Nvein had turned out to be true to his word.

Tom had noticed that the Royal Knight didn’t offer him his unguarded back to lead the way, instead choosing to walk alongside him on their way to the tent.

He wasn’t sure if the gesture was supposed to establish them as equals in standing or if Nvein was simply leery of dropping his guard in the presence of one of the Elite Guards, given their rather infamous reputation.

And Tom definitely wasn’t aware of how an actual Elite Guard would react to the subtle gesture, leaving him with little choice but to simply not allow any reaction, hoping that someone as earnest as Nvein wouldn’t engage petty cross-organizational politics when the possible fate of the Noble District was supposedly at stake.

Stepping into the tent, a strong stench of sweat assailed his senses. A cloth tent painted in the Royal Knight’s colors was perhaps not the best choice for a checkpoint that saw footfall on a daily basis.

Tom’s gaze swept across the carpeted tent, noting the hastily abandoned satchels piled on top of each other, leaning on the tent’s cloth perimeter for support.

It seemed like the commoners returning from the Noble District had chosen to park their luggage under the watchful eye of the Royal Knight instead of lugging it around.

“Would a side-entrance be more to your preference?” Nvein queried.

It was a silver lining that Tom still had his mask on, as his confusion leaked onto his expression.

Where did Nvein see a side-entrance in a two-way tent?

“Yes,” Tom replied.

Nvein gave him a nod and then began to walk over to the tent’s eastern periphery.

Tom gave him a curious look, before shifting his gaze to the carpeted floor beneath him. He scanned for the slightest hint of an elevation, betting that there was a trapdoor hidden beneath the covering.

Without warning, Nvein drew his sword and brought it down in a straight line. His sword sliced through the fabric with a barely audible rustle of fabric.

‘Oh,’ Tom thought, his gaze flitting to the man’s impressive musculature. ‘I suppose Nvein prefers dealing with his problems more… directly.’

“Do you have a way to conceal yourself?” Nvein asked calmly, as he returned his sword to its sheathe with a flicker of motion.

Tom caught on to the gentleness in Nvein’s movement, as his sword arm drastically slowed down before the hilt clicked into the sheath. There was a reverence to the action, one that all the dungeoneers he had encountered up until this point had lacked. Even Zirel only seemed to consider his Blade of Necrosis as a tool designed to kill— nothing more.

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For a moment, Tom considered what he could gain if he used Maya on Nvein. Only for a moment.

He had set his own ground rules when it came to Maya and one of them was never using the skill on people that he’d come to either befriend or respect. Aleph fell into that criteria without a shred of doubt. And Nvein had earned his respect.

“Many,” Tom answered. “But before that, I had a personal request.”

Nvein turned to face him, eyebrows slightly raised in what had to be surprise.

“What is it?” He asked, the curiosity in his tone unconcealable.

“On my travels, I enjoy researching all manners and sorts of weapon artifacts. If you are amenable, I would like to try wielding yours for a few minutes,” He explained. “Of course, feel free to refuse— this is purely a selfish request on my part.

Tom didn’t miss the momentary hesitation that flashed on Nvein’s visage, followed by an increasing curiosity that he hadn’t expected. Then, before Tom could stew over the potential faux pas he had just made, Nvein spoke, “From the whispers I’ve heard, the Elite Guard has been made out to be a largely clandestine organization that prioritizes on accomplishing its objective, often glossing over collateral damage in the process.”

There was no bitterness in Nvein’s tone, at least none that Tom could detect. Knowing what he did of Nvein’s character, there was no way that the Royal Knight would be okay with the three dungeoneers the Elite Guards tasked with Zirel’s protection and retrieval had murdered. Tom also noted that Nvein hadn’t voiced his own opinion, only mentioning ‘whispers’ he had purportedly heard from others. He couldn’t be reprimanded for regurgitating another’s opinion, after all.

“It appears that a lot of the rumors were hyperbole, as rumors tend to be. I consider myself a good judge of character and you don’t come across as the stone-cold killer type,” Nvein explained. “You can test out my blade,” he added, offering him a smile that seemed a tad bit relieved before the sword.

Tom stuck to simple thrusts and slashes, his high proprioception stat making for an impressive if rudimentary display. He didn’t want to lean into any of his swordplay, which was cobbled together from multiple styles and combat philosophies he’d absorbed from both voluntary and involuntary teachers and definitely not something an Elite Guard of the Nottrakon family would use.

The next five minutes passed in silence, as Tom allowed himself to feel the heft of the blade while operating at about 60% of what his Proprioception was capable of, while Nvein silently observed him.

When the first bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, he brought the display to a halt.

“Thank you,” Tom had to actively force himself not to sound too grateful so as to sound out of character, before he flipped the blade to a reverse grip and offered it to Nvein, hilt first.

“Not a problem,” Nvein replied. “You are quite nifty with a blade,” he remarked, referring not to skill but speed as he accepted the blade.

“Comes with the profession,” Tom replied dryly, wondering if Nvein had seen through atleast a part of his facade.

Nvein grunted in response.

‘I’ll find a way to pay him back,’ Tom promised himself, as he plucked out [The Shadow] from his Deckholder and channeled it’s [Shadow Cloak] ability using the remaining SP he had.

Wreathed in the familiar shadows, Tom offered Nvein a nod.

Only after receiving one back in confirmation did he step out of the tent’s slit, before breaking out into a sprint.

On the blue screen still hovering before him, was a simple alert.

[Mimic Slots: 5/5]