The first week at Aethelgard was a study in exquisite tedium. I moved through my classes like a ghost, which, in a way, I was. Transmutation Theory, where Professor Hemlock droned on about the philosophical implications of converting lead to gold. I doodled lazy spirals in my notebook, my mind instead cataloging the precise weight and balance of the brass inkwell on his desk—a potential projectile in a pinch. Etiquette and Heraldry, where we learned the seventeen different ways to bow to a visiting duke. I practiced a slouch that would make my old fencing master weep, while using [Observe] to note which students had the subtle tells of hidden contempt for the crown.
My [Observe] skill, now at Level 3, had become a constant, low-grade hum in my perception. It fed me a stream of useless and useful information.
[Professor Hemlock]
[Threat Level: Low]
[Affinity: Transmutation Magic (Expert)]
[Status: Bored, thinking about his lunch.]
[Student: Lady Beatrice]
[Threat Level: Very Low]
[Affinity: Water Magic (Apprentice)]
[Status: Smug. Believes her family name guarantees her a place in the Hero's retinue.]
The System, the [Assassin's Guile], was a patient, silent taskmaster. It hadn't spoken its primary directive again—[Eliminate the Hero]—but its presence was a constant, cold weight in my mind, a shard of ice nestled against my consciousness. It had issued a series of minor quests, all designed, I realized, to condition me, to force me to act while reinforcing my cover.
[Daily Quest: Maintain Cover]
[Objective: Be late to one (1) class. Feign difficulty in basic mana circulation exercises.]
[Reward: 25 Guile Points.]
It was almost comically easy. I'd shuffled into Mana Fundamentals five minutes late, my uniform slightly askew, muttering an apology about a misplaced textbook. The instructor, a young, earnest woman named Lyra, had sighed and waved me to my seat. The mana circulation was harder to fake; the body of Silas remembered the flow of power instinctively, a deep, resonant well waiting to be tapped. I had to consciously stifle it, forcing my nascent mana core to sputter and flicker like a damp candle, earning a pitying look from Lyra and a snicker from Roland, who sat across the circle, his own aura a steady, blazing torch.
Liam, bless his earnest heart, tried to help. "You just have to visualize it, Kaelen! Like a stream of light flowing from your core, through your channels…"
I gave him a look of grateful confusion. "I'm trying, Liam. It just feels… slippery."
[Daily Quest: Maintain Cover - COMPLETE.]
[Reward: 25 Guile Points.]
The points accumulated, a paltry sum, but the System's interface was slowly unveiling itself. A shop, greyed out and inaccessible, promised future tools. A skill tree, vast and shadowy, had a single, glowing node: [Observe]. The path to others was locked behind level requirements and Guile Point thresholds.
The real test came on the fourth day, as I was trudging back from the library—I'd been skimming a dry text on regional governance, another part of the 'lazy' act—when I heard the raised voices from an adjacent courtyard.
"—think you're better than us, Fendrel? Just because you can memorize a few musty old spells?"
I recognized the voice. Borin, the northern lord's son I'd 'accidentally' collided with on the first day. Peering around a carved stone archway, I saw him. He had Liam backed against a wall, his two cronies flanking him like ugly bookends. Borin was a head taller than Liam, his shoulders broad, his face a mask of brutish entitlement.
"I don't think that, Lord Borin," Liam stammered, clutching his grimoire to his chest like a shield. "I was just on my way to—"
"To study?" Borin sneered, snatching the book from Liam's hands. He flipped through it carelessly, his thick fingers threatening to tear the delicate pages. "Useless. All this theory. Real power is this." He tapped a meaty fist against his own chest. "Something a worm like you wouldn't understand. Maybe you need a lesson in practical application."
One of his cronies, a weaselly boy named Corin, grinned. "A donation to our… extracurricular fund might help you remember your place, Fendrel."
This was petty. Predictable. The kind of schoolyard bullying that was beneath the notice of someone who had orchestrated the fall of merchant guilds. But as I watched, a new quest notification shimmered into existence, its text a cool, compelling blue.
[Quest: A Serpent's Justice]
[Objective: Gather incriminating evidence on Lord Borin regarding his extortion of fellow students. Secure actionable blackmail. Do not be detected.]
[Reward: 300 Guile Points. Unlock Skill: [Minor Illusion].]
Actionable blackmail. The System didn't want me to intervene. It wanted me to weaponize information. This was a language I understood.
