Chapter 34 — First Lessons of Humility
(Shadeblade POV)
The morning haze of Portscab hung low over the alleys, sticky with the remnants of last night's chaos. Crates lay overturned, scorch marks scarred the cobblestones, and the smell of Bran's overcooked breakfast—he insisted on celebrating our minor victory after the monster fight—mingled oddly with smoke and sweat.
I adjusted the boney mask, the crack across my left eye glinting faintly in the weak sunlight. Tier‑2. Sword-only. Disciplined. Clumsy. Still alive. Still learning. Still a disaster in motion. Today, however, something felt… new.
From the far alley came the faintest echo of measured footsteps. I stiffened. Step lightly. Pivot. Fundamentals. My sword slid slightly in its sheath. And then a figure emerged—tall, noble, crimson cloak trailing, with eyes sharper than a hawk's. A young man, face pale, expression rigid with pride. Tier‑2, I guessed, but arrogance practically radiated off him like heat from a forge.
Vaelric Dorn.
---
He had arrived under peculiar circumstances. A local merchant noble, he claimed, had sent him on a "diplomatic errand," though the tension in his eyes suggested he was used to commanding and being obeyed—not dodging danger in alleyways with mercenaries and monsters. Somehow, he had wandered into our path, running afoul of a minor gang skirmish we had been surveying. His arrogance nearly got him skewered.
Selia, perched atop a crate, didn't miss a beat. "Skeleton… we have company. A noble brat with too much pride and apparently no sense of survival."
Bran chuckled. "Oh, this'll be fun. Careful, Skeleton, or he'll trip over your chaos next."
I groaned under the mask. Step lightly. Sword ready. Pivot. Observation. Fundamentals. Humor… optional.
Vaelric froze a few feet away, scanning the group—Selia, Bran, Lysara, Mira, Korran, and me. "You… you are Shadeblade?" His voice was tight, trying to mask awe with indignation. "I've… heard rumors."
I muttered beneath the mask, "Mostly exaggeration. Some truth. All tripping included."
Selia grinned, twirling a dagger. "And spectacularly modest, of course. Welcome to the circus, noble brat."
Bran leaned forward, laughing. "Alive, dangerous, hilarious… and now confused, Vaelric. Step lightly."
Vaelric's face reddened. Pride battling embarrassment. That flicker of doubt—of humility—was barely perceptible but real. He realized survival wasn't guaranteed by lineage or arrogance.
---
Our new assignment that morning was deceptively simple: scout a minor syndicate hideout outside Portscab. Tier‑3 mercenaries, traps, and cunning guards. Nothing too monumental, but enough to test teamwork—and Vaelric's adaptability.
Mira laid out instructions with surgical precision. "Selia, flank left. Bran, main entrance. Lysara, rear. Shadeblade—you guide Vaelric. Keep him upright. If he trips, I expect minimal casualties."
Vaelric stiffened. "Guide me?"
I adjusted the mask, hiding a smirk. Step lightly. Sword ready. "Yes. Fundamentals. Trust. Observation. And if you trip… I may laugh. Minimally."
Selia laughed from above. "Skeleton mentoring a noble brat! I'm recording this mentally!"
---
Inside the hideout, danger waited in quiet shadows. Tier‑3 mercenaries, coordinated, aware. My first move: step, pivot, slash. I tripped over a stray crate, barely recovering. Somehow, this caused one attacker to collide with another, giving Selia the perfect opening.
Vaelric nearly panicked, sword swinging wildly. I shoved him gently aside. "Fundamentals, noble brat! Observe, adapt, don't flail like a fish caught on a hook!"
His eyes widened, pride clashing with reality. "I… see," he admitted, voice tight. "Even… chaos… can be precise."
I snorted. "Chaos optional. Fundamentals… mandatory. Now move!"
---
The battle was messy, chaotic, and occasionally hilarious. Every stumble, every accidental ricochet, every misstep became a teaching moment.
Selia whispered from above, daggers slicing silently: "Step lightly, Skeleton. And make him learn the hard way if necessary!"
Bran laughed, shield swinging, sending mercenaries sprawling. "Alive, funny, effective! And Vaelric's slowly learning… hopefully!"
Lysara's calm eyes observed every movement, her silence teaching through precision alone. Mira coordinated from shadows, anticipating threats, positioning us, and whispering instructions. Korran's gaze, as cold as ever, assessed, then nodded approvingly each time I executed a lunge or blocked a strike effectively, even if by accident.
Vaelric finally executed a clean strike, bringing down a mercenary. His expression shifted—pride softened, humility emerging. Skill without discipline was useless. Fundamentals mattered more than arrogance.
---
After the fight, the hideout cleared, we regrouped in a courtyard. Vaelric stood slightly behind me, chest heaving, pride tempered by reality.
"I… misjudged you," he admitted. "Your… discipline… your chaos… it works. I… need to learn."
I smirked beneath the mask. "Impressive? Or just clumsy disaster doing the job?"
Selia laughed, hopping onto a crate. "Both! Fifty points humility, minus twenty arrogance, plus one spectacularly dramatic Skeleton!"
Bran grinned. "Welcome to our circus, Vaelric. Try not to trip… yet."
Lysara's small smile: approval. "Observation, trust, adaptation. Humility acquired. Now apply it consistently."
Mira clapped lightly. "Coordination achieved. Morale intact. Team survived. Lesson embedded."
Korran nodded once, cold, precise. "Tier‑2. Fundamentals applied. Humor optional. Leadership emerging. Vaelric begins… adaptation."
---
That evening, we gathered around a modest campfire. Food was simple—dried meats, bread, Bran's overcooked stew—but morale was high. Vaelric ate silently, contemplative, his pride humbled but not broken. The first lessons of humility were harsh, messy, but effective.
I adjusted my mask, smiling beneath it. Clumsy, disciplined, Tier‑2, sword-only. Chaos, trust, humor, and now mentorship intertwined into the crew. Vaelric—noble, proud, now learning—had become part of our patchwork family.
Tomorrow would bring bigger trials. But today, the first cracks in pride had been made, and the noble brat had begun to understand what it truly meant to fight with a team.
Step lightly. Sword ready. Trust preserved. Humor inevitable with Selia and Bran around.
Shadeblade—clumsy, disciplined, loyal, and humorously disastrous—had survived another day… and begun teaching humility to a would-be noble.