Kelross loomed on the horizon like a fortress of stone and steel. High walls ringed the city, banners snapped in the wind, and caravans clogged the gates, bringing wares from across the continent. The Hero's party drew stares as they entered—adventurers always did, but a party led by the "Chosen Hero" was enough to send whispers rippling through the crowd.
Aldric drank in the attention like fine wine. He lifted his chin, cape trailing, announcing himself at every step as though the cobblestones were his stage. Garron strode proudly beside him, shield on his back, trading friendly waves with militia men. Serenya ignored the gawkers entirely, gliding forward like a shadow wrapped in silk. Lyria smiled gently, offering blessings to the children who reached for her hand.
And Kael trudged behind them, laden with their packs. The villagers hardly noticed him—another servant, another porter. Invisible. Exactly as he wanted.
But the city wasn't all admiration. Kael's eyes scanned the alleys and rooftops. This place pulsed with more than commerce—he caught the signs immediately: coded marks etched into doorframes, beggars with too-sharp eyes, patrols that lingered too long in the same place. Blackreach had taught him the trade of shadows. Kelross had its own guild, and it was watching.
He would have to be careful.
The party's first stop was the guildhall. Adventurers bustled through the massive building, the air thick with sweat, ale, and the clatter of arms. A wall-sized board listed quests ranging from herb collection to dragon-slaying, and behind the counters, guild staff scrambled to handle the flood of paperwork.
Aldric slammed his palm on the counter. "I am the Hero Aldric Veylen, chosen of the Goddess. Give us your most dangerous quests!"
The receptionist—a tired-looking woman with ink-stained fingers—did not look impressed. She adjusted her spectacles, scanning him up and down. "Dangerous quests require registration, proof of rank, and—"
"Do you not know who I am?" Aldric interrupted, indignant. "I have slain goblins, wolves, a warg! I carry the fate of mankind!"
Serenya sighed loudly. Garron chuckled under his breath. Kael smirked faintly, setting the baggage down against the wall.
The receptionist's tone sharpened. "You are unranked. No guild record, no confirmed reports, no witnesses outside of your party. We don't hand out high-level quests to strangers who shout their names."
Aldric sputtered like a kettle on the boil. "This is outrageous!"
"Then start with something lower," the woman snapped, shoving a parchment toward him. "A frontier scouting mission. Bandits have been sighted along the northern trade routes. Confirm, eliminate if possible. Bring evidence. Complete it, and the guild will register your rank."
Kael's ears pricked. Bandits. In any city, "bandits" often meant mercenaries gone rogue—or worse, guild outcasts. He knew their type well. This mission wouldn't be simple.
Aldric, however, took it as an insult. "Bandits? That's beneath the Hero!"
"Then leave," the receptionist replied without looking up.
The knight clapped Aldric's back. "Come now, lad. A fight's a fight. Bandits'll do fine to sharpen the blade."
Serenya's lips curved in a faint smirk. "Besides, if you can't handle mere bandits, what chance do you have against the Demon Lord?"
That silenced him. With a dramatic sigh, Aldric accepted the parchment. "Very well. Let's end this farce quickly."
Kael picked up the bags again, concealing his grin. Bandits would be perfect. Perfect for testing his growing edge.
Two days north of Kelross, the trade road narrowed through wooded ravines. The perfect ground for an ambush.
Kael saw the signs first—broken branches, stones moved from their natural places, faint glints of metal hidden in brush. He slowed his steps, scanning. At least a dozen, maybe more. Well-trained, or at least organized. Not the sloppy rabble Aldric assumed.
The Hero, of course, strode forward with his sword slung carelessly. "Bandits! Come forth and face justice!"
Arrows answered.
The first volley slammed into Garron's shield, rattling it with sheer force. Another whistled past Aldric's head, nicking his cape. Serenya raised a barrier of shimmering arcane light, deflecting two more. Lyria cried out, dragging Kael down behind cover.
Bandits emerged from the treeline—masked, armored, blades gleaming. Not peasants with sticks, but hardened killers. Kael's eyes narrowed. These were professionals.
The Hero laughed. "At last! A real battle!"
He charged.
Kael's jaw tightened. Against goblins, Aldric's reckless bravery had been bluster. Against trained men with steel and strategy, it was suicide.
Sure enough, three bandits met him head-on, their strikes coordinated. Garron barreled in after him, shield high, roaring defiance. Serenya's spells cracked the air with fire and lightning.
And Kael?
He slipped away from Lyria's side, vanishing into the treeline.
He moved like shadow, dagger in hand, circling behind the bandit line. Years of assassination work guided his every step. He spotted the commander immediately—a scarred man in chainmail, barking orders while directing the archers on the ridge.
Perfect. Cut the head, and the body falters.
Kael crept close, unseen, unheard. The dagger glinted once in the dim light before sliding into flesh. The commander stiffened, gasped, then crumpled with his throat slit.
[Assassination Acquired] – Killing blows against unaware targets deal critical damage.
Kael melted into the brush as chaos rippled through the bandits. Without orders, their formation wavered. Arrows grew less precise, melee fighters hesitated.
The Hero's party pressed forward. Garron smashed one into the dirt with his shield. Serenya incinerated another with fire. Aldric finally landed a clean strike, cutting a foe down with radiant light trailing his blade.
Kael struck again from the shadows, silent and merciless. Each kill came easier, faster.
[Dagger Mastery Lv.4 → Lv.5]
[Stealth Lv.1 Acquired]
By the time the last bandit fell, silence reigned once more.
The Hero stood tall, chest heaving, sword bloodied. "Another victory for the chosen of the Goddess!" he proclaimed, raising his blade to the sky.
Garron groaned, sitting heavily on a rock. "Gods, lad, you'll get us killed one day with that charging."
Serenya's sharp eyes swept the battlefield. "Strange. Half their number fell from behind… slit throats, clean stabs. Not our work." Her gaze lingered on Kael, who was wiping his dagger on a fallen bandit's tunic.
He shrugged, expression neutral. "Got lucky again."
Aldric sneered. "Loader, don't pretend you were more than baggage. If you swung your little knife, it was chance, nothing more."
But Lyria approached him quietly, her hand brushing his arm. Her voice was soft, but certain. "Thank you, Kael."
Her eyes said what her lips didn't: I saw you.
Kael's lips curved faintly. He said nothing, but inside, his conviction hardened.
Let Aldric steal the credit. Let Serenya doubt, Garron laugh, Lyria wonder. Every battle, every night of training, [Develop] sharpened him further.
And when the day came—when the Hero's arrogance led them into ruin, when betrayal struck again—Kael would not die this time.
He would be the one deciding who lived… and who bled.