The silence in the courtyard is a shroud. The three bodies lie in pools of blood that slowly spread across the uneven cobblestones. The night wind rustles the dead leaves in a corner, a dry, fragile sound. It is the only thing that moves.
I stand in the midst of this carnage, my breath the only proof that I am still alive. The wave of power from reaching Level 4 has subsided, leaving behind a frightening clarity of mind. I look at my hands, covered in the blood of Loras and the others. I have killed. The reality of the act should crush me, fill me with disgust. But the only thing I feel is a cold logic. A problem was presented, and I solved it.
Now, a new problem arises: the bodies. They are the proof of my crime. If Caelan talks—and he will, screaming of monsters and sorcery—they will find the corpses, and I will be hunted like a beast. I cannot leave them here.
That's when the whisper of my skill becomes a shout. The hunger returns, not the physical hunger of an empty stomach, but a deeper, more primal hunger. The hunger for power. The scent of blood, of life fading, is an invitation. A call to feast.
The idea is monstrous. Devouring a monster is one thing. It's survival, a law of nature. But to devour a man... that is crossing a line. It's descending into an abyss from which one never returns.
And yet... what other option do I have? Try to drag them away and hide them? It's too risky. I would leave a trail. Making them disappear is the only logical solution. And my skill is the only tool I have for it.
I kneel beside Loras's body. His face is frozen in an expression of surprise and pain. In death, his arrogance has vanished. He is just a cooling piece of meat.
I place my hand on his chest, right over the wound I inflicted. I close my eyes and focus on my hunger, on the dark energy that lies dormant within me. I don't ask it to feed. I command it to devour.
The sensation is immediate and violent. A black energy erupts from my palm, sinking into Loras's body. It's not like eating. It's like absorbing. I feel his life force, his residual experience, being drawn into me. The body under my hand begins to... decompose. At an unnatural speed. The skin shrivels, the muscles disintegrate, the bones turn to dust. It is a horror show on fast-forward.
And as his body disintegrates, fragments of his life flood my mind. Not clear memories, but echoes, sensations. The arrogance of a young noble, the fear of his father, the taste of expensive wine, the feel of a sword in his hand...
A notification appears, burning in my consciousness.
You have devoured the essence of [Loras, Noble Acolyte].
Due to the level difference, no experience points were gained.
You have absorbed fragments of martial knowledge.
Your skill [Dagger Mastery (Rudimentary)] has been acquired.
A new skill. Not learned through training. Absorbed. Stolen from a dead man. It is possible. It is really possible.
In a matter of seconds, all that remains of Loras is a dark stain on the cobblestones and a pile of dust that the wind is already beginning to scatter. His clothes, his armor, his sword—it's all there, but the body is gone.
I retch. The backlash is violent. I double over and vomit, but there is nothing in my stomach. It is a dry, painful spasm. My body is protesting what I have just done. But my mind... my mind is fascinated.
I stagger to my feet. There are two left.
I repeat the process on the other two bodies. Each time, it is as horrific as the first. Each time, I receive a flood of sensations, echoes of lives that no longer exist. And each time, my new skill grows stronger.
Your skill [Dagger Mastery (Rudimentary)] has been strengthened.
Your skill [Dagger Mastery (Rudimentary)] has reached Level 2.
When I am finished, the courtyard is almost clean. There is the blood, of course, and the abandoned equipment. But the bodies, the most damning evidence, are gone.
I gather their swords and armor. I can't leave them here. I carry them one by one and throw them into the nearest sewage channel. The sound of the items sinking into the muddy water is strangely final.
I return to the scene of the fight. With a bucket of water found nearby, I wash away the blood as best I can. The cobblestones will remain stained, but in this dilapidated courtyard, no one will notice for days, or even weeks.
The work done, I stop in the middle of the empty courtyard. The adrenaline has faded, leaving a chilling void in its place. I look at my interface.
Name: Reinhardt Valdios
Level: 4
Experience: 22/400
Status: Fatigued
Skills (Passive):
Devouring Hunger
Night Vision (Low)
Camouflage (Lvl. 1)
Dagger Mastery (Lvl. 2): Your affinity with daggers increases, slightly improving your attack speed and precision.
I am stronger. More skilled. I have survived. But at what cost? I have crossed a line I can never uncross. The monster is no longer just in my gut. It is me.
I leave the courtyard without looking back.
My return to the barracks is that of a specter. I shed my armor and slip under my blanket. Sleep does not come. I close my eyes, but I only see the faces of those I killed, their short, useless lives flashing through my mind.
The next morning, the news spreads like wildfire. Three young nobles, close friends of Caelan Burix, have disappeared. They were last seen the previous evening. Caelan himself is locked in his quarters, refusing to speak to anyone, in the throes of what his servants call a "nervous breakdown."
The barracks are in an uproar. Patrols are organized. An investigation is launched. The officer who arrested me comes to question me.
I look at him with empty, tired eyes. "I saw nothing. I was confined here all night. Ask the others."
No one can prove otherwise. I am above suspicion. I am the victim, the weakling, the trash. No one imagines that I could have had anything to do with the disappearance of three armed nobles. The idea is simply too absurd.
The days pass. The initial panic gives way to a dull tension. The missing nobles are never found. Neither is their equipment. Caelan remains a recluse, broken by fear. The case becomes a mystery, a story the guards tell to scare each other.
I continue my routine. I work, I eat what little I am given, I endure the suspicious glances. But something has changed. No one dares to torment me anymore. My solitude has become a kind of shield. They don't know why, but they sense that something about me has changed. They fear me.
Every night, I return to the sewers. I hunt. I train. I devour. My level increases. My dagger mastery improves. The hunger is still there, but it has become more demanding. Shadow Rats are no longer enough. It wants more. It wants a richer, more potent essence.
A week after the night of the massacre, while in my training cavern, I make a decision. This life in the shadows, hiding in the barracks by day and the sewers by night, is not a long-term solution. I am merely surviving. I am not truly progressing.
Roxis has saved me several times, but I cannot depend on her. Elara has given me tools, but I must learn to use them on a real battlefield.
The barracks are a cage. Kryndal is a cage. To become truly strong, I have to leave this place. I have to see the world, face more powerful monsters, find other sources of power. I must become an adventurer.
But I cannot leave like a thief in the night. If I desert my post, even that of a miserable laborer, I will be a fugitive.
There is only one way to leave the barracks honorably, only one way to earn the right to travel.
I must pass the Adventurer's Guild trial. It is a notoriously difficult test, designed to weed out the weak and the dreamers. Many lose their lives in it.
But for me, it is not an obstacle. It is a way out. It is the beginning of my true ascent.
I will leave this cage, not by crawling, but by kicking down the door. And I will devour anyone who stands in my way.