The dusty, dim confines of the Slayers Division archives was exactly the kind of work that kept Velos Rendhal out of sight and more importantly, out of mind.
He had grown accustomed to this work, and to him it was nothing more than a way to make a living while peace of mind was an option. Velos was a simple, yet well-kept young man. His brown hair fell loosely around his head, with a curtain that draped over the left side of his face. The back of his hair was tailed neatly into a braided ponytail, so as to keep it maintained despite its length.
Velos reached for another tome, flipping it with care as the door to the archives creaked open. A pair of men entered the archives, their boots thudding softly against the stone floor.
Slayers.
They were unmistakably rookies. Their clothing, while practical and well-worn, lacked the heavier embellishments and scars of seasoned veterans. Each wore a simple wooden badge pinned to their chest—a marker of their novice status within the Slayers' Division. The two rookie slayers appeared unusually clean, their faces free of the grime and exhaustion. It was clear they were here preparing, studying the lore and tactics of their foes before being thrust into the fray.
For a moment, there was only the murmur of conversation from the main hall and the soft rustle of his own work. Then he heard one of them speak.
"Isn’t that him?" the first voice asked, low but clear.
The second slayer cautiously, replied, "Yeah... That’s Velos Rendhal. Heard about him when I joined. He’s the one that… well, you know."
Velos’ hand froze above the parchment. He kept his head down, willing himself invisible behind the stacks of books. His body tensed as he made the effort to listen in.
"Thought he’d left," the first slayer said, his voice lowering into a conspiratorial whisper. "Didn’t know he was still around. Figures they’d tuck him away in a place like this. Safe enough here, I guess."
There was a pause before the other slayer asked in confusion. "I don’t get it though. How does someone like him get to stay? You hear the story, right? About how he… ran?"
Velos winced. He could almost feel their eyes on him now, though he dared not look.
"Yeah, I heard. His whole team, taken out. Three of them. And what did he do? Turned tail and ran. Coward," the first slayer spat.
Velos’ grip on the parchment tightened, crinkling the edge. He forced himself to stay still, to not react. His teeth clenched at the word. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, and it wouldn’t be the last.
"Coward," the word repeated in his mind, stinging sharper each time. But the shame he felt wasn’t from the act of running. He had been there, in the moment, standing amidst the carnage of his fallen team as the creature descended upon them like death in scales. The Rasudra had come from the shadows, and he knew from first hand experience the sheer lethality it was capable of. He ran because it was the only option left. The only way to live.
But none of that mattered. The truth didn't change how people saw him. Velos Rendhal, the coward who fled.
With a slow exhale, he carefully folded the parchment and set it aside. He stilled his fingers, shaking his head to clear the thoughts creeping in. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it—not now, not ever.
Velos took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as the two rookies murmured on. He was ready to return to the solace of his duties, to let the sting of their conversation fade like a distant whisper. Just as he reached for a stack of scrolls, the hard slam of a library door interrupted the silence, followed by the slow, deliberate steps of someone else entering.
Velos turned to see another slayer—a stark contrast to the neatly kept pair who had just walked in. This third slayer, despite also wearing the wooden badge of a rookie, had the unmistakable air of someone fresh from battle. His steel armor was streaked with grime and dirt, his helmet obscuring the upper half of his face, leaving only a stern, weathered mouth visible. He carried the smell of the field with him—sweat, mud, and something faintly metallic, perhaps blood.
The slayer’s head turned every so often, scanning the shelves like a predator tracking its prey. Velos glanced around, hoping the slayer was looking for something—or someone—else. But then the slayer’s eyes locked onto him, and a crooked grin curled on his lips. Velos noticed a sharp, unsettling detail as the slayer approached—his teeth. Jagged, angular, and more animal-like than human.
A shiver crawled up Velos' spine, reminding him of the way sharks circle their prey.
“Morning,” Velos managed, wiping sweat from his brow as the slayer reached the counter. “Are there any specific books you’re looking for?”
