Chapter 14: The Price of Silence
The morning after the slaughter, Lance overheard Kross and Vale arguing behind the lead wagon.
"We have to pay him," Vale hissed, his usual merchant's confidence cracked by fear. "Did you see what he did to those bandits? What he could do to us?"
"That's exactly my point," Kross growled back. "He's not natural. That mask, the way he moves, how he..." The guard captain swallowed hard. "No one should be able to kill like that. Like he was dancing through them."
"Which is why we need to keep him happy!" Vale's fingers drummed nervously on his ledger. "A few gold coins is nothing compared to—"
"Compared to what?" Jest's voice cut through their conversation. Both men spun to find him standing there, the mask's eternal grin seeming to mock them. Neither had heard him approach.
"Ah, Master Jest!" Vale recovered first, though his smile was brittle. "We were just discussing appropriate compensation for your... assistance last night."
The shadow rat peered from beneath Jest's hood, its third eye pulsing lazily. Lance felt amusement ripple through their link as the merchant's fear spiked higher.
"I told you, I have no need for gold," Jest said softly. "But there are two things I do require."
[Would you like me to continue with the negotiation scene?]Chapter 14: The Price of Silence
The morning after the slaughter, Lance overheard Kross and Vale arguing behind the lead wagon.
"We have to pay him," Vale hissed, his usual merchant's confidence cracked by fear. "Did you see what he did to those bandits? What he could do to us?"
"That's exactly my point," Kross growled back. "He's not natural. That mask, the way he moves, how he..." The guard captain swallowed hard. "No one should be able to kill like that. Like he was dancing through them."
"Which is why we need to keep him happy!" Vale's fingers drummed nervously on his ledger. "A few gold coins is nothing compared to—"
"Compared to what?" Jest's voice cut through their conversation. Both men spun to find him standing there, the mask's eternal grin seeming to mock them. Neither had heard him approach.
"Ah, Master Jest!" Vale recovered first, though his smile was brittle. "We were just discussing appropriate compensation for your... assistance last night."
The shadow rat peered from beneath Jest's hood, its third eye pulsing lazily. Lance felt amusement ripple through their link as the merchant's fear spiked higher.
"I told you, I have no need for gold," Jest said softly. "But there are two things I do require."
"Anything!" Vale said quickly, too quickly. Kross shot him a warning look.
"First," Jest gestured to his scythe, "I need cloth. Good quality, enough to wrap this completely. A weapon like this draws... unwanted attention."
Vale nodded eagerly. "Of course! I have some excellent Silvermist silk that would—"
"Plain cloth," Jest cut him off. "Nothing remarkable. Nothing memorable."
"Ah. Yes, of course." Vale deflated slightly. "And the second thing?"
The mask's purple veins pulsed gently. "Silence. About everything you've seen. What I can do. How I fight." Jest's head tilted slightly. "Consider it a binding contract."
"Or what?" Kross challenged, though his hand shook slightly as it rested on his sword hilt.
The shadow rat chittered, a sound uncomfortably close to laughter. Jest reached up to stroke its head. "My little friend here has quite the appetite. And his family..." The mask's grin caught the morning light. "Well, let's just say they can strip a body clean in minutes. Even the bones disappear eventually."
Vale went pale. "You wouldn't—"
"I would rather not," Jest agreed pleasantly. "Which is why I'm also offering something in return. Beyond sparing your lives, of course."
"I need an introduction in Graybourne," Jest continued, his voice maintaining its pleasant tone that somehow made his words more menacing. "To a blacksmith. Someone who can craft a more... conventional weapon. Something that won't raise questions."
Vale latched onto this normal business request like a drowning man to driftwood. "Yes! Yes, I know just the person. Roland Ironweave - best smith in Graybourne. He's crafted pieces for my personal guard for years."
"And discrete?"
"Very," Vale assured quickly. "Especially for the right price."
The shadow rat's third eye pulsed. "HE SPEAKS TRUTH, MASTER. HIS HEART RACES, BUT NOT FROM LYING."
Jest nodded slowly. "Then we have a deal. You'll both keep silent about what you've witnessed, I'll accept payment in the form of an introduction, and everyone stays... intact." He paused deliberately. "Do remember though - my little friend here has siblings in every shadow. They'll be watching. Always watching."
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Kross's jaw clenched, but he nodded stiffly. Vale practically bounced with relief.
"Excellent!" the merchant exclaimed. "I'll have that cloth brought to you immediately. Plain, as requested. And when we reach Graybourne—"
"You'll make the introduction and then forget you ever met me," Jest finished for him. "A profitable arrangement for everyone."
As the two men hurried away, Lance opened his status window, curious about what he'd gained from the previous night's slaughter.
