The Sump's damp chill clung to Alexius like a second skin, even hours after he and Elias had slipped back into the palace through a creaky side gate. The rough worker's tunic scratched at him, a constant reminder of the world he'd stepped into—a world of shadows and secrets that felt a million miles from his old life of code and coffee. His fingers still tingled with the memory of the tiny scroll Whisper had given him, now tucked safely in his pocket. It was just a scrap of paper, but it felt heavier than it should, like a loaded program waiting to crash or save the day.
In the quiet of his solar, the familiar smell of wax and old books did little to calm the nervous buzz in his chest. Candlelight flickered, casting jittery shadows that seemed to mock him, as if the walls themselves knew how out of his depth he was. The System, that ever-present glitch in his brain, chimed in with its cold, clinical take: New objective: Verify Whisper's intel. Risks: trap, exposure. Rewards: a shot at hurting Valerius, maybe some trust from Whisper. It was like getting a debug log for a life-or-death situation, and he wasn't sure whether to be grateful or annoyed.
"Elias," Alexius said, his voice still hoarse from the Sump's foul air and the rough tone he'd faked. He spread the scroll on the table, its spidery writing barely legible in the dim light. It wasn't some grand expose, just a name—"Master Silas Thornecroft, Guildmaster of the Chandler's Guild, Western Ward"—and a cryptic line: "The Nightingale's oil burns brightest when the Wolf's moon is hidden." A crude map marked a warehouse near the tanneries, not far from where he'd met Whisper.
"Thornecroft?" Alexius frowned, glancing at Elias. "Chandler's Guild? What's this about?"
Elias leaned over the scroll, his weathered face creasing as he studied it. "The Chandler's Guild handles wax, tallow, oils—nothing flashy, but the city needs it. Thornecroft's the head, ambitious, likes his luxuries more than a guildmaster should." He tapped the coded phrase. "Nightingale's your mother's sigil, Your Highness. The Wolf's Duke Valerius. Sounds like something tied to Queen Lyra, happening when Valerius isn't watching."
"So, a secret deal, maybe, when Valerius is distracted?" Alexius said, his mind racing like he was piecing together a buggy algorithm. "And this warehouse… near the tanneries. Noisy, smelly—perfect for hiding something."
The System pinged, feeding him data like a pop-up ad: Silas Thornecroft. Suspected financial irregularities, possible ties to Valerius's smuggling. Recent 'animal fat' shipments from Valerius's western estates, bypassing customs with a ducal seal. Alexius's stomach twisted. Smuggling. Of course. Valerius was bleeding Leo dry, and this was just one of his schemes—moving goods under the table, maybe weapons or worse, to fund his private army, the Nightblades.
"What are we dealing with here, Elias?" he asked, his voice low. "Weapons for his Nightblades? Stolen goods? Something exotic for the Empire or the Theocracy?"
Elias's eyes darkened. "Could be any of those. The Nightblades are Valerius's elite guard—loyal only to him, not the Crown. If he's funneling supplies to them through a civilian guildmaster, untaxed and off the books, it's not just profit. It's power. Military power."
The realization hit Alexius like a system crash. This wasn't just about money. Valerius was arming up, maybe for a coup. Whisper's test wasn't just about exposing a corrupt guildmaster—it was about proving Alexius could strike at Valerius's shadow empire. "So, how do we play this?" he asked. "We can't just send the City Guard. Valerius has too many spies there. And if this is a trap, Thornecroft will know, and Whisper will think I'm an idiot."
Elias's gaze drifted, thinking. "The message says 'when the Wolf's moon is hidden.' Valerius is leaving the city the day after tomorrow for a big hunt in his western lands. A show-off move to flex his power."
"So, he'll be gone," Alexius said, a plan starting to spark. "That's our shot."
"A narrow one," Elias warned. "Thornecroft won't let his guard down just because the Duke's away. We need hard proof, and we need to get it to someone who'll act without tipping off Valerius."