“Nah,” the slayer rasped, his voice low and guttural. The grin remained fixed, flashing those sharp teeth. Velos couldn’t help but notice the amber glint of the slayer’s eyes behind the helmet’s visor, watching him closely.
“Is there anything I can help you with, then?”
“Yeah,” the slayer growled. “I’m looking for you.”
Velos blinked. Of all the things he expected, this wasn’t it. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re Velos Rendhal, right? Rookie last year or something? Heard I’d find you here.”
Velos’ heart skipped a beat. What kind of rumor had spread about him this time? “That would be me, yes.”
“Good,” the slayer said casually. “I got a thing you can help me with.”
Velos didn’t appreciate being cornered like this, especially when the slayer assumed his compliance so easily. But there was something awkward about the slayer’s posture when he glanced around the room, then suddenly blurted, “You, uh… wanna sit somewhere?”
Velos paused. The odd mix of aggression and clumsy politeness threw him off. Maybe he wasn’t looking for trouble after all. “Sure,” Velos finally said. “Why not?”
Whatever this was, Velos figured he could always say no later.
—
The pair settled into one of the reading areas of the library. Despite the typical practice of removing armor before sitting, the strange slayer made himself comfortable, the metal plates of his cuirass clinking slightly as he adjusted his position. His grin remained fixed, even as he began explaining his situation.
“As I was saying,” he started, “I’ve got a promotional assignment coming up. If I pull this off, I’ll finally shed this rookie status and be recognized as a proper slayer.” He flicked his wooden badge, which dangled above his armor.
Velos listened, intrigued but wary. “Then what do you need from me?” he asked. “If it’s about research, I can point you toward slayer reports or bestiary entries that might help.”
The slayer leaned forward, cutting him off. “I want you on my team.”
Velos blinked in surprise. “Pardon?”
“Since you’re still a rookie, your badge won’t be revoked if you’re inactive. You’d still be considered a slayer. Help me with this mission, and you can go back to your archives afterward,” the slayer explained. He was concise enough for Velos to understand that he'd thought this offer through, and that he had done his research on Velos.
Velos raised an eyebrow. “Why can’t you do this alone?”
“Two reasons,” he replied. “First, I’m not allowed to take on this promotional alone. It’s a requirement.” He paused, glancing around as if gauging Velos’ reaction. “Second, the assignment is to capture a Darau. I’ve heard it’s some sort of pack animal. And I'm supposed to use the tools provided by command.”
“I see. So, you need someone with knowledge to help you forage and set up traps?”
“Exactly,” The slayer confirmed, rubbing his chin. “I’m an idiot when it comes to improvisation. If things go well, you won’t have to do any fighting.”
Velos noticed that other rookie slayers were subtly avoiding the man's table, their discomfort palpable. The stark contrast between his rough appearance and the neatness of the library seemed to make him an outlier.
Trying to regain control of the conversation, Velos asked, “I don’t believe I’ve caught your name.”
“Just Sterling,” the slayer replied casually, his teeth flashing sharply as he spoke.
"Right, Sterling," Velos hesitated. “I’m not really interested in returning to slaying. Assistant archivist suits me just fine. I can help you find resources that—”
“Hold on.” Sterling interrupted, rummaging through his belt and pulling out a small scroll. He tossed it to Velos, who fumbled to catch it among the scattered papers. “That’s a duplicate of my slayer’s record. It includes my quarters. If you change your mind, come find me. I’m not hard to locate.”
The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Before Velos could respond, Sterling stood up, offering a nonchalant salute. “See ya’ around, Velos Rendhal.” With that, he turned and walked out.
—
As the final embers of afternoon light dwindled, the Slayers' Division library grew quieter, with slayers gradually vacating the space. The section Velos was in would soon be closed for the night, accessible only to those with proper clearance. His mind was firmly occupied by the scroll he had just opened, one that supposedly carries the information one would need to know about this strange Sterling.