I melted back into the shadows of the archway, my breathing slowing to a near-silent whisper. The persona of Kaelen sloughed away like a discarded skin, and for the first time since my awakening, I let the instincts of Silas rise to the fore. The world sharpened. The rough texture of the stone against my back, the scent of damp earth from the courtyard, the precise distance to the trio of bullies—it all became data.
I watched as Borin roughly shoved Liam, sending him stumbling to the cobblestones. "Tomorrow, Fendrel. Have ten gold crowns. Or next time, it won't be a friendly conversation."
They swaggered off, laughing, leaving Liam to gather his scattered books, his shoulders slumped in humiliation. A hot, unfamiliar spark of anger flickered in my chest. I quashed it. Emotion was a luxury. This was a mission.
I didn't go to comfort Liam. That was Kaelen's job, and he would do it later, with bumbling sympathy. Right now, I had to track my quarry.
I shadowed Borin and his lackeys at a distance, using the bustling foot traffic of students changing classes as cover. My [Observe] fed me constant updates.
[Borin of House Graymark]
[Threat Level: Medium]
[Affinity: Earth Magic (Apprentice), Enhanced Strength (D-rank)]
[Status: Smug, Aggressive. Financially strained due to gambling debts.]
Gambling debts. Of course. That explained the extortion. I followed them to the sparring grounds, then to the refectory, noting their habits, their routes. They were creatures of routine and arrogance, never considering they might be prey.
The opportunity came that evening. The Academy's administrative wing was less guarded after hours, the offices of the proctors and housemasters locked but not, I suspected, impregnable. Borin, in his arrogance, would have records. IOUs, perhaps, or a ledger of his 'earnings'. He was too stupid to be truly discreet, but just smart enough to hide his trail from casual observation.
I waited until the moon was a sliver of bone-white in a cloudy sky. The corridors of the student dormitories were silent, save for the occasional snore or the rustle of a turning page. Slipping out of my room was trivial; the lock was a simple pin-tumbler, and a few seconds of work with a hardened wire I'd pilfered from the metallurgy lab had it open. I moved through the halls not as a student, but as a fragment of the darkness itself, my soft-soled shoes making no sound on the cold stone.
The administrative wing was separated by a grand oak door, magically warded. A soft, blue glow pulsed from the runes carved into its frame. A simple [Observe] confirmed it.
[Ward of Alert: Tier 2]
[Effect: Triggers an auditory and mana-based alarm if breached without proper key.]
[Weakness: Sustained, localized mana disruption. Ward does not cover the transom above the door.]
I looked up. Above the door was a small, arched window, a transom, left open for ventilation. The space was tight, but my current body, for all its frailty, was slender and flexible. It would do.
The wall was made of fitted stone, offering ample handholds for trained fingers. I climbed, my movements fluid and economical, a spider ascending its web. The stone was cold and gritty against my skin. At the top, I squeezed through the transom, my body contorting to fit the narrow space. For a terrifying second, I was stuck, the frame pressing against my ribs, the drop to the floor below suddenly seeming vast. I controlled the spike of panic, exhaled slowly, and pushed through, dropping silently into a crouch on the other side.
The air in the admin wing was different—stiller, smelling of lemon-oil polish and old parchment. Moonlight streamed through the large windows, painting silver rectangles on the floor. I moved from pool of shadow to pool of shadow, my senses stretched to their limits. I found the office of Proctor Valerius, the man responsible for disciplining the first-year students. His door was also locked, but this one lacked a magical ward. The physical lock was more complex, but the principles were the same. Thirty seconds of focused work with my picks, and I felt the final pin click into place.
The office was neat, dominated by a large desk piled with scrolls. I ignored the official reports. A man like Borin wouldn't be dealt with through official channels. I searched for the unofficial records. A locked drawer in the desk yielded to my picks. Inside were personal journals, confidential student assessments, and a separate, leather-bound folio.
I opened it. Bingo.
It was a record of 'incidents'. Not the public duels or magical mishaps, but the quiet, ugly stuff. Theft. Harassment. And there, listed under 'Graymark, Borin', were multiple entries. 'Reported extortion of C. of House Flint – settled internally.' 'Suspected coercion of M. of House Yarrow – insufficient evidence.' And the most recent, from just yesterday: 'Altercation with L. of House Fendrel – witness corroborates accidental collision.'
Accidental collision. My doing. I'd inadvertently provided him cover.
But there were no details, no proof. Then I saw it, tucked into a pocket at the back of the folio: a single, crumpled IOU. It was written in a clumsy, aggressive hand. 'Owe Silas of the Gilded Quill 50 Gold Crowns. To be repaid by the Frostfall Moon. – Borin Graymark.'
