I am Shadow, 9 arcs old. I am a metal golem imbued with a copy of Ren Drakemore’s soul, and I am a D-rank adventurer living in the city of Stonebrook.
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"Master Shadow!" calls a friendly, feminine voice from behind me, rising above the general din of activity in the Stonebrook Adventurer's Guild. There’s a distinct note of urgency in her tone.
The voice snaps me out of my intense focus on the quest board. I turn around. "Yes?"
"Down here!" comes the squeaky reply.
I glance downward to see the diminutive but ever-enthusiastic guild attendant, Iris, standing on her tiptoes, tugging at the hem of my cloak with one hand while waving above her head frantically with the other. Her long braid of red hair sways with the motion, and she’s looking up at me expectantly, her bright eyes wide with importance.
I tilt my head downward slightly. "How may I help you, Miss Iris?"
Without missing a beat, Iris drops her waving hand and reaches into the inner breast pocket of her uniform vest. She pulls out a neatly folded piece of parchment and holds it up toward me.
"This arrived this morning—an urgent quest from Lord Griswald, specifically addressed to you and Lady Maribel!"
"Thank you, ma’am," I say, carefully taking the letter from her hand.
It’s not unusual for Lord Griswald to leave quests for Maribel and me at the guild. In fact, he does so regularly, especially when the task is particularly urgent or difficult. These jobs often involve dealing with monsters threatening farmlands or providing protection for merchants handling the lord’s business. They also tend to come with decent bounties, so I’m not particularly surprised as I unfold the parchment and begin to read.
The note is brief but written in a wide, sloppy script, the quill pressed too hard against the parchment, leaving uneven strokes and smudges. It gives the distinct impression that Lord Griswald penned this himself in haste.
It reads:
**"Master Shadow and Lady Maribel, I order you to make ready and depart at once on the western road to Ashford. This morning, a wagon transporting slaves purchased from the Ashford market failed to arrive as expected in Stonebrook. Please find what has become of my two retainers, Sir Nickles and Sir Adams, my servant Diana, and the three slaves they were escorting. Do all you can to bring them home safely.
I will pay 50 silver coins for each person returned and 10 silver for the head of any beast or man responsible for harming them. So ordered.
Signed, Lord Griswald."**
I frown slightly. I know Diana. She’s the rabbit beastkin Ren and I have met several times before. A tall, slender woman with neatly tied black hair, always impeccably dressed in a well-kept maid’s uniform. She carries herself with a composed, professional demeanor, always polite and efficient.
She’s always been kind to me. I hope she’s okay.
"It's more missing persons…" I mutter to myself, glancing back at the quest board. Nearly half the available postings are for missing people.
"It does seem urgent, Master Shadow," Iris says, her tone gently prodding me toward action.
I nod, slipping the letter into my trouser pocket. "Alright, we’ll handle it."
"Good luck and stay safe, Master Shadow!" Iris calls after me, her voice cutting through the hum of chatter, clinking mugs, and laughter filling the guild hall. I give her a brief wave before turning toward the door.
I weave my way through the crowded guild hall, carefully avoiding the chaos around me. I sidestep a young man eagerly reenacting his "heroic" battle against a horned rabbit, duck under a recklessly swung spear, and step over a man scrambling after a runaway coin rolling across the floor.
With Stonebrook’s rapid growth, the adventurer’s guild has become just as crowded, now bursting at the seams like a hermit crab that has outgrown its shell.
Stepping out from the warm glow of the guild into the crisp winter air, I take in the sight of the bustling streets. The sky is a brilliant blue, but the chill in the air has wrapped the townsfolk in thick layers of wool and fur as they hurry about their business. The streets are more crowded than ever, filled with familiar faces, merchants, travelers, and settlers drawn to the town’s rising prosperity.
But I focus on a familiar one.
With sharp focus, I make my way toward Maribel, standing beside the dappled gray Huckleberry, and golden maned Buttercup hitched to their wagon. The two mares bask in the attention of a small group of children, eagerly feeding them correl-root with delighted giggles.
Maribel is engrossed in conversation with a young man clad in padded leather armor. His simple tunic, budget armor, and mismatched second-hand daggers, combined with his apparent youth, mark him as a novice adventurer.