[Status Update]
Skills Absorbed from Bandits:
- Basic Swordsmanship Lv.2 (Multiple sources combined)
- Archery Fundamentals Lv.1
- Dual Blade Techniques Lv.1
- Stealth Movement Lv.2 (Multiple sources combined)
- Combat Awareness Lv.1
[Superior Agility Skill Maximum Exceeded]
Conversion: Extra experience converted to 3 Skill Points
Note: Further gains will convert automatically
[Physical Integration Complete: 100%]
Reward: +5 to all attributes
Current Status:
- Vitality [20]
- Strength [17]
- Dexterity [25]
- Agility [17]
- Magic [12]
- Intelligence [13]
- Stamina [19]
- Luck [14]
[Soul Integration Progress: 97%]
Warning: Final integration may trigger memory restoration
Lance leaned back against a wagon wheel, processing both his gains and his feelings about them. The shadow rat curled in his lap, its third eye half-closed in contentment.
"I should feel something," he mused quietly. "Guilt. Remorse. Something about killing twelve men." He flexed his fingers, remembering the fluid grace of his scythe work. "But all I feel is... satisfaction."
The rat's eye pulsed gently. "THE KING SAYS DEATH CHANGES ALL WHO EXPERIENCE IT, MASTER. ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO RETURN."
"More than that," Lance continued. "I enjoyed it. The precision. The power. The fear in their eyes when they realized what was happening." He paused. "But I don't feel the need to seek it out. No bloodlust, no driving urge to kill. Just... appreciation when it's necessary."
"Perhaps," Lance whispered, "that's what makes me more dangerous. I don't kill from passion or rage. It's just... efficient."
The shadow rat's third eye opened fully. "THE KING SAYS THIS IS WHY THE DEEP PLACES CHOSE YOU. COLD PRECISION. CALCULATED POWER."
Lance watched the caravan's guards going about their duties, noting how they flinched whenever they caught sight of his mask. Even Kross, for all his bravado, kept glancing back as if expecting an attack.
"They see the mask and think 'monster,'" Lance mused. "They're not wrong. But they don't understand - I was made this way the moment that blade pierced my chest. Everything since then has just been... refinement."
The afternoon sun cast long shadows as Graybourne appeared on the horizon. A proper city, its walls gray stone and solid timber, smoke rising from countless chimneys. Large enough to get lost in. Small enough to matter in.
"TRADE CITY," the Shadow Rat King's voice echoed in his mind. "SEVENTEEN THOUSAND SOULS. THREE DUNGEON ENTRANCES WITHIN A DAY'S TRAVEL."
Lance smiled behind his mask. "Perfect."
Vale approached cautiously, carrying a bundle of plain brown cloth. "We'll reach the gates by sunset, Master Jest. I've arranged for Roland to meet us at my company's warehouse. He's... discrete, as requested."
Vale clutched the cloth bundle, hesitating before speaking. "There is... one other matter, Master Jest."
"Oh?" The mask's grin caught the fading sunlight.
"Roland's work isn't cheap. But I..." Vale glanced around, making sure Kross wasn't within earshot, "I would be happy to cover the entire cost."
The shadow rat's third eye fixed on Vale, reading the merchant's intent.
"Ah," Jest's voice carried a hint of amusement. "Looking to purchase future favor from someone of my... capabilities?"
Vale swallowed hard but pressed on. "One favor. That's all I ask in return. A single request, which you can refuse if you find it... distasteful."
Lance considered the offer. Having a wealthy merchant in his debt could prove useful, especially one who already feared him enough to be careful with such a favor.
"Very well," Jest nodded. "One favor, to be called upon at your discretion, subject to my approval." He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "But remember, Vale - choose your request wisely. You've seen what happens to those who displease me."
The merchant's relief was palpable. "Of course! Yes, of course. I wouldn't dream of... that is... thank you."
As Vale hurried away, the rat chittered softly. "CLEVER, MASTER. THE MERCHANT'S GREED EXCEEDS HIS FEAR. HE WILL BE USEFUL."
"Everyone has their uses," Lance agreed quietly. "Even those who think they're using you."
Graybourne's gates loomed before them as the sun touched the horizon. The walls rose forty feet high, solid gray stone topped with wooden watchtowers. Guards in blue and silver livery watched their approach with professional disinterest.
"Trading gate papers!" one called down.
Vale handled the formalities while Lance observed from the shadows of the last wagon. His wrapped scythe now looked like nothing more remarkable than a traveler's walking staff.
"THE CITY HAS GROWN SINCE YOUR BROTHER'S TIME," the Shadow Rat King's voice whispered in his mind. "NEW WALLS. NEW TOWERS. BUT THE DEEP PLACES BENEATH... THOSE REMAIN UNCHANGED."
