Chapter 13: Path to GrayBourne

Lance stood at the dungeon's entrance, ready to begin his journey, when pain

Ancient Data Recovery: one hundredth of a percent

Warning: Temporal anomaly present

Note: Curse-related memory partially restored

The pain faded as quickly as it came, leaving Lance gasping. The Ring of Summolanced through his skull. He dropped to one knee, his vision blurring as memories crashed through his mind.

"The curse isn't just death, little brother." Adrian's voice echoed from somewhere distant, yet terribly close. "It's a chain, binding us to an endless cycle. Each time we remember, each time we grow too strong..." A bitter laugh. "Well, you've seen how that ends."

Memory Fragment Detectedning pulsed soothingly on his finger, as if trying to ease the aftermath of the vision.

"Time to check what I've gained," he muttered, opening his status window. His eyes widened at what he saw.

Status Window

Name: Lance Seraphis

Level: ten

Class: Unawakened

Current level cap: fifty. Full Unlock at Age eighteen

Attributes:

Vitality: Fifteen - health points, healing rate, resistance to toxins.

Strength: Twelve - physical power, lifting capacity, melee damage.

Dexterity: Twenty - Precision, weapon control, fine motor skills

Agility: Twelve - Movement speed, reflexes, balance

Magic: Seven - Mana capacity, spell effectiveness

Intelligence: Eight - Learning rate, skill mastery speed

Stamina: Fourteen - Energy capacity, fatigue resistance

Luck: Nine - Fortune in combat, increased chance of item drops and chance encounters

Available Skill Points: Fifteen

Note: Skill Points can unlock new skills or enhance existing ones

"MASTER," the Shadow Rat King's voice echoed from the darkness. "TAKE THIS ONE WITH YOU."

A smaller rat emerged from the shadows, its fur as black as midnight with traces of purple energy crackling through it. Unlike its brethren, this one had three eyes - the third opened vertically on its forehead, glowing with the same purple energy that pulsed through the dungeon's veins.

Familiar Detected

Name: Shadow Scout

Rank: E. Evolved from F through dungeon transformation

Special Abilities:

Shadow Meld

Telepathic Link Range: two-hundred fifty kilometers

Enhanced Intelligence

Note: Connected to Shadow Rat King's hive mind

"Through this one, I shall keep watch over you, Master," the Shadow Rat King rumbled. "It can hide in your shadow, emerge when needed, and relay messages between us."

The small rat climbed Lance's leg, settling on his shoulder. Its presence felt natural, like an extension of his dungeon's power.

Looking back at his status window, Lance focused on understanding his growth.

"Fifteen skill points," he mused. "And each one could either unlock a new ability or enhance what I already have."

Skill Point Usage Guide

New Skills: Three to five Skill Points depending on complexity

Skill Enhancement: One to three Skill Points per level

Combat Skills cost more than utility skills

Some skills require minimum attribute levels.

Note: Choose wisely - SP cannot be recovered

Lance stroked the three-eyed rat's head absently as he walked, considering his status window. "Ten levels from one dungeon. Though I suppose killing other humans might have accelerated that." He frowned. "System, explain attribute growth."

System Response

Attributes grow based on actions and usage:

Weapons training increases Strength and Dexterity

Running and dodging improves Agility

Taking damage raises Vitality

Casting spells develops Magic

Studying and puzzle-solving boosts Intelligence

Extended activity builds Stamina

Luck increases through survival of dangerous situations.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"So my high Dexterity comes from the scythe work," Lance mused, spinning his weapon experimentally. "Twenty points... no wonder it feels so natural now."

The shadow rat chittered softly, and Lance felt the Shadow Rat King's amusement echo through their link. "Something funny?"

"YOU MOVE LIKE YOU DID BEFORE, MASTER. THE BLADE REMEMBERS, EVEN IF YOU DO NOT."

Lance studied his remaining stats. "Fifteen skill points though. That's significant. System, show skill options."

