The first day of their investigation started with Kaelen's mandatory corruption check.
Mage Karsten turned out to be a middle-aged woman with wild curly hair and the distracted air of someone perpetually thinking about three things simultaneously. Her workspace was cluttered with crystals, books, and half-finished runic diagrams.
"Sit," she said without looking up from whatever she was writing. "Shirt off. This won't hurt, but it will feel weird."
Kaelen removed his shirt, revealing the Shadow Scars covering his arms and creeping onto his chest. Forty-seven of them now, dark lines like cracks in porcelain.
Karsten finally looked up and whistled. "Damn. You've been busy. How long have you had the blade?"
"About a month," Kaelen said.
"A month." Karsten moved closer, her hands beginning to glow with diagnostic magic. "Most wielders accumulate maybe ten Scars in their first month. You've got almost fifty. Either you're fighting constantly, or you're really bad at avoiding damage."
"Bit of both," Kaelen admitted.
The diagnostic magic washed over him, and Karsten was right—it didn't hurt, but it felt weird. Like someone was reading his thoughts, but from the outside.
"Interesting," Karsten muttered. "Your corruption pattern is unusual. Most wielders show gradual, even progression. Yours is... spiky. Rapid increases followed by plateaus. Why?"
"I've got help," Kaelen said. "My partner's a rune mage. She's developed a purification technique that can stabilize the corruption."
"Can she now?" Karsten's interest sharpened. "I'd like to speak with her. That kind of work could have applications beyond just you."
"I'll ask her," Kaelen said.
Karsten completed her examination, made notes in a journal. "Your corruption is high but stable. No signs of mental degradation, personality shifts, or emotional flattening. That's good. But you're approaching dangerous thresholds. Another twenty Scars and you'll start experiencing permanent changes. Fifty beyond that and you'll lose capacity for empathy entirely."
"How many Scars before I can't come back at all?" Kaelen asked.
"Hard to say. Varies by individual. But generally? Around a hundred Scars is when recovery becomes nearly impossible." She looked at him seriously. "You're halfway there, and you've had the blade one month. At this rate, you've got maybe six weeks before you're too far gone. Think about that."
Six weeks. That wasn't long.
"What if I stop using the blade?" Kaelen asked. "Would the Scars fade?"
"Some might. Very slowly. But you'd never fully recover from this level of corruption. Think of Shadow Scars like scars from burns—they can fade, lighten, become less prominent, but the damage is permanent at a fundamental level."
"So I'm already changed," Kaelen said. "Permanently."
"Yes." Karsten wasn't unkind, but she wasn't comforting either. "The question is whether you change further, and how much control you have over that progression. Come back tomorrow. Same time. We'll monitor your stability daily."
Kaelen left feeling unsettled.
He found Lia at the Royal Library, surrounded by ancient texts.
"Any luck?" he asked, sliding into the seat beside her.
"Maybe," Lia said, not looking up from a particularly old book. "I found references to something called 'purification saturation'—the idea that continuous exposure to shadow corruption can actually strengthen resistance over time. Like building immunity."
"That's good, right?"
"Maybe. Or it could mean that I'm so saturated with corruption that I can't sense the danger anymore. The texts aren't clear." She finally looked up, noticed his expression. "How was the evaluation?"
"Karsten says I've got six weeks before I'm too corrupted to recover."
Lia's face went pale. "Six weeks?"
"At current progression rates. If I stop fighting, stop using the blade as much, I might extend that. But..." Kaelen gestured helplessly. "Marcus isn't going to wait six weeks to attack again. And we've got this noble gathering in three days that's probably a trap."
"Then we make progress fast," Lia said firmly. "Find ways to slow your corruption, develop alternatives to Soulrender's power, maybe even reverse some damage." She squeezed his hand. "We've solved impossible problems before. We can solve this one."
Kaelen wanted to believe that. He tried to believe that.
"What have you found about the noble gathering?" he asked, changing subjects.
"Not much," Lia admitted. "It's supposed to be a diplomatic event—representatives from Valorian, Morwen, and Eredor discussing trade agreements and border security. Very boring, very official. But Thomas is right that the timing is suspicious. Marcus just lost a major battle. Why would he risk another high-profile attack so soon?"
"Unless it's not an attack," Kaelen said slowly. "What if it's recruitment? All these nobles in one place, many of them probably unhappy with current kingdom policies. Perfect opportunity for Marcus to make contacts, build alliances, expand his network."