The gates groaned open, and the caravan rolled into the city proper. The streets were still busy despite the late hour - merchants closing up shops, workers heading home, taverns beginning their evening business. Lance breathed in the scents of urban life: cooking fires, tanned leather, fresh bread, and underneath it all, the eternal smell of too many humans living too close together.
"My warehouse is in the Trader's District," Vale said quietly as they passed through the main thoroughfare. "Roland will meet us there after dark. Less... attention that way."
Lance noticed how the crowds parted unconsciously around their group, people's eyes sliding away from his masked figure. The fear effect was subtle here, just enough to make him unmemorable. Just another strange traveler in a trading city.
Perfect.
Vale's warehouse occupied a respectable corner of the Trader's District. Two stories of solid stone and timber, with heavy doors and barred windows. Guards in the merchant's colors patrolled the perimeter, though they kept their distance from Jest.
Inside, among crates of exotic goods and rolls of expensive fabric, a man waited. Roland Ironweave stood like his name suggested - tall, solid, with arms thick from years at the forge. His beard was shot through with gray, but his eyes were sharp as he assessed Jest.
"So," Roland's voice was deep, matching his frame. "Vale tells me you need something... discrete."
The shadow rat stirred beneath Jest's cloak, its third eye reading the blacksmith. "HE HAS FORGED FOR KILLERS BEFORE, MASTER. MANY TIMES."
"Something conventional," Jest replied, unwrapping a small portion of his scythe. Just enough to show the quality of the Shadowsteel. "But worthy of the metal I'll provide you."
Roland's eyes widened at the sight of the black metal. His fingers twitched, a craftsman's instinct to touch such rare material. "That's... I haven't seen work like that in..." He caught himself. "What did you have in mind?"
Roland ran his fingers over the edge of the exposed Shadowsteel, careful not to actually touch it. "Purple blades, you say?" His eyes lit with professional interest. "That's possible, but complex. You'd need Void-touched iron from the deep mines - it takes on color when properly forged. And for that sheen..." He gestured to Lance's current scythe. "Nightfall steel would work for the handles. Rare stuff, but it drinks in light just like this."
"Materials and locations," Jest prompted.
"The Void-touched iron..." Roland stroked his beard thoughtfully. "There's a deep mine three days north. Karrick's Descent. They find veins of it sometimes, but it's not cheap. As for Nightfall steel..." He hesitated. "That's trickier. It's not mined - it's found in old ruins, remnants of forgotten forges. There's supposed to be some in the Howling Depths dungeon east of here."
The shadow rat's third eye pulsed. "THE KING KNOWS THESE PLACES, MASTER. BOTH STILL CONNECT TO THE DEEP NETWORK."
"And if I provide these materials?" Jest asked.
Roland's eyes gleamed. "Then I'll craft you weapons that'll make death itself envious. But..." He glanced at the wrapped scythe again. "What size were you thinking?"
"A matched pair," Jest said, his fingers tracing dimensions in the air. "One full-size, about six feet - balanced for sweeping attacks. The other half that, for close work." He paused. "And I want them to complement each other. When held together, they should look like parts of a whole."
Roland nodded slowly, already sketching on a scrap of parchment. "Twin crescents, maybe. The larger blade flowing into the smaller... Yes, I could work with that. With those materials, they'd seem to drink in light, except for that purple edge." His eyes gleamed with creative fire. "Give me the materials and three days. I'll make you something legendary."
After finalizing arrangements with Roland and Vale, Jest stepped out into Graybourne's night. The city had transformed in the darkness. Lanterns cast pools of light that only made the shadows deeper. Perfect hunting grounds for his rat scouts.
Standing on the warehouse roof, Lance surveyed his new territory. Three dungeons within reach. Two mines holding materials he needed. And a city full of people who had never heard of the Shadow Warren or its master.
The shadow rat's third eye pulsed as it detected movement below - guild adventurers heading home from a day's work, merchants counting their coins, guards making their rounds. All of them unaware of what had just entered their city.
"THEY KNOW NOTHING OF THE DEEP PLACES HERE," the Shadow Rat King whispered in his mind. "NOTHING OF TRUE POWER."
Lance smiled behind his mask, watching the city's lights flicker like stars fallen to earth. "Then perhaps it's time they learned." He felt the familiar stirring of the curse in his blood, a warning and a challenge. "After all... what better place to build my legend than a city that still believes dungeons can be conquered?"
Below him, in the depths that even Roland didn't know existed, something ancient stirred. The curse might be watching, but so were the deep places.
And they remembered their king.