It was signed with a messy wax seal, bearing the Graymark sigil—a mountain bear. It was perfect. Not only proof of his debt, but a connection to an unsavory gambling den in the city, a violation of Academy rules for a first-year.
I committed the name and the details to memory—the Wraith's recall was perfect—and then, on a whim, I slipped the IOU into the inner pocket of my doublet. Physical evidence was always more potent.
I exited the office, re-engaged the lock, and retraced my path, slipping back through the transom and down the wall. I was back in my room before the night watch made their next rounds, the only evidence of my excursion the faint scent of lemon oil on my clothes and the stolen IOU burning a hole in my pocket.
[Quest: A Serpent's Justice - COMPLETE.]
[Reward: 300 Guile Points awarded.]
[Skill: Minor Illusion (Level 1) unlocked.]
A new understanding unfolded in my mind—the basic principles of bending light and shadow, of creating a momentary distraction, a flicker in the corner of an eye. It was a fledgling power, but it was a tool. The first real tool of my new trade.
The next day, I found Liam looking miserable in the refectory, pushing his porridge around his bowl.
"You alright?"I asked, layering concern over my genuine fatigue. The night's activities had taken a toll on this body.
"It's Borin," he whispered. "He wants ten gold crowns by tonight. My allowance isn't nearly that much."
I leaned in, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't worry about it. I… overheard some of the older students talking. Borin's in deep trouble with a city bookie. If he causes any more of a scene, the proctors will find out. I don't think he'll risk it."
Liam's eyes widened. "Really? How do you know?"
I gave a lazy shrug, the picture of casual gossip. "You hear things if you listen in the right places. Just ignore him. He's all bluster."
I wasn't sure he believed me, but the seed was planted. Later that afternoon, I saw Borin in the courtyard. I made eye contact for a fraction of a second, just long enough for [Observe] to trigger. Then, I formed a subtle, knowing smile, one that didn't reach my eyes, and let my gaze flicker meaningfully towards the admin wing before I turned and walked away.
It was a delicate play. No words, no direct threat. Just a silent communication: I know.
I didn't see the confrontation, but Liam found me that evening, his face alight with relief. "You were right! Borin just walked past me in the hall and glared, but he didn't say a word! It was like I was beneath his notice!"
"See?" I said, feigning relief. "Told you it was all bluster."
The System remained silent, but I felt a certain cold satisfaction. The first move had been played, and played perfectly. The persona was intact, the threat neutralized, and my power had grown.
But the [Assassin's Guile] was not satisfied with mere blackmail. It hungered for a different currency.
Two nights later, a new quest appeared, its text a stark, bloody red.
[Urgent Quest: Pest Control]
[Objective: A Scuttling Veiler has infiltrated the Academy's lower archives. Eliminate the creature. Leave no trace of your involvement.]
[Reward: 500 Guile Points. Unlock Skill: [Silent Step].]
A Scuttling Veiler. I knew the creature from bestiaries both in this life and the whispered warnings of my last. A chitinous, dog-sized predator from the deep places of the world, capable of bending light around its body for short-term invisibility. It was a silent, deadly hunter, drawn to places of stored knowledge and latent magic. Its venom was a neurotoxin that caused rapid paralysis. For the Academy, it was a lethal security breach. For me, it was a test.
This was no longer about subterfuge. This was about wet work.
I waited until the depths of the night, the witching hour when even the most dedicated scholars had retired. Dressed in dark, close-fitting clothes I'd pieced together from my wardrobe, I became a shadow once more. The journey to the lower archives was a descent into another world. The bright, heroic halls of the upper Academy gave way to narrower, older passages, the air growing cold and thick with the smell of dust, mildew, and slowly decaying parchment.
The archives were a labyrinth of towering shelves, crammed with scrolls and books so ancient their leather bindings were flaking to dust. The only light came from faintly glowing mana-crystals set at intervals in the ceiling, their light swallowed by the oppressive gloom. The silence was absolute, a heavy blanket smothering sound.
I activated [Observe], scanning the environment. The skill highlighted scuff marks on the stone floor that didn't belong to human boots—sharp, chitinous scratches. I followed them, my breathing shallow, my entire being focused. The Scuttling Veiler was here. I could feel it.
A soft, skittering sound, like pebbles being shaken in a leather pouch, echoed from a nearby aisle. I froze, pressing myself against the cold spine of a bookshelf. I peered around the corner.
