Rain began to fall in Iron-Tooth Gorge, cold droplets trying to wash away the sins and blood from the limestone rocks. However, for Vaelen, this rain was merely a nuisance. Water mixed with blood made looting corpses slippery and messy.
Inside the protected black carriage, Isolde Valstyx peeked from behind a half-burnt velvet curtain. Her hands trembled violently, hugging her own knees.
Out there, her "savior" was busy.
She saw Vaelen bending over Commander Fenrir's corpse. Instead of praying or paying last respects like a knight, the young man stripped the giant corpse with the efficiency of a butcher.
Vaelen removed rings from Fenrir's stiff fingers, took his leather belt, and checked hidden pockets.
"Twenty medium-quality Mana Stones. Low-capacity Spatial Ring. Not bad," Vaelen muttered, his voice inaudible to Isolde but readable from his lip movements.
Satisfied with Fenrir, Vaelen moved to the Knight Captain's corpse—Isolde's own protector.
Isolde held her breath. Will he loot my people too?
The answer: Yes. Without a shred of hesitation.
Vaelen took the captain's high-quality Claymore (Enchanted Steel), several healing potions, and military identity badges. He didn't take their armor—too heavy and conspicuous—but he took every gold piece and mana stone he could find.
Brutal pragmatism. To Vaelen, the dead didn't need money. The dead didn't need weapons. He did.
Ten minutes later, the carriage door opened from the outside.
Isolde flinched back, pressing her spine against the plush seat back.
Vaelen stood there. Rain soaked his black hair, which now plastered flat against his forehead. His handsome face still bore dried blood scratches on his jawline. His leather cloak smelled of smoke and death.
"Scoot over a bit, Miss Valstyx," Vaelen said calmly, as if asking permission to sit on a park bench, not in the carriage of someone whose guards had just been slaughtered. "The seat over there is wet from the rain coming through the broken window."
Isolde didn't argue. She shifted to the left corner, making room for the human-shaped monster to enter.
Vaelen climbed in, closed the door, and the atmosphere inside the cabin instantly became silent and claustrophobic.
He sat to Isolde's right, leaving a polite distance of about two spans, but his aura filled the entire space. Vaelen pulled out a silk handkerchief—which he had taken from the dead Knight Captain's pocket—and began wiping black blood from his new sword blade.
"You..." Isolde's voice choked. She cleared her throat, trying to find the noble dignity she learned at the academy. "You looted Sir Roderick's corpse."
Vaelen didn't turn. He focused on scrubbing a stubborn bloodstain on the sword hilt.
"Sir Roderick doesn't need it anymore. This sword is good. It has a Durability strengthening rune. It would be a waste if it rusted in the rain."
"That... is dishonorable. He died protecting me."
Vaelen stopped scrubbing. He turned slowly to look at Isolde. His grey gaze made Isolde feel like she was being stripped to the bone—not sexually, but predatorially. Vaelen was weighing the value of her life.
"Honor, Miss Valstyx," Vaelen said softly but piercingly, "is sweet words carved on a dead man's tombstone. I prefer breathing, even if dishonorably."
Isolde fell silent. That argument was irrefutable in the face of the pile of corpses outside.
"Besides," Vaelen continued, sheathing the Claymore on his back, next to the ordinary steel longsword, "Consider it a down payment. I just killed a Rank 8 enemy for you. Mercenary rates for a monster of Fenrir's class are expensive. Roderick's old sword doesn't even cover 10 percent of my bill."
"Y-You're going to extort my family?"
"Not extort. Collecting professional fees."
Vaelen leaned back casually, stretching his long legs. The system in his head informed him of the carriage status.
[Vehicle Analysis: Enchanted Black-Iron Carriage]
[Status: Armored, Integrity 85%]
[Engine: None. Requires beast propulsion.]
[Assets: 2 surviving Spirit Horses (Injured but functional).]
Two of the four draft horses were still alive. They were Spirit Horses, half-monster creatures that were intelligent and strong. They were injured by Warg bites, but they knew their master was still inside. They were waiting for orders.
"The carriage can run. Your horses are alive," Vaelen said. "Can you control them from here?"
Isolde nodded stiffly. "There is... there is a control crystal on the front panel."
"Good. Drive it. East. Get out of this Gorge before other vultures come."
Isolde hesitated for a moment, then reached out to touch the crystal panel on the front wall of the carriage. The crystal glowed a dim blue.
Outside, the whinny of tired horses was heard. Carriage wheels creaked, crushing rocks and perhaps a severed hand or two, then began to move forward slowly.
The shaking of the carriage made the atmosphere even more awkward.
Vaelen closed his eyes, seemingly resting. But in reality, he was struggling.
Inside his head, Fenrir's voice still echoed. The desire to destroy, the desire to dominate, the desire to tear apart the girl next to him... it throbbed behind his skull.