"That's actually more dangerous than an attack," Lia realized. "An attack we can fight. Political manipulation is harder to counter."
They spent another hour researching, finding references to past noble gatherings, looking for patterns. By the time the library closed, they had a basic understanding of the event structure but no clear idea of what Marcus might be planning.
"We need inside information," Kaelen said as they walked back through evening streets. "Someone who'll actually be at the gathering."
"Thomas," Lia suggested. "He's the Chairman's son. He'll be there."
"Can we trust him?"
"Can we afford not to?"
Fair point.
They found Thomas at his family's estate—or rather, they sent a message and he met them at a neutral location, a small café in the merchant district that was mostly empty at this hour.
"You came back," Thomas said, sounding relieved. "I was worried you'd think I was lying."
"Still might," Kaelen said. "But we need information about the gathering. Security procedures, guest list, event schedule. Can you get us that?"
"Some of it," Thomas said. "Security is being handled by private guards, not City Guard—my father's being cautious after the recent attack. Guest list is maybe a hundred people, all verified nobility or diplomatic representatives. Schedule is pretty standard—reception, formal dinner, then separate discussions for different interest groups."
"Those separate discussions," Lia said. "That's where Marcus would make contact. Away from the main crowd, with specific targets."
"Probably," Thomas agreed. "But I don't know which discussions are legitimate and which might be compromised. There's too many variables."
"Then we attend," Kaelen said. "Get inside, watch for suspicious activity, intervene if needed."
"You can't just walk into a noble gathering," Thomas protested. "Security will stop you at the door."
"Then we need invitations," Kaelen said. "Can you get us in?"
Thomas hesitated. "Maybe. If I list you as my guests, personal security or something. But you'd need to dress appropriately, act appropriately, not start fights with cultists in the middle of the ballroom..."
"We can be professional," Lia said, shooting Kaelen a look that suggested he specifically needed to be professional.
"Fine," Thomas said. "I'll add you to the guest list. But if this goes wrong, if my father finds out I smuggled Shadow Hunters into a diplomatic event, I'm going to prison. So please, *please* don't make this obvious."
"We'll be subtle," Kaelen promised.
Thomas looked deeply skeptical but nodded. "I'll send details tomorrow. Dress code is formal—if you show up in armor, you'll be turned away."
After Thomas left, Lia turned to Kaelen.
"We don't own formal clothing," she pointed out.
"I know."
"And we have no idea how to act at a noble gathering."
"I know."
"And Marcus will probably recognize you on sight."
"I know that too," Kaelen said. "But we don't have a better plan. So we improvise."
"I'm starting to think improvisation is your only plan," Lia said.
"It's worked so far."
"Barely."
"Still counts."
They spent the next day preparing. Which meant: buying formal clothing with what remained of their mission payment, practicing formal etiquette based on books Lia found, and trying to figure out how to hide weapons in clothes not designed for weapon-carrying.
By evening, Kaelen looked almost respectable in a dark coat and fitted trousers. Lia looked stunning in a deep blue dress that somehow still had hidden pockets for rune stones.
"I feel ridiculous," Kaelen said, adjusting his collar for the tenth time.
"You look good," Lia replied. "Different, but good."
"I can't carry Soulrender in this outfit. There's nowhere to hide it."
"So leave it here for one evening."
"That feels wrong."
"You've been practicing independent shadow manipulation," Lia pointed out. "You can defend yourself without the blade if needed."
"Can I though?" Kaelen flexed his fingers, felt shadow energy respond. Weaker than with Soulrender, but present. "I guess we'll find out."
The gathering was tomorrow evening. They'd be walking into a room full of nobles, diplomats, and possibly cultist infiltrators, with minimal weapons and no backup.
It was a terrible plan.
But it was the plan they had.
"Try to get some sleep," Lia suggested. "Tomorrow's going to be complicated."
"Complicated," Kaelen echoed. "That's one word for it."
He tried to sleep. Mostly failed. Kept thinking about six weeks, about Shadow Scars, about the corrupted path he was walking.
About whether he'd still be himself by the time they finally defeated Marcus.
If they defeated Marcus.
Tomorrow would bring answers. Or more questions.
Probably both.
He eventually dozed off into restless sleep, dreaming of ballrooms filled with shadows and nobles with empty eyes.
Tomorrow.