Later that night
At morning patrol
Adel walked near the center of the formation. His boots sank slightly into the damp earth with each step. Finley was just ahead, spear in hand. Troy brought up the rear, his muttering finally quieted by the oppressive silence of the forest.
Adel's hand brushed the hilt of his blade for the tenth time in an hour.
Something felt off.
Then he saw it.
Rekard—third row, left side—had drifted closer to the front. His hand never left the inside of his coat. Calen, usually near the rear, had somehow ended up just two paces behind Sanray.
Too close. Too off-pattern.
Adel's eyes sharpened.
Then it happened.
A blur of movement. Calen lunged forward—blade drawn from beneath his cloak—aimed at Sanray's spine.
Adel's warning tore through the silence.
"Behind you!"
Sanray didn't hesitate. His body pivoted, blade already drawn. Calen's dagger never touched him. Instead, Sanray's sword split through Calen's arm at the elbow—then followed with a clean horizontal slash that opened the traitor's throat.
Calen hit the ground, gurgling, dead before the leaves could finish rustling.
Then Rekard moved.
He lunged from the left—blade drawn in a desperate arc.
Sanray didn't even turn.
Without looking, he spun his blade in a low arc behind him. It caught Rekard mid-lunge—opened his belly in a wet, tearing sound.
Rekard collapsed in a twitching heap, intestines pouring out.
The forest went dead silent.
Sanray stood still, blood spattered across his cloak. His sword gleamed red in the morning light.
"Formation." His voice was cold. Unbothered.
No one moved.
Adel stared. His blade was still half-drawn. Finley's spear never even left his side. Troy's mouth was slightly open, stunned.
"You deaf?" Sanray barked, wiping his blade clean with Calen's cloak.
"Formation. Now."
Boots shuffled. The squad snapped back into line—sloppy, shaken.
They marched again.
No words. Just tension and the smell of blood following behind them.
Adel kept glancing at Sanray's back. The man hadn't even flinched. Hadn't asked why. Hadn't demanded answers.
He just killed.
And kept moving.
Finley whispered under his breath, "What kind of madman.."
Troy didn't reply. He just walked.
They walked for hours.
The forest remained quiet, but the silence wasn't peaceful. It was thick, watching, as if the trees themselves knew what had happened.
The bodies of Calen and Rekard were left behind—no burial, no rites. Just corpses for the forest to claim.
Adel kept walking, but his mind ran laps around what he'd seen. Sanray hadn't hesitated. Hadn't even paused to question.
Just two clean kills.
Not even an ounce of doubt.
The squad marched like ghosts. No one dared speak. Finley occasionally glanced behind, like the trees might lunge at him. Troy had stopped muttering completely. Even the rustle of boots on leaves felt too loud.
Then the sun dipped low—orange bleeding into the treetops.
Sanray raised his fist.
"Camp here," he said flatly.
They broke formation in silence.
Finley helped set up perimeter markers. Troy began unpacking rations, still glancing sideways at the treeline like something might crawl out. Adel moved slowly, checking gear, mind still churning.
That moment kept replaying.
How did Sanray know where to swing without even looking?
How was he so calm?
Why didn't he say anything after?
Eventually, Adel couldn't take it anymore.
He stood and walked toward the edge of camp, where Sanray was cleaning his blade under a crooked tree, back to the squad. A canteen sat beside him, unopened. The man hadn't even rested.
Adel stopped a few steps behind.
"You knew, didn't you," he said.
Sanray didn't turn.
"I saw how Calen and Rekard moved," Adel continued. "But you—you moved like you were waiting."
A beat of silence.
Then Sanray spoke, voice low and even.
Then Sanray spoke, voice low and even.
"You're right… but you're also wrong."
Adel's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"I knew the daggers were coming," Sanray said, still not turning. "But I didn't know they were coming."
"…How?" Adel asked.
Sanray paused, then finally turned halfway, enough for Adel to see his face in the dimming light.
"Have you heard of domains, soldier?"
Adel shook his head.
Sanray tapped the back of his skull with one gloved finger. "They put a stone here. A shard etched in rune magic—made by the Empire's shamans and magicians."
He crouched again, dragging the blade along a rag to clean the last of the dried blood.
"It lets you perceive anything within three meters. Every step, breath, twitch… even heartbeat. You feel it like a ripple in still water. And it does more—it lets you accelerate your thoughts. Three times the normal."
Adel blinked, stunned. "Three times…?"
"Yeah." Sanray gave a humorless chuckle. "Feels like the world slows down when the heat's on. Lets you decide fast, move faster."
Adel's mind raced. "How can you get one? The domain stone?"
Sanray sighed. "A lot of questions, huh…"
He glanced toward the camp, watching the other recruits eat in silence before continuing.
"Sergeants get the option—domain stone or enhancement stone. It's part of their promotion. Pick one, you live with it. When they become captains, their stone gets upgraded, depending on what they chose before."
He stood, stretching slightly, his armor creaking.
"I don't know the details about commanders… but I heard their stones can suppress people with presence alone. They can control it—like a damn pressure field. And Chapter Masters?" He shook his head. "That's above my pay grade."
Adel stared, thoughts spinning.
Stones that give you abilities… The Empire makes these?
Then a darker thought crept in.
"Then why do you have a domain?" he asked quietly. "You're not even ranked. You're… a squad leader. Still just a soldier like the rest of us."
"And those two… the assassins. Who were they?"
Sanray's expression darkened.
He stepped forward, face unreadable in the dim light.
"Go to sleep, soldier," he said flatly. "Our last day of patrol is tomorrow."
Then he walked past, leaving Adel alone silence.