The System offered options, like a strategy game he hadn't asked to play: Option 1: Leak the intel to Captain Marcus Valerius, City Guard. No relation to the Duke, hates corruption, resents ducal overreach. Option 2: Sabotage the warehouse to expose its contents. Risky, could lose evidence or hurt innocents. Alexius chewed his lip, his old programmer instincts kicking in. Sabotage was messy, unpredictable. A targeted leak felt cleaner, if they could pull it off.
"Captain Marcus Valerius," Alexius said, testing the name. "I remember him—sort of. Stern guy, didn't bend when the old Alexius tried to push him around. You know him?"
Elias nodded slowly. "Marcus 'Ironhand' Valerius. A distant cousin of the Duke, poor as dirt, which makes him stick to the law like glue. Probably to prove he's not like his cousin. He's got no love for the Duke, who's humiliated him publicly before. He could work, but it's a gamble. If he's loyal to the family despite the bad blood, he'll run straight to Valerius."
"And if he's not?" Alexius pressed, leaning forward. "If he really hates corruption?"
"Then he might bite," Elias said. "Especially if the evidence is solid and he can't trace it back to us. He's ambitious enough to want the credit for busting a ducal scheme."
The plan took shape, delicate as a house of cards. They couldn't storm the warehouse themselves—too risky, too loud. They needed someone to slip in, see what was there, and get the proof to Marcus without leaving a trail. "We need eyes inside that warehouse, Elias," Alexius said. "Before Valerius leaves. Someone who can move like a ghost."
Elias frowned. "That's spy work, Your Highness. Burglars, not butlers. We don't have those kinds of people."
Alexius's mind flashed to an old spy movie he'd watched back in his coding days: use their tools against them. Then, a memory from the original Alexius—a scrawny page named Pip, quick and clever, who'd once fished a signet ring out of a grate when no one else could. The kid was always climbing where he shouldn't, hearing things he wasn't supposed to. "Pip," Alexius said suddenly. "The page boy. He's small, sneaky, and I covered for him when he broke that ugly Lumerian vase. He owes me."
Elias's eyebrow shot up. "Pip? He's a child."
"He's old enough to know what's at stake," Alexius said, his voice harder than he meant. "And he's invisible. Nobody notices a kid like him. We offer him a reward, keep him safe. It's risky, but better than us getting caught."
The next day was a whirlwind of hushed plans. Elias confirmed Valerius's departure schedule through his palace contacts. Alexius cornered Pip in a quiet corridor, playing the part of the kind but serious prince. The boy's eyes went wide with fear, then curiosity, and finally, with the promise of enough coin to help his family and the chance to serve the Crown, he agreed. His job was simple: sneak into the warehouse before dawn, look around, and report back. No touching, no stealing, just eyes and ears. If anything felt wrong, he was to bolt.
When Valerius's flashy hunting party rolled out of the city—knights, hounds, and all—Pip slipped into the tanneries' gloom. Alexius waited in his solar, heart pounding, staring at a tiny enchanted charm Elias had scrounged up. It wasn't much—just a faint pulse of Pip's heartbeat and muffled sounds—but it was all they had. Every creak or distant shout made Alexius flinch, his nerves frayed like a bad cable. He felt like he was waiting for a program to compile, knowing one wrong line could crash everything.
Finally, a soft knock at a hidden panel. Elias stepped in, followed by a dirt-streaked Pip, his face lit with a mix of fear and excitement. "Your Highness," Pip whispered, his voice shaking. "The warehouse—it's not just candles and oil. Crates, lots of 'em, with the Duke's seal. And some had… a weird mark. A black sun, all jagged." He scribbled it on a scrap of paper.
Elias sucked in a breath. "The Black Sun. That's the Nightblades' sigil—Valerius's personal guard, loyal to him alone. For their gear to be stashed in a civilian warehouse, marked like that but hidden…" He trailed off, his face pale.