By contrast, Maribel looks every bit the seasoned professional. Her sleek, form-fitting bodysuit is layered beneath a polished new chest plate, her two long, spike-like daggers sheathed on a well-crafted utility belt. A sturdy metal gauntlet encases each hand, and on her right wrist, a compact, wrist-mounted crossbow glints in the sunlight. Completing the ensemble, a thick cloak of mythril bear fur drapes over her shoulders, adding both warmth and protection.
Our recent success has afforded her the means to upgrade her gear, granting her both superior protection and the unmistakable appearance of a veteran. The contrast between her and the young adventurer is stark—one looks like an eager beginner, the other like someone who has walked through fire and emerged stronger.
“All of these people are from Cairndorn?” Maribel inquires, flipping through a stack of parchment sheets handed to her by the adventurer. “How many did you say there are?”
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“Nearly 200 people.” he replies, glancing up and noticing my approach. “Missing person quests started pouring in six arcs ago. Most have gone unfound, and the quests remain unpaid. The guild has just been stacking them up.”
As I come to a stop beside Maribel, she affords me a glance and a smile before looking back at the stack of requests.
“So you think they might be among those who immigrated to Stonebrook?” Maribel asks, holding up one of the sheets. The sketch on it depicts a young commoner boy, no older than ten.
The adventurer shifts his weight before greeting me. “Hey, sir. I’m Spencer, an adventurer from Cairndorn. I’m here looking for some missing persons. Do you mind taking a look at these pictures?”
“Do they have anything in common?” I ask, glancing over Maribel’s shoulder as she flips through the pages.
“Not really…” Spencer says with a shrug. “It’s a mix—some slaves, some kids from the commons, and a few escaped criminals.”
“Sounds like people no one IMPORTANT would miss,” Maribel mutters, a sharp edge in her voice. “So who’s posting the bounties?”
“The requests mostly come from other commoners, so the bounties are terrible,” Spencer admits darkly. “Individually, they aren’t worth my time, but if a bunch of them ended up here, it might add up to something.”
“How about you, Mr. Perfect Memory?” Maribel teases, handing me the stack of parchment. “Have you seen any of these people?”
I flip through the images rapidly, checking each face against the vast archive of memories. “I recognize a few of them from the capital,” I say, handing the parchment back to Spencer. “But none of these people have been in Stonebrook.”
“Damn. I guess I’ll just keep asking around,” Spencer groans, rubbing the back of his head.
“I wouldn’t waste your time,” I say matter-of-factly as I turn to untie the horses from the hitching post. “They’re not here.”
Spencer furrows his brow. “How can you be so sure?”
“Trust me, if Shadow says they aren’t here, they aren’t,” Maribel interjects with an apologetic glance at Spencer. “Sorry we couldn’t be more help.”
Hopefully, he takes my words seriously and searches elsewhere. Between my own observations and Ren’s ever-present bird puppets circling above, I have seen the face of every person in Stonebrook.
“Thank you for taking such good care of my girls,” I say to the children gathered around the horses. “But it’s time we get going.”
“Okay! Thank you, Mr. Shadow! Goodbye, Mr. Shadow!” they chirp excitedly, giggling as they skip away.
I gently pat Huckleberry’s head as I watch the children rejoin their mother and aunt down the road. Their mother catches me looking and offers a friendly wave. It’s strange—this feeling of knowing and being known by nearly everyone in this city. My mind still holds the lonely memories of a boy locked in a tower. I know those weren’t my memories, not really, but they still feel like they were.
Before I can dwell on the thought, Buttercup nudges my hand away from Huckleberry’s head, demanding attention. Huckleberry responds by parrying Buttercup’s nose away with her own, letting out an indignant snort.
“Hush, you two,” I say in mock sternness, though my free hand quickly moves to even out the head pats. “You’re both so spoiled.”
Maribel steps up beside me, reaching out to scratch Buttercup behind the ear. “What’s the plan for today, Shadow?”
