"Jax… we've got a problem."
Brannic's voice was tight.
Metal clanged in the background. Something shattered.
"Soldiers from the Empire have entered Solmere. They're demanding all of our weapons and armor. Threatening jail — or worse — for resi—"
"Who are you talking to?"
A new voice.
Cold.
Commanding.
The line went dead.
Silence.
The dungeon around them felt suddenly small.
Jax lowered the Tele-Stone slowly.
The Vixens saw his face.
It wasn't panic.
It was something worse.
Focus.
"What happened?" Bunny whispered.
Jax didn't answer immediately. His mind was already moving.
Empire.
Confiscation.
Weapons.
This wasn't random.
This was political.
He exhaled once.
"I need to go."
"We can pack up and use the gate," Llandra said quickly. "We'll be back in Solmere within the hour."
Jax shook his head.
"I have a faster way."
The Vixens froze.
Nyxian stepped forward, fingers gripping his coat. "Don't."
Zee swallowed. "It's dangerous."
Jax looked at each of them.
"Take care of the cave. Finish excavation. Return to Solmere through the gate."
He paused.
"I'll meet you there."
The System shimmered in his vision.
WOULD YOU LIKE TO USE: SHADOW EXCHANGE?
"Yes."
The world inverted.
Darkness folded.
And Jax vanished.
In his place stood a silent B-Rank Shadow Knight.
The Vixens stared at it.
And then at the empty space where Jax had been.
II — Brannic
Solmere.
Brannic's shop.
Eight Imperial soldiers stood inside.
Red and gold tabards.
Disciplined.
Armed.
Their armor bore the sigil of the Empire.
Their presence filled the space.
The leader stepped forward.
"You will surrender all enchanted weaponry and armor. By decree of the Empire, such items are classified as destabilizing armaments."
Merriweather's hands trembled.
"This is our shop," she said, voice shaking but fierce. "We've done nothing wrong."
The soldier's gaze hardened.
"You have prospered beyond your station. That draws attention."
Merriweather stepped forward despite Brannic's warning glance.
"This is our shop," she repeated, louder now. "We built this with our own hands. You have no authority to—"
The crack of the slap echoed through the workshop.
She stumbled sideways.
Silence.
One of the soldiers — not the captain, but the one beside him — lowered his gauntleted hand slowly.
"Know your place," he sneered. "Fat little fairy thinks she can talk law to the Empire."
Brannic didn't remember moving.
One moment Merriweather was falling.
The next she was behind him, shielded by his broad frame.
The shop felt smaller.
Hotter.
The old ache in Brannic's bones — the one he had sworn never to feel again — returned.
War.
He slowly reached behind the counter and retrieved the axe.
Compact.
Enchanted.
Forged for war, not for display.
The captain did not reprimand his soldier.
He did not apologize.
Instead, he watched Brannic carefully.
Brannic's jaw tightened.
He had seen war once.
He knew the smell of it.
This was not a random inspection.
This was intimidation.
"Are you threatening Imperial soldiers?" the leader asked quietly.
Brannic didn't answer.
He stepped in front of Merriweather.
The dwarf's shoulders were broad — but against eight trained soldiers, he looked small.
The leader lunged.
A feint left.
Blade redirected right.
Too fast.
Brannic's age showed.
The sword arced down toward his exposed neck.
Merriweather screamed—
CLANG.
The sound rang like iron struck by thunder.
Brannic blinked.
A black armored figure stood before him.
Shield raised.
Blade locked against Imperial steel.
A Shadow Knight.
Gasps filled the shop.
"That's necromancy!"
"Where did it come from?!"
Another ripple of darkness.
A second Shadow Knight emerged—
From Merriweather's shadow.
The soldiers froze.
Their formation faltered.
They had entered to intimidate craftsmen.
Now they were facing something else.
The shadows did not attack.
They stood.
Shields forward.
Silent.
Protective.
The leader recovered first.
"This confirms treason," he declared sharply. "Dark arts. Confiscate everything."
They attacked.
Eight against two.
Steel rang.
But the Shadow Knights moved with precision.
No wasted motion.
Every strike deflected.
Every thrust redirected.
They positioned themselves flawlessly between the soldiers and Brannic.
Brannic realized something.
They were not fighting to win.
They were fighting to stall.
The soldiers noticed it too.
"They aren't counterattacking."
"Kill the summoners," the leader ordered. "The shadows will fall."
The formation shifted.
Four soldiers broke off, rushing around the sides.
The final charge came.
Blades aimed directly for Brannic and Merriweather's throats.
They would not miss this time.
III — The Soldiers
They were trained.
Disciplined.
They had fought border wars.
Put down rebellions.
But something about this felt wrong.
The air shifted.
The temperature dropped.
The shadows on the walls stretched.
One soldier hesitated.
"Captain…"
But it was too late.
CLANG.
A new sound.
Heavier.
Deeper.
The soldiers blinked.
Where there had been two Shadow Knights—
There was now one.
And a man.
Tall.
Black trench coat falling like ink over polished dragon-scale armor.
Two inverted holsters at his sides.
A massive double-bladed sword resting casually in his grip.
All eight Imperial blades were stopped.
Effortlessly.
The metal trembled against his weapon.
The soldiers stepped back instinctively.
No one had seen him enter.
He simply…
Was there.
The leader stared.
"W-What are you?"
The man tilted his head slightly.
Cold blue eyes met his.
"You're in my shop."
His voice was calm.
Controlled.
No shouting.
No rage.
Just certainty.
"I'm going to need you to leave."