Available Skill Categories

Combat Skills three to five Skill Points

Advanced Weapon Techniques

Combat Maneuvers

Battle Tactics

Utility Skills two to three Skill Points:

Stealth

Tracking

Survival

Enhancement Skills one to two Skill Points:

Physical Boost

Mental Acuity

Sensory Improvement

"And each one I buy would start at level one," Lance said thoughtfully. "Or I could enhance what I already have." He glanced at his shoulder companion. "Any suggestions?"

The rat's third eye pulsed. "THE KING SUGGESTS KEEPING SOME POINTS IN RESERVE, MASTER. THE ROAD TO GRAYBOURNE IS LONG."

"Graybourne," Lance tested the name. "Seven days' travel, if I remember the maps correctly. A trading hub big enough to have a guild hall, but far enough that news of the Warren won't have reached it yet." He smiled grimly. "Perfect place for a new adventurer to register."

"Oh, speaking of identities," Lance accessed another tab in his status window. "Let's see what I have to work with."

Camouflage Options

Equipment:

Mask of the Jester. Triple S Grade Item

Description: A twisted porcelain mask bearing an eternal grin

Effects:

Conceals user's true identity

Masks power level from detection

Causes fear in those of lower level

Grants immunity to mind-reading

Special Note: Gift from the Jester King

Warning: May cause unease in civilians

"A parting gift?" Lance murmured, pulling the mask from his inventory. It was beautiful in a disturbing way - white porcelain with red accents, its grin eerily similar to the Jester's own. Purple energy coursed through delicate veins in the material, pulsing in rhythm with his Ring of Summoning.

The shadow rat's third eye fixed on the mask. "A TOOL OF DECEPTION FROM THE MASTER OF TRICKS HIMSELF. FITTING."

Lance turned the mask over in his hands. "This could be useful in Graybourne. A mysterious masked adventurer would draw less attention than someone matching the description of a newly minted Dungeon King." He smirked. "Though the fear effect might be problematic in town."

Three days into his journey, Lance spotted a merchant caravan ahead. Five wagons, heavily laden, with armed guards walking alongside. His shadow rat stirred on his shoulder.

"THEY APPROACH, MASTER. SHALL WE AVOID THEM?"

Lance adjusted the Jester's mask, making sure his hood shadowed what the porcelain didn't cover. "No. Best to test how this persona works on strangers."

Mask of the Jester Active

Fear Effect: Minimal Target average level: five

Identity Concealment: Complete

Power Suppression: Active

As Lance—no, Jest—approached the caravan, the guards shifted uneasily. One, a broad-shouldered man with a scar along his cheek, rested his hand on his sword hilt but didn’t draw. His eyes flicked to the mask, then away, like he was afraid of staring too long.

"Hold!" the guard captain called out, his voice carrying years of authority. His eyes fixed on Jest's scythe, understanding flickering across his weathered features. "That's Shadowsteel work. Custom-made. Not the kind of weapon a common wanderer carries."

Lance tilted his head slightly, letting the mask's grin catch the light. "Very observant, Captain. Though I assure you, my weapon's origins are the least interesting thing about me."

The guard's hand remained on his sword hilt. "That's what concerns me."

The merchant leaned out from his wagon, silk robes rustling. His eyes darted between Jest's mask and the quality of his armor, clearly calculating. "Now, now, Kross, let's not be hasty. Clearly, our friend here is a man of... particular talents."

"Or particular troubles," Captain Kross muttered.

"I prefer to think of them as opportunities," the merchant said smoothly, though his fingers drummed nervously on the wagon's edge. "I am Gareth Vale, and my caravans run the length of three kingdoms. Always looking for skilled protection, especially in these... uncertain times."

"Call me Jest," Lance replied, amusement coloring his voice. "And while I appreciate the offer, Master Vale, I'm merely seeking passage to Graybourne. Though I'm happy to offer my protection until then."

"For a price, naturally," Vale pressed, ever the merchant.

"Only the latest news and gossip about the northern roads." Jest's mask seemed to grin wider. "Information can be more valuable than gold."

Captain Kross stepped forward. "And what exactly do you want to know?"

"Everything," Jest said simply. The purple veins in his mask pulsed faintly, making both men flinch. "Especially about dungeons."