“Griswald sent an urgent request this morning,” I say, turning to her. “Two of his retainers and one of his freed servants were transporting three slaves from Ashford last night. They never arrived. We need to set out immediately—there’s a chance they were attacked by monsters or bandits.”
“Alright, let’s go then.” Maribel wastes no time heading toward the wagon, moving with an effortless confidence that’s become second nature. There’s no hesitation in her voice, no lingering indecision like when I first met her.
She hops onto the driver’s seat with practiced ease while I follow more cautiously, careful not to upset the balance of the wagon. The frame groans under my weight, tilting slightly before settling. Once I’m seated beside her, I take the reins and gently coax the girls into motion, guiding the wagon westward, away from the market.
“What else do we know about the missing people?” Maribel asks, scooting a little closer so our sides touch.
“Griswald’s retainers, Nickels and Adams, are both retired Arcadian knights who served under him,” I explain, handing her the letter.
“Did you know them?” she asks, unfolding the parchment. Her expression immediately twists in confusion.
“Not personally, but all of Griswald’s retainers are knights he knew and trusted.”
Maribel squints at the letter. “His handwriting is terrible.” She mutters before her eyes flicker with recognition. “And the servant is Diana, right?”
“Yes, the rabbit beastkin maid. She’s the one who paid us on his behalf before.”
“She was nice… I hope she’s okay.” Maribel’s tone softens with concern as she tucks the letter into her pocket.
“Whatever happened to them, it happened somewhere on the road between Ashford and Stonebrook,” I say slightly distracted as I try to safely navigate the wagon through the crowded street and also focus on the birds eye view of the road ahead being transmitted to me telepathically.
The moment I received the letter from Griswald I had mentally tasked the bird puppet above to fly on ahead to scout the road to Ashford. I am worried about Diana and the others as well. Griswald and his household have been good to me and I badly want to pay them back for that kindness.
Ren also wants me to support Griswald’s way of governance.
“Heya… Shadow.” Maribel’s voice is quiet, carrying a hint of worry. She reaches behind us in the wagon, pulling out a thick, folded blanket before draping it over both our legs, shielding us from the winter chill.
“Yes?” I respond as the wagon rumbles forward, passing through the western city gate.
“You always seem to know exactly where to go for our quests, and I’m not asking you to tell me how but…” She trails off, hesitating, before leaning in to hug my arm.
After a pause, she finally continues. “Just tell me… are we going to find them in one piece?”
I don’t answer immediately. Instead, I focus on the vision my puppet relays from far ahead of us down the road. An overturned wagon, its wheels half-buried in the mud. Signs of a struggle. The mutilated bodies of the horses that had been pulling it. A second pass—lower this time. No human bodies. Just blood, a great deal of it, but none that I can confirm belongs to the missing.
My eyes narrow as I scan the scene more carefully. Footprints, many of them, circling the wagon. Some track through the blood, leading away. Shallow grooves scrape through the dirt—long, smeared streaks of red trailing behind them. Tell-tale signs of bodies being dragged.
I grip the reins tighter. There’s still a chance. They might still be alive.
“I don’t know yet,” I say honestly. “But I know where to look for clues… and I know there’s still hope.”
Maribel rests her head on my shoulder. “They were transporting slaves, right? The ones Griswald bought so he could free them?”
“Yeah. Rotten luck.”
I glance down at her, still leaning against me. “Aren’t you cold?”
“I’m fine with the blanket,” she responds absently.
“No, I mean touching me. I’m made of metal—I must be freezing.”
Maribel smiles, her eyes half-lidded as she nestles in closer. “Being lonely is a lot more chilling.”
Her words take a moment to sink in.
She was a lot like me when I met her—alone. I have distant, hazy memories of Willow’s touch, of the comfort she once gave me, but that warmth feels like a lifetime ago.
Maribel has been my only comfort for so long.
I must have been the same for her.
But how could I be? I am not even human.
And yet, I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy.
I hope that one day, I’ll be able to feel the comfort of her touch the way she feels comfort from mine.
I flick the reins, urging the girls into a faster pace. We’re only a couple of hours from the scene where our missing persons were likely taken, and every passing minute puts them further out of reach. The longer it takes to get there, the colder the trail becomes, and the less likely we are to find them alive.