Chapter 31 — Shadows of Betrayal
(Shadeblade POV)
The city had a way of whispering secrets long before anyone spoke. Today, those whispers felt like daggers, slicing between the cobblestones and into the marrow of my bones. My boney mask, cracked from left eye to cheek, felt heavier than usual, as if aware of the tension coiling in the alley ahead. Step lightly, I reminded myself. Fundamentals first. Survival second. Embarrassment optional—but probably unavoidable.
Selia perched on a nearby rooftop, eyes scanning like a hawk, dagger ready. "Skeleton," she called, grinning, "try not to trip into a betrayal today. It's bad for your… reputation."
Bran's booming laugh followed almost immediately. "Reputation? That fell out the window last time you cartwheeled over the crates."
I groaned beneath the mask. Tier‑2. Disciplined. And yet, somehow, comedy seemed to follow me like a shadow I couldn't outrun.
Mira's sharp voice cut through the air. "Focus, everyone. Contract target: minor merchant syndicate in the Northern Quarter. Expected interference: unknown. We move in tight formation. Shadeblade, you flank right."
Lysara moved beside me, her boots silent on the stones, her blade gleaming with cold precision. Unlike the last few missions, she would be fully engaged today. I could feel the weight of her presence—a Tier‑3 late operative, calm, lethal, and perfectly synchronized with the team's rhythm.
Korran remained at the rear, expression impassive, eyes flicking over every shadow, every alleyway. Silent, cold, calculating.
The Northern Quarter was quiet, almost too quiet. That's when it hit—a scream from the rear, frantic and human. One of the mercenaries we had trusted for intel—Sylas, or so we thought—stumbled into view, blood seeping from a cut on his arm, eyes wide with panic.
"They're… not alone," he stammered. "The guild… they're here."
Before I could react, a squad of monstrous mercenaries—hulking figures twisted by unnatural strength—emerged, blades glinting in the dim light.
Step one: don't panic. Step two: don't trip… Step three: don't trip into a monster, Shadeblade.
The first creature lunged at me, massive claws aimed for my shoulder. I pivoted instinctively, swinging my sword. My foot caught on a loose cobblestone. Trip. Spin. Recover. Somehow, the stumble redirected the monster into Lysara's blade. The hiss of steel meeting claw was sharp, precise. She struck again, cutting a path between me and the next assailant.
Selia dropped from above, flipping over the first enemy, striking with lethal grace. "Still alive, Skeleton? Good. Comedy-tier intact!"
Bran charged like a battering ram, shield smashing into the monsters, sending them sprawling. Even Korran shifted slightly, precise movements, calculating angles of attack and retreat for everyone—his cold efficiency keeping us grounded in chaos.
I cursed beneath the mask as another creature swiped at me. Step. Pivot. Stumble. Slice. And somehow, my accidental stumble toppled a third creature into the wall, disorienting it enough for Lysara to finish it cleanly. Her movements were smooth, deliberate—her blade a silent promise of death to anything foolish enough to face her.
The alley became a storm of steel, shadow, and dust. Selia danced across rooftops and barrels, striking from unexpected angles. Bran laughed even as he blocked a strike, seemingly enjoying the chaos. Mira directed, precise, surgical, positioning us with minimal margin for error. And Lysara… Lysara moved like a shadow of intent, calm, deadly, and entirely reliable.
Through the chaos, the truth hit me like a blade: Sylas had betrayed us. The panic, the warning—it was part of a setup. And now, we were surrounded, tested not just by monsters but by human treachery.
The creatures advanced again. Step. Pivot. Swing. Stumble. Each misstep was a lesson—Volrag's fundamentals, painfully learned, guiding my blade. I twisted, slicing through a massive forearm, then fell prone, accidentally taking down a second creature in a domino effect.
Selia landed beside me, breathless, smirking. "See? I told you—your trips are weapons if done right."
I shot her a glare from beneath the mask. "Weapons that almost kill me."
Bran's laughter echoed. "Survival by slapstick. I like it!"
Lysara, moving with deadly grace, cut down two more creatures silently. Her presence allowed me to breathe, even if my knees protested every step. I realized I had been underestimating how essential her Tier‑3 timing and foresight were to keeping the team alive.
Mira shouted, "Clear a path to the back exit! Shadeblade, flank left—coordinate with Lysara!"
Step lightly. Pivot. Swing. Trip. Recover. The motions were becoming instinctive, chaotic yet controlled. Even without magic, without the power I could wield, I felt… alive, more connected to the battlefield than ever.
Korran's cold voice cut through the storm: "Betrayal is a test. Observe, react, survive. Fundamentals first. Humor optional. Efficiency mandatory."
I groaned beneath the mask. Humor was optional, yes—but apparently unavoidable when Selia and Bran were laughing beside me, the monsters sprawling, and Lysara silently, precisely, cleaning up any mistake I made.
Finally, the last creature fell, collapsing into a pile of crates with a final, wet thud. Silence returned, punctuated by heavy breaths and the soft clatter of swords settling.
Sylas, the traitor, was bound quickly by Mira. His eyes held fear, regret, and something else—shame. I didn't bother to speak. Betrayal had a face, and it was already locked in the city's shadows.
Selia smirked at me. "Tier‑2 Disciplined… still alive. Comedy still intact. Improvement noted."
Bran grinned. "And I didn't even break a sweat. Well, mostly."
Lysara gave a slight nod, silent approval passing through her gaze. No words needed. She had fought, protected, and proven herself indispensable.
Korran's hand rested on my shoulder briefly. Cold, precise, yet carrying the faintest weight of acknowledgment. "Learned more in this encounter than in a dozen practice drills. Remember every step, every stumble, every observation."
I exhaled, letting the dust settle beneath the mask. Tier‑2, Disciplined. Sword-only. Still human. Still clumsy. Still… surviving.
The city, the shadows, and the whispers of betrayal had tested me. I had stumbled, laughed, fought, and learned. And somehow, against monsters and treachery alike, Shadeblade and the crew endured.
The streets of Portscab didn't forgive easily. But today… we had earned a reprieve.