Chapter 26 — Shadeblade's Slapstick Strategy
(Shadeblade POV)
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Portscab never failed to remind me that chaos had a sense of humor — and apparently, it had my face on the daily menu.
I adjusted the boney mask, crack running from my left eye to cheek, and muttered beneath it, "Step lightly. Avoid public humiliation. Step lightly. Avoid… public humiliation…"
Selia perched on a roof like she owned it, kicking a stray piece of debris down the alley. "Hey, Skeleton," she called, grinning, "if you trip today, make sure it's dramatic. Maybe a spin? Or a cartwheel?"
Bran's laughter echoed like rolling thunder. "Cartwheel? Oh, I'd pay gold to see that. Skeleton, point lost if you don't eat dirt at least once today!"
I growled beneath the mask. Tier‑2. Disciplined. Yet somehow, my legs still had the sense of betrayal. Step, pivot… trip.
The mission today was deceptively simple: deliver a message to a local noble without alerting rival gangs or drawing attention. I was trying to be discreet. I was trying to survive.
Step one: don't trip.
Step two: don't trip.
Step three: don't trip.
Naturally, my first step had me tumbling over a stray barrel, sliding three feet like an overcooked noodle before landing in a dramatically ungraceful crouch.
Selia's laughter drifted down: "Bravo! Ten points for panache! Minus fifty for dignity!"
Bran doubled over in laughter. "Skeleton! If there was an Olympic event for tripping while looking threatening, you'd win gold!"
I muttered beneath the mask, "I hate you all…"
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The alley erupted with movement — rival gang scouts, suspicious of our presence, fanned out like a poorly choreographed dance. Lysara whispered, "Watch out, Clumsy. Your next fall might be… spectacular."
I pivoted to dodge a swinging club. Step, pivot, slash… and tripped again. Somehow, this caused the gang member to stumble backward, crashing into another thug. The alley became a domino effect of accidental chaos.
Selia cheered from above. "I'm crying! You're a walking disaster AND effective! You might survive this mission!"
Bran's deep laughter shook the street. "Skeleton: Tier‑2 Disciplined… but apparently also Tier‑2 Comedy!"
Even Korran, calm as ever, smirked slightly. "You're reading the rhythm. Your fundamentals are solid. The tripping… is optional."
I groaned under the mask. Optional. Of course it was optional. Optional humiliation, that is.
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We reached the noble's courtyard. Mira guided the group with surgical precision, whispering instructions and positioning everyone perfectly. I tried to mimic her poise — and promptly stepped on a loose paving stone, twisting it underfoot and nearly face-planting.
Selia hooted. "Skeleton! You're an acrobat! Just… a very clumsy one!"
Bran clapped me on the back, nearly sending me sprawling again. "You know, if enemies can't beat you, they'll just laugh themselves to death!"
I scowled under the mask. Still Tier‑2. Still Disciplined. Still hopelessly clumsy. But somehow, in the chaos, I was learning rhythm, timing, and observation. Each stumble taught me about balance, momentum, and improvisation — Volrag's lessons manifesting in painfully comic real-world tests.
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Inside the noble's hall, things got serious…ish. The messenger we were supposed to protect arrived late, panicked, and tripped on my foot. I jumped aside, swung my sword instinctively — and knocked a vase off a pedestal. It shattered spectacularly.
Selia's voice floated in disbelief. "Shadeblade! You're like a walking calamity wrapped in armor!"
Lysara smirked. "A lethal, clumsy calamity. Watch your footing; it's… heroic chaos."
Bran laughed so hard he nearly fell into a chair. "I can't even be mad. It's brilliant. Chaos with style… sort of."
Even Korran, usually stoic, raised an eyebrow. "Accidental strikes were effective. Fundamentals intact. Perhaps you are Tier‑2 Disciplined, but now you are also Tier‑2 hilarity."
I groaned beneath the mask, tripping over the rug this time, barely catching myself against the wall. "I hate you all…"
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The mission concluded with minor injuries, a few bruised egos, and more laughter than anyone anticipated. Merchants and nobles were slightly terrified, slightly amused, but the message was delivered. Survival, efficiency, and humor had all combined in an accidental masterpiece of chaos.
Shadeblade — Tier‑2, Disciplined, and hopelessly clumsy — had survived another day, learning rhythm, observation, and the subtle art of tripping without dying.
Selia landed beside me, clapping once. "Congratulations. You're alive. Bonus points for comedic timing."
Bran grinned. "Alive, slightly competent, and entertaining. I'll take it!"
Lysara smirked. "Next time, try not to make enemies laugh before you kill them. Tone it down… slightly."
Korran's hand rested on my shoulder. "Good work. Fundamentals solid. Style emerging… even if comedy is involved. Keep learning, Shadeblade. The world is harsh, but humor is a weapon of its own."
And for once, I actually smiled beneath the mask. Chaos, clumsiness, humor, and survival — all stitched together into my life as Shadeblade, the Tier‑2 Disciplined disaster with a sword and no magic.