Vale's eyes lit up with fresh opportunity, even as he shifted uncomfortably. "Ah, an adventurer then! Well, why didn't you say so? We've had several interesting rumors about new dungeons appearing in the north. Perhaps we could—"

"Sir," Kross cut in, "a word?"

Vale and Kross stepped aside, though not far enough to escape Lance's enhanced hearing.

"Sir, this isn't wise," Kross whispered urgently. "That mask... there's something wrong about it. And look at his equipment—Shadowsteel doesn't come cheap. Why would someone with those resources travel alone?"

"Precisely why we want him with us rather than following behind," Vale muttered back. "Besides, did you notice? No dust on his clothes, no signs of travel wear. Either he's just started his journey, or..."

"Or he's not what he appears to be at all." Kross's hand hadn't left his sword. "That's what worries me."

Lance cleared his throat softly, making both men jump. "If it helps your decision," he called out, deliberately showing he could hear them, "I have no interest in your cargo. But these roads can be... dangerous. Bandits, monsters, and worse things tend to avoid larger groups."

The shadow rat on his shoulder chittered softly, its third eye pulsing. "THERE ARE HUNTERS TWO MILES BACK, MASTER. FOLLOWING THE CARAVAN'S TRAIL."

"Especially," Jest added, his mask's grin catching the fading sunlight, "the group of bandits that's been trailing your caravan since midday."

Kross spun around, his hand finally drawing his sword. "What? How could you—"

"Accept my company or don't," Jest shrugged, starting to turn away. "But I would decide quickly if I were you. They'll attack at nightfall, and the sun is setting."

Vale and Kross exchanged rapid glances. The merchant's face had lost several shades of color, while the captain's had hardened into professional focus.

"How many?" Kross demanded.

Jest seemed to consider for a moment, though he was really listening to his shadow rat's whispered report. "Twelve. Well-armed. They've been herding you toward the narrow pass ahead."

"Twelve?" Vale's voice cracked. He turned to Kross. "How many guards do we have?"

"Eight," Kross grimaced. "And two are green recruits."

"Six veterans and two recruits against twelve bandits," Jest mused aloud, letting amusement color his voice. "Poor odds... for the bandits, if you accept my help."

The shadow rat's third eye pulsed. "THEY'RE MOVING CLOSER, MASTER. PREPARING POSITIONS."

Kross studied Jest for a long moment, his veteran instincts warring with his suspicion. Finally, he nodded sharply. "Fine. But you follow my commands, understand?"

Lance's laugh was soft and cold behind the mask. "Of course, Captain. I wouldn't dream of interfering with your... leadership."

Vale clapped his hands together, relief warring with anxiety on his face. "Excellent! Then it's settled. Perhaps we should discuss payment—"

"Sir," Kross cut him off. "We need to prepare. The pass is less than an hour ahead." He turned to Jest. "Can you fight in that mask?"

The purple veins in the mask pulsed slightly as Jest replied, "Oh, Captain... the mask is the least of what they'll need to fear."

"Right then," Kross addressed his guards, though his eyes kept darting to Jest. "Standard escort formation, but tighten it up. Tomas, Erik—" he nodded to the younger guards, "—stay close to the merchant wagons. The rest of you, eyes on the ridges."

Jest moved to the rear of the caravan, where he'd have the best view of their followers. The shadow rat slipped from his shoulder, melting into the growing dusk.

"Don't trust me to follow orders from the front?" Jest asked, amusement clear in his voice.

"I trust you exactly as far as I can see you," Kross replied bluntly. "And I'd rather have whatever you're planning happen behind me than in front of me."

"Wise man."

The caravan moved forward, tension building with each step toward the pass. Jest could feel the bandits moving parallel to them, his rat's eyes tracking their every move through the shadows.

"THEY'VE SET UP ARCHERS ON BOTH RIDGES, MASTER," the Shadow Rat King's voice echoed in his mind. "THREE ON EACH SIDE. THE REST WAIT TO BLOCK THE PATH AHEAD."

Lance smiled behind his mask. These bandits thought they were hunters. How quickly they'd learn they were prey.

"Captain," he called out, just loud enough to carry. "When the arrows start flying, you might want to keep your men close to the wagons."