SLAYER IDENTIFICATION SCROLL
Issued by the Covenant’s Slayers Division
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Personal Information
* Name: Sterling
* Date of Induction: 3rd day of Amagios, 2nd Year of Emperor Harlos III
* Place of Birth: Stonehaven, South Tanpato
* Status: Active
* Current Residence: Watchtower III, North Sector
Rank and Division
* Current Rank: ☐ (Markless)
* Assigned Unit: N/A
* Years of Service: N/A
* Recorded Infractions: 2 Recorded Infractions
Combat Information
* Total Missions Completed: 2
* Total High-Threat Monsters Defeated: 0
* Weapon Proficiencies: Great Axe
* Additional Skills: Heavy Weaponry Training
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Approved by Deputy Commander Shovi Aradne
Property of the Covenant, Slayers Division
Velos quietly sat by the seams of torchlight as he read, and was so fixated he didn't notice his colleague enter the room.
Derek was a fellow archivist's assistant. A bespectacled man barely a year older than Velos, with short blonde hair combed to the back befitting of his orderly duties. He carried with him a single envelope wrapped in red and blue ribbon-like cords, as a letter had been sent to the Slayers Division’s archives with Velos Rendhal’s name on it. Though it seems at that moment, said recipient was fixated with a document of his own. As Derek greeted him, Velos barely acknowledged the greeting, his eyes locked on the scroll.
Derek began tidying up the space, adjusting misplaced chairs and realigning books. He glanced over at Velos with curiosity, noticing his intense focus on the scroll.
“Do you know a slayer named Sterling, Derek?” Velos asked, finally looking away from his document.
"I might," replied Derek, aloof. "But I have something for you if you're done wasting time."
"Just take a look at this first," Velos persisted, pushing the identification scroll towards him.
Derek approached and peered over Velos' shoulder, brushing against piles of unsorted books in his archivist's coat. It didn't take long for him to recognize the name Sterling.
"I know him," Derek confirmed.
"You do? Can you tell me about him?" Velos leaned closer. He was always a good listener, which made it difficult for Derek—who wanted nothing but to hear the sound of his own voice after hours of menial subservience—to unload everything he knew onto his junior.
"Sterling is quite infamous. He's a rookie slayer with only two successful hunts under his belt. Despite that, he has an impressive combat record. However, he was recently released from suspension."
Velos' curiosity turned to concern at the mention of suspension.
"Why was he suspended?"
"Improper equipment maintenance and minor conduct issues," Derek explained. "Apparently, he broke crucial supplies during a mission and got into a brawl with other slayers on his team."
Velos' eyes shifted. "A hotheaded one, it seems."
Derek nodded. "Exactly. We must be cautious when dealing with someone like him."
Velos processed this information, trying to piece together a profile of Sterling as an individual. Reckless, dangerous, someone who puts their colleagues at risk out of sheer stubbornness or arrogance. Velos had seen plenty of slayers like that before. But if Sterling was being considered for a promotion, there must be something the Committee saw in him – perhaps they viewed him as a powerful weapon they could control and point in the right direction.
"What happened during his last mission?" Velos asked.
"It went smoothly, according to the reports. Just a typical request to deal with some aggressive animals terrorizing the locals." Derek recalled vague details he had heard from other rookies.
"But here's something interesting," he added, adjusting his glasses. "Sterling was the only one who didn't get injured on that mission. He has a remarkable combat record."
Velos stared at Derek, trying to make sense of this information. A reckless and unpredictable slayer, yet also skilled and successful. It was a strange combination.
Inwardly, Velos knew he wasn't cut out to be a slayer himself. But perhaps he could use his expertise as a field guide for Sterling during the promotion – if things went well, that is. After all, he couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to Sterling than met the eye.
"Velos, are you alright?" Velos snapped out of his trance when Derek's voice interrupted him.
He quickly rolled up the identification scroll and secured it with the accompanying bands before placing it back in its casing. "It's nothing," he replied, trying to shake off his distraction. "You said you had something for me?"
"Yes, this one is specifically addressed to you." Derek pulled an envelope out of his pocket and handed it over to Velos.
Examining the envelope, Velos instantly recognized the sender. It was someone he knew all too well. Not only was the envelope uncommon within the Division or Covenant, but it also bore a stamp and seal with a familiar design. The stamp clearly originated from Menod, the city where Velos had grown up.