Sanity: 68/100. Rose slightly after "cooling down", but the berserker madness residue was dangerous.
"What is your name?"
Isolde's voice broke Vaelen's concentration. The girl stared at him, her fear starting to be slightly covered by curiosity (and the political obligation to know her savior's identity).
Vaelen opened one eye.
"I told you. Vaelen."
"Vaelen who? You have noble etiquette, even though your way of speaking is rough. And you wear the remnants of clothes... that's the style of the Eisenwald Kingdom, but an old model." Isolde's blue eyes were sharp. "Vaelen... Blackwood?"
The room cooled a few degrees.
Isolde realized her mistake when she saw the thin smile on Vaelen's lips. It wasn't a friendly smile.
"News travels fast, it seems," Vaelen said.
"I heard... rumors," Isolde said cautiously. "That the Blackwood bastard child died of a sudden illness two days ago. There was a small funeral ceremony."
"An illness named 'Ambitious Stepmother' and 'Poisoned Wine'," Vaelen corrected flatly. "And as you can see, I am bad at dying. I decided to rise from the grave because the funeral service was lousy."
Isolde's face paled. Undead? Revenant? But Vaelen's skin wasn't cold (she felt it when Vaelen entered earlier). And his eyes, though terrifying, held a lively glint of intelligence, not the emptiness of the undead.
"Don't worry, Miss. I am still human. At least technically," Vaelen raised his hand, showing his normal fingers (the nails had shortened back). "But the name Blackwood is dead. Do not call me by that name in public, unless you want your head separated from your neck."
"I... I understand," Isolde squeaked. "Just Vaelen."
"Good. Smart girl."
Vaelen then reached into his leather armor pocket and pulled out a crumpled letter—the letter he found in the Bandit Captain's pocket this morning.
He tossed it into Isolde's lap.
"Free gift. Read it."
Isolde picked up the paper confusedly. She read the rough handwriting inside. Her eyes widened as she saw the double-headed eagle stamp and travel plan details only a handful of people knew.
...Special merchandise... Escort guards have been bought...
Isolde's hands trembled until the paper made a crinkle sound.
"Traitor..." she whispered. Tears dripped onto the paper. "Uncle Hendor... This is Uncle Hendor's assistant's handwriting."
"Family politics are complicated, aren't they?" Vaelen commented without sympathy. "There are insiders who want you gone, Lady Isolde. The Black Wolf bandits were just tools. If I hadn't eaten Fenrir, you would have been kidnapped—or maybe killed after they had their fun with you."
Vaelen leaned forward slightly, staring straight at the now shaken Isolde.
"So, your situation now: Your own family wants to kill you. Your guards are dead. You are in the middle of a cursed forest hundreds of kilometers from home."
"And..." Vaelen continued, pointing to himself, "...the only thing standing between you and a gruesome death is the opportunistic 'undead' whose carriage you are riding in."
Isolde wiped her tears roughly. There was a fire of anger in her blue eyes now. Not at Vaelen, but at the reality of her situation.
"What do you want, Mister Vaelen? You gave me this information not out of kindness."
"I need access," Vaelen said straightforwardly. "I need to enter the Academy of Whispers without a detailed background check. I heard the Valstyx family has one special recommendation slot every year."
The Royal Military and Magic Academy. The place the original Vaelen once dreamed of entering but was rejected due to Mana defects. The safest place in Eisenwald, and simultaneously the most corrupt.
And most importantly, the Academy was built on an "Ancient Leyline Node". A source of pure energy Vaelen needed to stabilize his system in the future.
"That recommendation slot..." Isolde hesitated. "That is usually for high-ranking noble children."
"Now it's for me."
"You want to be... my bodyguard?"
"Don't be naive. I want to be a Student. With a new identity." Vaelen grinned. "I will escort you home safely to the Capital. I will keep the secret that you almost died like a sheep. In exchange, you give me a new identity and that recommendation letter."
Isolde stared at Vaelen for a long time. She saw darkness in the young man's eyes. But she also saw strength. Strength that could protect her from "Uncle Hendor" and the political intrigues waiting for her at home.
"Deal accepted," Isolde said, her voice finding its aristocratic strength again. "But you must swear—"
"No oaths," Vaelen cut in. "Just a transaction. As long as you are useful to me, you stay alive. And vice versa."
The carriage shook as it passed the Gorge exit. Twilight began to break through the window, coloring the carriage interior blood orange.
Vaelen closed his eyes again, ending the conversation. He was satisfied.
He had obtained transportation, money, magic items, and now, an entry ticket to the elite institution that would be his new stage.
[Volume 1 Transition Imminent]
[Quest Update: Reach the Capital of Eisenwald.]
Their journey was still long, and the night outside the Gorge began to creep up bringing new horrors. But for now, Vaelen could sleep on velvet cushions, thinking about what other prey he would meet at the Academy later.