Kross turned in his saddle. "What do you—"

The first arrow cut through the growing darkness.

The arrow never reached its target. Jest's scythe moved in a fluid arc, catching the projectile and sending it spinning harmlessly into the dirt. More arrows followed, but now the mask's grin seemed to glow in the twilight.

Combat Alert

Multiple Hostiles Detected

Six Archers level Eight to ten

Nine Melee Fighters level nine to twelve

Recommended Response: Lethal Force Authorized

"Get down!" Kross shouted to his men, but Jest was already moving.

The scythe sang through the air as he spun, deflecting arrows with impossible precision. Each movement flowed into the next, the Seraphis combat style turning defense into a deadly dance.

"Those archers are becoming annoying," Jest called out, his voice carrying an edge of the Jester's playful menace. "Shall I deal with them first, Captain?"

Kross, who had just witnessed Jest casually deflect what should have been a killing volley, simply nodded.

The shadow rat's third eye pulsed. "MASTER, THEY FEAR YOU ALREADY. THE MASK FEEDS ON IT."

Jest laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally through the passage. He leaped, his enhanced agility carrying him up the rocky slope as if gravity was merely a suggestion. The first archer barely had time to gasp before the scythe separated his head from his shoulders.

"By the gods," one of the bandits whispered, scrambling backward. "What is he?"

Jest moved like living shadow, his scythe leaving trails of darkness in the fading light. The second archer tried to draw his sword, but Jest's blade caught him in the chest, tearing through leather armor like paper. The third died trying to run, his fear feeding the mask's power.

Below, Kross and his men engaged the bandits who'd emerged to block the pass. Steel rang against steel, men shouted and died, but it was nothing compared to the slaughter on the ridges.

"Please," the fourth archer begged, dropping his bow. "We didn't—"

The scythe's arc silenced him mid-sentence. Jest crossed the gap between ridges in a single impossible leap, landing among the remaining archers like death incarnate.

"THEY BREAK, MASTER," the Shadow Rat King's voice purred in his mind. "THEIR TERROR IS... EXQUISITE."

The mask's purple veins pulsed with each kill, drinking in the fear of the dying. Jest's movements grew faster, more fluid, as if the slaughter itself was empowering him.

Down in the pass, Kross's men had managed to kill one bandit while losing two of their own. They fought defensively, protecting the wagons, unaware that above them, true horror was unfolding.

The last bandit leader, watching his men die one by one, raised his sword. "Demon! Face me with honor!"

Jest appeared before him, the mask's grin seeming wider, darker. "Honor?" His laugh made everyone, guard and bandit alike, freeze in terror. "You mistook the wrong caravan for prey."

The scythe moved once, twice, three times. The bandit leader fell in pieces.

Silence descended on the pass. Kross and his remaining men stared at Jest, their victory forgotten in the face of what they'd witnessed. Twelve bodies lay scattered across the rocky ground, most of them in multiple pieces.

The shadow rat emerged from the darkness, climbing back to Jest's shoulder. Its third eye glowed with satisfied malice.

Silence descended on the pass. Kross and his remaining men stared at Jest, their victory forgotten in the face of what they'd witnessed. Fifteen bodies lay scattered across the rocky ground, most of them in multiple pieces.

The shadow rat emerged from the darkness, climbing back to Jest's shoulder. Its third eye glowed with satisfied malice.

"Well then," Jest said, casually flicking blood from his scythe. "Shall we continue to Graybourne?"

No one moved. No one spoke. Even Vale, who had watched the slaughter from his wagon with calculating eyes, seemed unable to find words.

The mask's purple veins pulsed once more, and Jest felt something new - not just fear from the survivors, but a deeper terror bordering on worship. His brother's words echoed in his mind: "Each time we grow too strong..."

The shadow rat's third eye fixed on the setting sun, and through their link, the Shadow Rat King's voice carried a note of warning: "BE CAREFUL, MASTER. POWER DRAWS ATTENTION... AND SOMETHING IS WATCHING."

In the gathering darkness, Jest smiled behind his mask. Let them watch. Let them come.

The real slaughter hadn't even begun.