The woodshed was a frigid container, but Kael burned.
He sat cross-legged on filthy straw. A rough bandage bound his left forearm. His ribs ground together with every breath. He pushed the pain aside. His eyes locked onto the soft blue glow.
[ AETHER POINTS: 6 ] [ UPGRADE AVAILABLE: ADEPT ] [ COST: 5 AETHER POINTS ]
[ INITIATING NEURAL REWRITING… ]
Pain spiked through his skull.
Kael gasped, his brain seizing as if plunged into ice water. Nerves misfired, dragging his arms through parries and thrusts he had never practiced. The System engraved centuries of bloodshed directly into his cerebellum. He saw phantom blades. He felt the weight, drag, and balance of metal through a hundred lethal angles.
Then—silence.
Kael exhaled. Steam curled off his damp skin. He reached for his dagger. It felt different. Before, it had been a tool held in a hand. Now it felt anchored to his bone. He didn't need to align the blade; his wrist found the killing line automatically.
He closed the interface. He was ready.
The next morning, the scream of a grinding wheel cut through the icy air.
Inside the Armory, sparks sprayed against dull iron. Men shouted over the din of hammers straightening dented plates. As a newly minted Squad Leader, Kael bypassed the heavy claymores. He pulled a standard-issue short sword from the rack. Dull grey steel. Balanced. He strapped the scabbard to his waist.
"Squad Kael! Fall in!"
Ten recruits shuffled into a ragged line behind him. They looked skittish. They checked their bootlaces; they looked at the trees; they looked anywhere but at him. They were praying for an easy patrol—and terrified that their new leader, the "twig," would get them killed.
Master Garric paced the formation. "Sector Four. The Whispering Woods. Reports of corrupted wolves pushing south." His gaze slid to Bronn. "You work in tandem. Do not separate beyond shouting distance."
Bronn nodded. He patted the haft of his heavy bearded axe. "Don't worry, Master. I'll keep an eye on the little twig."
The forest was dead.
Trees stood like grey skeletons, leaves coated in oily residue. No birds sang. Only the wet crunch of boots through rotting underbrush.
Kael took point. He ignored the shadows of the trees. His eyes stayed fixed on Bronn's squad, moving fifty yards to his east. Bronn signaled two of his recruits—big, ugly men who moved with the heavy gait of roadside thugs.
Two hours in, the terrain split into a jagged ravine choked with fog. "Hold up!" Bronn shouted, jogging over. "The fog's too thick," Bronn said loudly. "I'll take my squad down low. You take the ridge to scout. We meet at the old watchtower."
Kael looked at the ridge. It was a dead end. A kill box. He looked back at his own squad. They were huddled together, cold and indifferent. If a fight broke out here, right now, they wouldn't lift a finger. They would watch Bronn's eleven men butcher him. 1 vs 11 was suicide. 1 vs 3 on the ridge was a chance.
Kael met Bronn's eyes. "Agreed."
He turned to his squad. "Hold position. If I'm not back in twenty minutes, fire a flare." "But sir—shouldn't we cover you?" a young recruit asked. "No. Stay." They didn't argue. Kael vanished into the fog alone.
Kael counted. One. Two. Three. Heavy boots crunched on the gravel behind him. Three sets.
He kept his stride even, letting the sound draw closer. Ahead, the ridge ended in a wall of jagged wet stone. Kael planted his boots in the mud and wheeled around.
Bronn emerged from the mist, his two lackeys flanking him, weapons drawn. "Lost your way, Squad Leader?" Bronn sneered. "Dangerous ground."
"Garric will inspect the bodies," Kael said quietly.
"Garric will find a recruit torn apart by wolves." Bronn jerked his chin. "Break his legs first."
The two men lunged—wide, sloppy swings meant to overwhelm.
Yesterday, Kael would have died. Today, he saw every mistake.
Kael stepped in. The first lackey swung a broad horizontal chop. Kael dipped beneath it, the blade hissing past his hair. As he rose, he thrust. The short sword drove like a piston into the unarmored armpit, sliding between ribs. Punctured. Blood bubbled from the man's mouth as his lung collapsed, drowning him instantly.
Kael seized the dying man by the collar and spun him around. Thud. The second lackey's strike buried itself in his partner's back. The weapon was stuck. The second man yanked at the hilt, panic widening his eyes.
"Out of my way!" Bronn roared. He charged, shoving his own confused man into the mud to get a clear shot. Bronn barreled through, rage overriding sense. The axe came down—pure killing force.
Kael read the arc. The mass. The commitment. He didn't block. He vanished.
Kael slipped to the left just as the steel split the air where his head had been. Wham. The heavy axe head buried itself deep into the wet earth, missing Kael by inches. Bronn lurched forward, carried by his own momentum. His chest was wide open.
Kael pivoted. Slash. A clean line opened Bronn's thigh. Slash. Another across the forearm.
Bronn howled, letting go of the axe handle as tendons parted. He dropped to his knees, clutching his ruined leg. The second lackey, seeing his leader crippled and his partner gurgling in the mud, scrambled backward into the fog, abandoning the fight.
The second lackey, seeing his leader crippled and his partner gurgling in the mud, scrambled backward. He didn't check on Bronn. He turned and sprinted blindly into the grey fog.
Kael didn't chase. He stood still, regulating his breathing. One.Two.
"AAAAH—!" A high-pitched scream tore through the mist from twenty yards away. It was cut short by a wet crunch—the sickening sound of flesh tearing and bone snapping.
Then, silence.
Kael looked down at Bronn. "Looks like he found them for us."
Bronn stared up at him, eyes bulging, trying to stem the bleeding with shaking hands. "You…" Bronn wheezed. "You're just a recruit…"
Kael didn't answer. He raised the blade to finish it. Crack. The bushes shifted.
[ WARNING: HIGH THREAT DETECTED ]
[ MULTIPLE HOSTILES ]
[ TYPE: CORRUPTED WOLF PACK ]
Red eyes burned through the fog. The wolves emerged. They were wrong—fur sloughed away to reveal oily muscle. Their muzzles were already stained with fresh blood—the blood of the runner. Now, they locked onto the kneeling man bleeding in the mud.
Bronn turned, terror hollowing his face. "Kael…" he begged. "Help me—please!"
Kael looked at the wolves. Then at Bronn. He sheathed his sword. "Accidents happen in the wild."
He stepped back into the fog. The screams were brief. Wet. Final.
Kael descended the ridge. He drew his sword again. "Squad!" Kael called, voice calm and clear. "Hostiles on the ridge! Form up—we have wolves!"