are a special operations unit, a blade in the kingdom's shadow.
The first few days of travel are tense. Elian tries to maintain light conversation, to reminisce about our childhood. Roxis remains quieter, observing me, trying to understand the man I have become. I am distant, focused on the mission, on survival. My role as commander forces me to put a distance between us. I am no longer their friend. I am their superior.
We travel through parts of Kryndal I have never seen. Fertile plains, dense forests, prosperous villages. The kingdom is vast, far more than the capital and its grimy surroundings. During a stop at an inn, we share a table with a traveling merchant. He tells us of the Twelve Nations of Valdoryn, of distant empires, exotic cultures, wars and alliances made and broken far from Kryndal. The world is immense, and my quest for power suddenly feels very provincial.
On the fourth day, we enter the Graylands, a region of arid hills and isolated villages. Fatigue is beginning to weigh on us. We decide to stop in a small hamlet not even on the map.
The place is poor, almost wretched. A single inn, if you can call it that, offers us shelter. It is run by an old woman, alone, wrinkled and bent with age. She greets us with a toothless smile, offering us a meager meal and pallets for the night.
"You are noble knights," she says as she serves us. "It is an honor to have you under my roof. Rest. I will watch over your things."
Her hospitality seems sincere. Exhausted, we fall asleep quickly.
I wake in the middle of the night. A sound. A faint scratching. My survival instinct, honed by years of danger, pulls me from sleep. I do not open my eyes. I lie still, listening.
The sound is coming from the room where we left our equipment. I get up without a sound, my dagger already in hand. My basilisk leather armor allows me to move like a shadow.
I peek through the crack in the door. The old woman is there. But she is no longer bent over. She stands straight, agile. She is rummaging through our saddlebags with surprising dexterity, putting our purses and rations into a large sack.
Analyze.
Name: Moorland Shapeshifter
Level: 15
Status: Stealthy
Skills:
[Transformation (Active)]: Allows taking the appearance of an observed person.
[Treacherous Strike (Active)]: A stealth attack that inflicts critical damage.
This is no old woman. It is a monster. A predator that uses pity as bait.
I do not alert it. I go back to our room and gently wake Roxis and Elian. I explain the situation in a whisper. Their surprise quickly turns to a cold anger.
We slip out the window and circle around. We corner it as it is about to flee through the back door with our belongings.
When it sees us, its face twists in a snarl. The illusion of the old woman melts away like wax to reveal its true form: a humanoid creature with gray, rubbery skin, long, lanky limbs, and black, soulless eyes.
"You should have stayed asleep, pretty knights," it hisses in a voice that is no longer human.
It is fast. It lunges at Elian, an obsidian blade appearing in its hand as if by magic. But Elian is a Holy Knight. He parries the blow with his sword, sparks flying in the night.
The fight begins. The Shapeshifter is a formidable opponent, using its speed and knowledge of the terrain to harass us. Roxis and Elian fight in perfect coordination, a wall of steel and holy light.
I stay back, observing. I am not a knight. I do not interfere in their dance. I wait for my chance.
The Shapeshifter, pressed by the combined power of the two knights, makes a mistake. It focuses too much on Elian, turning its back to me for a split second.
That is all I need.
I activate Berserker Charge. The world slows down. I cover the distance in an instant, a blurry shadow. Before it can even react, my dagger slices its throat from behind.
The monster collapses, gurgling, its life draining away in a flood of black blood.
Silence falls. Roxis and Elian look at me, short of breath. They didn't even see my attack.
"How did you...?" Elian begins.
"I am the knife in the night," I reply, echoing the King's words. "That is my role."
I approach the corpse. Its essence is strange, unstable.
Devour.
You have devoured the essence of [Moorland Shapeshifter].
Unstable essence of deception detected.
Your [Camouflage] skill has been temporarily enhanced.
Skill Assimilation failed.
It's a useful bonus, but not a permanent one. The creature was too... different.
We retrieve our belongings. The trust we had placed in appearances has been shattered. The world outside Kryndal is even more treacherous than I had imagined.
We set out again before dawn, leaving the silent hamlet behind. The journey continues, but something has changed. The incident has forged us into a unit. We are no longer just a commander and his subordinates. We are three survivors in a hostile world. A true team.
At least, that is what I thought.