Alexius's blood ran cold. "So, Valerius isn't just smuggling for profit. He's arming his Nightblades, off the books, maybe beyond what's legal. Stockpiling for… what? A power grab?" The word treason hung unspoken, heavy as the scroll had been.
They moved fast. Elias wrote an anonymous note in a plain script, detailing the warehouse, the ducal seals, and the Nightblade gear. It hinted that a "loyal servant of the law" could catch a major breach of ducal privilege while Valerius was distracted. A groundskeeper with a cousin in the Guard left it where Captain Marcus would find it during his morning rounds.
Then came the waiting, the worst part. Alexius paced the solar, the System's updates doing nothing to settle his nerves: Tip delivered. Marcus likely to act: 70%. Chance he rats to Valerius: 15%. Chance he does nothing: 15%. It felt like waiting for a server to respond, not knowing if it'd return an error.
Late that afternoon, Elias brought news, his voice tinged with rare satisfaction. "Captain Marcus moved fast. Took a small squad—none of Valerius's pets—and raided the warehouse. Thornecroft's in chains. They found exactly what Pip saw: smuggled goods, plus a cache of weapons, armor, and gear marked for the Nightblades. Enough to arm a small army. Marcus is writing a report for the Chancellery, calling it illegal arms stockpiling and abuse of ducal power."
Alexius's heart leapt, then sank. "Will it hold? Can Valerius squash him?"
"Harder than you'd think," Elias said. "Marcus is a Valerius, even if he's a nobody cousin. If the Duke shuts him down for exposing this, it'll look bad—really bad. Plus, Marcus leaked the Nightblade gear to some traditionalist nobles on the Council. They're spooked about Valerius building a private army. Even Thorne's faction will jump on this."
Alexius let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and caution. And he got an idea, that will hit hard Valerius later. Valerius would come back to a mess—his guildmaster was arrested, his secret arms stash exposed, and traditionalists nobles suspicious eyes on his Nightblades.
That night, a folded paper appeared on his windowsill, blank except for a single, perfect nightingale sketch. Whisper's nod. He'd passed their test.
The System confirmed it, flashing like a status update: Quest 'Forging the Nightwatch,' Stage 1 done. Whisper's trust: cautiously optimistic. New trait: 'Subtle Hand'—slight boost to sneaky moves. Unlocked intel: Nightblades' supply chain basics. A faint smile tugged at Alexius's lips. He'd done it—landed a blow without showing his hand. He wasn't just a prince on a throne anymore; he was playing the game.
Elias stepped in, looking worn but pleased. "Good work, Your Highness."
"A start," Alexius said, his voice quiet but firm. "Valerius will be pissed when he gets back. Thornecroft's small, but the Nightblade stash being public? That's a problem for him. He'll come looking."
"Let him chase shadows," Elias said. "We'll be deeper darker than black."
Alexius nodded, the thrill of the win fading as reality settled in. He wasn't just Michael Sano anymore, the coder who'd stayed up late wrestling with bugs. He was Prince Regent Alexius Demetrios Leo, and he was fighting for a kingdom that might eat him alive.
Then the System hit him with a gut punch, its tone colder than ever: Alert: Grand Prince Alaric's condition critical. Physicians report decline. Contingency: 'Sovereign Succession.' Prepare for full power. Expect challenges from ducal factions. New objective: Secure the capital, lock down the Royal Guard, brace for the Grand Prince's death.
The room seemed to tilt. His father was dying. The flimsy regency title he'd been hiding behind was about to become real, and with it, the full weight of the wolves circling. The victory over Thornecroft felt like a pebble against a storm.
Alexius stood, his legs unsteady, staring into the dying fire. The game had just gotten bigger, scarier, and he was out of cheat codes. But he'd drawn first blood, and that had to count for something. The fight for Leo wasn't over—it was just starting. (Continue…..)