Chapter 25 — The Contract of Complications
(Kaelen / "Shadeblade" POV)
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The market district of Portscab was alive in a way that made every nerve in my body scream for caution. Merchants shouted over one another, children darted between carts, and stray cats seemed to view me personally as a menace. Perfect chaos for a mercenary contract… if you didn't mind possibly tripping over everything in sight.
I adjusted the mask — boney white, jagged crack from eye to cheek — and muttered beneath it, "Step lightly. Don't embarrass yourself. Please don't trip…"
Selia, balanced atop a roof like it was her personal catwalk, called down, "Skeleton! If you trip today, I'm personally writing your obituary in rhyme. You'll be famous for falling on your face!"
Bran's laughter echoed from the alley. "Oh, please. He trips in his sleep too, right? Skeleton, try to remember which end of the sword is the sharp one!"
I shot him a glare under the mask. "I'm a Disciplined Tier‑2 warrior!"
"Tier‑2," Mira muttered, amber eyes scanning the streets, "with the grace of a newborn goat."
I frowned. If these people weren't trying to make me laugh, I would have to kill them. Slowly. With the sword.
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The mission was simple enough on paper: intercept a gang trying to steal a shipment of rare silks before it left the city. Reality, of course, had a sense of humor. And apparently, that humor was aimed at me.
We moved through the alleys. Selia vaulted from rooftop to rooftop, disappearing and reappearing with terrifying grace. Bran stationed himself like a human barricade, massive arms crossing over crates, looking ready to flatten anything approaching. Mira guided the merchants' wagons with careful, precise calculations. Korran and Lysara flanked the sides, silent predators.
And me? I tripped on the first cobblestone.
Selia's voice floated down. "Yes! A perfect start! Skeleton, 1 – Ground, 0!"
Bran bellowed with laughter. "Points lost! And already embarrassing yourself! Good job, Tier‑2!"
I rolled my eyes under the mask, muttering, "At least I didn't land in the fishmonger's cart…"
Too late. My foot caught on the wheel of a cart, sending me sprawling forward. I managed to grab my sword in time to stop myself from face-planting into a pile of onions. A dramatic flop, a slide, and I barely stayed on my feet.
Selia clapped her hands. "Bravo! Ten points for style, minus a thousand for dignity!"
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The bandits arrived moments later, daggers and sticks flashing. Lysara darted like a shadow, eliminating two of them before they realized she existed. Korran moved silently, precision killing the threats as they came. Bran, in true dramatic flair, picked up a fallen crate and swung it like a battering ram, sending one unfortunate thug flying into a pile of fruit.
I… tripped again.
A bandit lunged, and instinct saved me — roll, pivot, swing. Connection. Pain flared in my ribs. My footing betrayed me again, spinning me in a clumsy half-circle. Somehow, I ended up disarming the bandit… and nearly hugging him unintentionally.
Selia's laughter echoed from above. "A+ for effectiveness! F for grace!"
Bran clutched his stomach, laughing so hard I thought he might explode. "Skeleton's finally dangerous! Slightly! But mostly a comedy show!"
Lysara smirked, arms crossed. "Next time, try to look threatening while fighting. You look like a puppet being thrown around by fate."
Korran simply shook his head, an almost imperceptible smirk beneath his calm demeanor. "Reading the rhythm… fundamentals are solid. Your style will emerge. Perhaps… clumsy predator is an interesting archetype."
I muttered beneath the mask, "I hate all of you."
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The fight continued, chaos threading between crates, carts, and angry merchants. My sword slashed, pivoted, and struck, all while occasionally tripping over stray stones, barrels, and the occasional stray cat (which gave me the most judgmental glare imaginable).
A bandit tried to sneak behind me. I pivoted, struck — and slipped spectacularly, landing in a heap that could have been choreographed for a comedy stage. Somehow, in the pile of dust, the bandit tripped over my fallen foot and tumbled into a cart of apples.
Selia's voice cut down, laughing so hard it hurt to hear. "Perfect! Kaelen: Tier‑2 Disciplined… and accidental chaos dealer!"
Bran roared: "I'm crying with laughter! Alive counts! Slightly! Points for tripping creativity!"
Even Mira's gaze softened with a hint of amusement. "Observe, adapt… survive. Lesson one: never underestimate slippery cobblestones."
Korran's calm hand rested on my shoulder as I regained my footing. "Good work. Fundamentals are intact. Your sword strikes hit. And… humor can be an advantage, if exploited properly. Though tripping repeatedly is… not ideal."
Lysara smirked again. "Skeleton, maybe your real skill is turning every fight into a slapstick performance. Consider it your legacy."
I laughed beneath the mask, shaking my head. Humor, panic, thrill, and clumsiness all mingled. Tier‑2 Disciplined Kaelen, still alive, learning, surviving, and somehow making the battlefield hilarious at the same time.
Shadeblade was no longer just a mask. It was a persona, a forge, and a comedic disaster waiting to happen, shaping me, sharpening me, and preparing me for the battles ahead — one slip at a time.