Chapter 32.5 Continued — Trial of Loyalty
(Shadeblade POV)
The morning air carried a bitter chill, sharp against my skin beneath the mask. Tier‑2. Sword in hand. Disciplined. But the weight of the note, Sylas's warning, and the lingering shadows of last night pressed on my chest like an iron gauntlet.
Selia perched on a low wall, spinning a dagger idly, her grin forced, clearly masking tension. "Skeleton… you look like you've seen a ghost. Or tripped over your own morals."
I muttered under the mask, "If I trip over anything today, it'll probably be my honor."
Bran cracked a toothy smile, shaking his massive frame. "Honor or not, we're standing right here. You're not abandoning us. And if you do… well, I'd miss the chaos too much."
I adjusted my grip on the sword. Step lightly. Pivot. Fundamentals. Humor… optional.
The alley that had been quiet all morning now hummed with movement. Shadows stretched unnaturally. Figures emerged: hooded men, their faces obscured, but their weapons unmistakable. Sylas had brought reinforcements, no doubt.
Mira's voice cut through the tension. "Positions. Selia, flank left. Bran, block the alley. Lysara, cover rear. Shadeblade—"
I stumbled over my own foot, muttering beneath the mask. "Of course… I make an entrance."
Selia giggled. "And it's spectacular as always."
Korran didn't flinch at my clumsiness. "Step lightly doesn't mean hesitate. Strike with intent when opportunity arises. Fundamentals remain your shield."
The attackers closed in. Tier‑3, like my crew, but trained for subtlety and sabotage. Their first move was cunning: one lunged toward me with a short blade, while two others tried to bypass Bran to get at Selia and Mira.
I pivoted instinctively, blade slashing, only to trip over a stray rock. My stumble sent one attacker sprawling into his companions, domino-style. "I… meant to do that," I muttered beneath the mask, hoping the others didn't notice.
Selia leapt, silent as a shadow, her daggers cutting through the air with precision. Bran blocked a strike, swinging his shield like a wrecking ball. Lysara moved with lethal calm, intercepting anyone who dared approach the rear. Mira coordinated silently, positioning us perfectly, predicting enemy movements.
Even as I recovered from another clumsy spin, I realized: the battle was teaching me more than the sword ever could. Observation, improvisation, and trust—Volrag's lessons manifested in real-time, sometimes painfully… and sometimes hilariously.
A dagger grazed my shoulder. I stumbled, nearly face-planting again. Selia called out, laughter in her tone despite the tension: "Skeleton! That's your third spectacular trip today! Bonus points for style!"
Bran chuckled between swings. "You're a walking disaster… but it's working!"
I growled under the mask. Tier‑2 Disciplined… and somehow surviving Tier‑3 combat. Fundamentals, observation, improvisation. Step lightly, sword ready.
The fight escalated, attackers realizing I was not alone. Each misstep of mine became a tool: enemies tangled, momentum shifted, and my team adapted fluidly. Humor and chaos intertwined, turning potential disaster into unexpected advantage.
Then came Sylas, stepping forward from the shadows, sword drawn. "Decide, Shadeblade. Walk away, and we survive. Stay, and some of your friends… won't make it."
I gritted my teeth, refusing to let betrayal dictate my actions. Step lightly. Step carefully. Sword ready. Trust fundamentals. Trust my team.
With a sudden lunge, I attacked Sylas, blade striking true, non-lethal but decisive. He stumbled backward, startled by my determination. Selia and Bran flanked him immediately, Lysara covering, Mira coordinating. Korran's silent nod confirmed execution and judgment aligned.
Sylas scrambled, retreating into the alleys. "This isn't over, Shadeblade!" he hissed, disappearing like a shadow swallowed by night.
The fight ended almost as suddenly as it began. Breathing heavily, sword in hand, mask dusty and cracked, I realized: loyalty, discipline, and fundamentals had survived where hesitation and temptation could have failed.
Selia landed beside me, panting and laughing nervously. "Skeleton… you're alive. And hilarious. Mostly alive."
Bran slammed his hand on my shoulder. "Alive, slightly competent, and entertaining. Can't ask for more!"
Lysara's rare smile was quiet, precise. "Trust held. Morale intact. Survival achieved."
Mira adjusted a strap on her pack, still analyzing the alleyways. "Temptation tested, executed with fundamentals. We live to fight another day."
Korran finally spoke, voice low, approving. "Tier‑2 Disciplined, sword-only, clumsy, yet decisive. Fundamentals and observation preserved. Humor optional, but morale… essential. Lesson learned."
I sank to the ground briefly, mask cracked, dust-streaked, exhausted. Step lightly. Step carefully. Survive. Trust. Sword ready. Humor… optional.
Portscab was silent now, at least for a moment. The betrayal threat remained, but for now, the crew stood united, laughter and chaos tempered by trust, skill, and Tier‑2 discipline.
The sun climbed higher, illuminating the alleyways with a harsh, golden light. Shadeblade—clumsy, disciplined, loyal, and still very much alive—had faced the temptation of shadows… and survived.
Tomorrow would bring new trials. But today, we had won not through strength alone, but through trust, teamwork, and the discipline to step lightly even when the world tried to trip you.