A very familiar design indeed.
Deep down, Velos had always known this day would come, even if it had been years. No matter how far he ran or how much he tried to forget, he still carried the Rendhal name. They would eventually catch up to him.
"Thanks, Derek." Velos hastily finished his daily report and headed back to his quarters.
—
Living as an archivist was enough for Velos; the thought of being a slayer, with his lack of combat experience and meager sword skills, was out of the question. Besides, there must be good reasons why all the rookies avoided Sterling like the plague. There was no way Velos would accept any offer from him, especially if it involved using him as bait for a monster. He didn't need any more weight on his shoulders.
Velos entered his basic quarters, furnished with only the essentials. His bed stretched against a mirrored wall. On his desk and in his cupboards were leftover supplies from past missions and mementos from his hometown. The wooden badge he had received remained dented, but untouched.
He lay on his bed and reached for a candle to read the letter he had received. Carefully, he opened the envelope and unfolded the letter, written in his father's handwriting. Velos winced at the sight of it.
----------------------------------------
Velos,
It has come to my attention that you’ve aligned yourself with the Slayers Division—a decision that perplexes me, given your upbringing and the opportunities that were laid before you. I do not understand why you’ve chosen this path, one that seems driven by impulse rather than reason.
You know that I have never demanded that you follow in my footsteps, but I did expect you to use the talents and intelligence you possess more wisely. This path you're on now is not only dangerous, it's wasteful. There are better ways to contribute to the world, ones that do not put your life at needless risk.
I’ve made arrangements. In six months, I will personally visit the Division with all the necessary escorts to bring you back. I expect you to consider your actions carefully in that time. You have responsibilities to your family and to your future, neither of which can be fulfilled if you continue down this reckless course.
We can discuss this further when I arrive. I trust you will have come to your senses by then.
Remlus Rendhal
----------------------------------------
Father, you doddling fool.
Velos took a deep breath, lay on his bed and stared at the cracks in the ceiling. His hands were already crumpling the letter into a ball of mush. Anger gathered like pinpricks on his soft skin. Velos stood up, staring at his irate reflection in the mirror. He reached under the table and slid a cabinet open.
Atop a heap of documents and parchment stood the wooden slayer’s badge; the badge granted to all rookies who passed the physical examination and showed reverence to the hunters of old. His name was etched onto the back. Turning this badge from wood to steel was a rite of passage for all slayers, marking their commitment to sacrificing everything to protect mankind. And turning that steel into gold was an even greater accomplishment, solidifying their place in history. Becoming worthy.
Velos gritted his teeth as he thought about how oblivious his father had always been. No amount of wealth or education could ease Velos' doubts or erase the feeling that if he stayed there any longer, he would slowly decay and rot away.
Six months, the letter said.
Velos wanted to laugh bitterly. What was he thinking? A month of retirement turned into three, and would probably stretch into a year. Slowly but surely, thoughts of adventure and danger would fade away, replaced by a comfortable life as an archivist. But now, with Remlus' arrival only six months away, something inside him stirred. The long-buried desire to become a slayer resurfaced, reminding him of why he had run away all those years ago.
To think that he allowed himself to fall comfortable, to live a cushy life as an archivist as his fire faded across months of menial work. With Remlus’ arrival in six months, the fire must burn again.
Velos put on his badge.
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Slayer's Notes
Property of Velos Rendhal
Promotional Assignments
Promotional Assignments are tests, handpicked by the Promotional Council—or Command as some call it. Slayers say that a Promotional Assignment is a rite of passage, but it's a way for Command to see if you're up to the measure of undertaking more responsibility. The mission, which may seem routine is designed to push the limits of a slayer, tailor-made to challenge their specific shortcomings.
That’s the point, I suppose. It’s not enough to be skilled; it’s about overcoming what holds you back. That's what you need to do to get promoted from a rookie to a one-mark, a one-mark to a two-mark, so on and so forth. There are rumors that the higher up you go, the more intense these Promotional Assignments become. Time will tell if i remain in the Division long enough to find out.