There it was. It was hunched, its carapace a mottled grey-brown that blended perfectly with the stone and shadows. Six multi-jointed legs ended in needle-sharp points. Its head was a nightmare of compound eyes and twitching, blade-like mandibles. A faint shimmer distorted the air around it—its veil, not fully engaged. It was gnawing on the corner of a wooden chest, seeking something inside.
[Scuttling Veiler]
[Threat Level: High]
[Abilities: Chameleonic Veil, Neurotoxic Venom, Razor Mandibles]
[Weakness: Disruption of its light-bending organ located at the base of the skull. Susceptible to precise piercing attacks.]
My heart was a calm, steady drum. This was the dance. I had no weapon but my lockpicks and a small, sharp eating knife I'd smuggled from the refectory. It was pitiful compared to the arsenal Silas was accustomed to, but it would have to do.
The creature's veil flickered. It was momentarily fully visible, a stark, ugly thing in the dim light. This was my chance. I used the new skill, [Minor Illusion]. I focused my will, bending the scant light near a bookshelf twenty feet away, creating the faint, shimmering outline of a mouse, accompanied by the softest scuffling sound.
The Veiler's head snapped up. Its mandibles twitched, dripping a clear, viscous saliva. It let out a low hiss and scuttled towards the illusion, its chameleonic skin shifting to match the new environment.
This was it. I moved.
[Silent Step] wasn't unlocked yet, but the memory of how to move without sound was etched into my soul. I flowed from the shadow of one bookshelf to the next, a wisp of darkness. The air was cold in my lungs. The smell of the creature—a mix of wet soil and rotting meat—grew stronger.
It reached the illusion, mandibles snapping shut on empty air. It froze, confused.
I was behind it now. Close enough to see the segmented plates of its abdomen, the subtle pulsation of its breathing. My target was the small, slightly raised node at the base of its skull, the source of its veil.
I raised the small eating knife. It felt absurdly inadequate. But an assassin uses the tools at hand.
I struck.
The movement was pure Silas. A single, precise, and brutally efficient thrust. I put the entire weight of my body behind it, aiming not for the hard carapace, but for the minute gap between two plates, right over the neural cluster.
The blade sank in with a wet thunk. The Veiler let out a choked, gurgling shriek, a horrifying sound that was cut off almost instantly. Its body convulsed, legs scrabbling wildly against the stone floor, creating a terrible scratching racket. I held on, driving the knife deeper, twisting it.
Then, it went still.
The silence that returned was deeper than before. I stood over the dead creature, my heart finally beginning to pound, adrenaline coursing through me. The coppery smell of its ichor, thick and alien, filled my nostrils, mixing with the dust. I looked at my hands. They were steady. There was no disgust, no triumph. Only a cold, professional assessment. The job was done.
Now, for the clean-up. [Leave no trace.]
I couldn't carry the body out. I used my knife to sever the head, carefully avoiding the venom sacs in the mandibles. I wrapped the head in a strip of cloth torn from my undershirt and hid it deep within a gap behind an unstable-looking shelf. The body I dragged into a dark, disused corner and covered with a pile of moldering scrolls. It wouldn't hold up to a dedicated search, but it would pass a casual inspection. The ichor on the floor I smeared with dust, disguising the stain.
I spent ten minutes ensuring every sign of the struggle was erased. Then, I retreated, slipping back through the silent halls like a bad dream, the wrapped Veiler's head a grotesque trophy hidden in my room.
[Urgent Quest: Pest Control - COMPLETE.]
[Reward: 500 Guile Points awarded.]
[Skill: Silent Step (Level 1) unlocked.]
A new fluidity entered my movements. I could feel the knowledge of how to distribute my weight, how to place my feet, how to become one with the silence.
Back in my room, the first light of dawn tingeing the sky grey, I washed the ichor from my hands and knife. The scent of blood and dust was slowly replaced by the simple smell of soap and water. I looked at my reflection in the washbasin. The boy who stared back had the same face, the same hazel eyes. But something had shifted behind them. The first kill in this new life had been made. The blade was no longer clean.
I had passed the test. The [Assassin's Guile] had given me my first taste of its true power, and I had taken it without hesitation. I was no longer just pretending to be a shadow. I was becoming one again.
And as the Academy began to stir, utterly unaware of the predator that had been in its midst or the one who had slain it, I lay down on my too-soft bed. The primary objective, [Eliminate the Hero], flickered once in the depths of my mind, no longer a distant concept, but an inevitable destination on a path I was now walking with open eyes.