They came back fed and a little light in the head, grape ale still warm in the blood, meat and pies sitting heavy in a good way. The new room was small: plaster walls, a square window with old glass, a table that wobbled unless you put a rag under one leg, and two separate beds. Paid for a week. That felt decent.
They dropped their packs. Raul shut the door with his heel and leaned on it. Arin fixed the table leg and sat.
Raul said, "Okay, talk. No more half-stuff."
Arin nodded. "My talent is not swordsmanship, it's called Lord. When I look at people, I can see their name, rank, talent, potential, and such. And there's the main part. If someone becomes my subordinate, I can make them stronger."
Raul blinked once. "That's pretty OP. Lord, huh, only Lords I know are Kings and Emperors. But even their talent isn't close to anything you're describing."
Arin shrugged. "It doesn't buff me. Only the ones under me."
"That's what makes it odd," Raul said. "I've heard of one-off talents. The Kingdom we're currently in, The Lionheart Kingdom's first king, Julius Lionheart I, too, had one, called The Heart of a Lion. Strength, endurance, and leadership, all in one. These are called unique talents; unlike regular ones, only one person can have them. Yours could be one of those."
"Unique talent, huh, it might get strong later on, but initially it's pretty hard to get started even."
Arin looked at his hands. "If someone becomes my subordinate, they'll be stronger than before. But again, it's a bond."
Raul didn't think long. "Make me your subordinate."
"You sure?"
"We went through hell," Raul said. "If I can't trust you, I don't know who I can, plus I need to be stronger; I must be, and I'll grab any opportunity that makes me strong."
Arin stood. The room felt tighter, like the walls were listening. He set his palm over his heart, and he activated his skill: Lord's Imprint.
Heat, forge heat, without flame. A thin arc showed on his palm, shaped like a broken crown. The air folded and steadied.
"Do you acknowledge me as your Lord?" Arin asked. He didn't raise his voice. He put weight behind it.
Raul didn't kneel. He squared his shoulders and met Arin's eyes. "I do."
A red thread left Arin's hand and drew a straight line to Raul's chest. It went in like water, finding its place. Raul caught his breath. For one beat, Arin felt their rhythms match, then settle back with a line between.
A screen rolled through Arin's sight, not blue, but a clear, royal red.
___________________________
Subordinate: Raul Slade
Core Talent: Combat Sense
Rank: Soldier (31%)
Talent Skills: Sixth Sense, Martial Kinesthesia
Regular Skills: Basic Dagger Mastery, Quick Footwork
Upgrade: Locked (Unlock with 100 Lord Coins)
___________________________
Another followed behind it:
___________________________
Name: Arin
Core Talent: Lord
Rank: Soldier (5%)
Core Skills: Lord's Eyes, Lord's Imprint
Regular Skills: Basic Swordsmanship
Subordinates (1/3)
1) Raul Slade — Soldier (31%)
Lord Coins: 0
(You gain Lord Coins when your subordinates kill monsters; the amount depends on the monster's strength.)
___________________________
Arin didn't breathe for a second.
His strength wouldn't come from his own hands.
It would come from watching others fight, bleed, kill.
The realization settled slow and heavy, not exciting, sobering. This wasn't a lone hero's path. Every step he took forward would be paid for by people standing in front of him. If they stopped moving, he stopped growing.
And if one of them died—
Arin cut the thought off hard.
"What the fuck," he muttered, quieter than before.
Raul snorted. "Repeat it if it helps."
Arin rubbed at the faint arc on his palm. It didn't fade. "Three. I can only take three people right now." His jaw tightened. "And my growth's tied to them."
Raul absorbed that without flinching. "Then don't pick idiots," he said.
Arin looked at him, really looked this time.
"…Yeah," Arin said finally. "I won't."
Arin's eyes stuck on the name. "Raul Slade. You've got a surname?"
Raul's jaw tightened for a second. Then he told it straight. "Well, truth to be told, I'm actually not from here. I'll tell you... I'm what you call a fallen noble."
"What the actual fuck? You're a noble?"
"Fallen, fallen noble, that's basically worse than commoners. The Slades were a Viscount family from the kingdom of Ravenstone. I was ten when our allies turned on us. Knights burst into our estate. They took my family at dawn and killed everyone in my bloodline, and publicly executed my father as well, the same typical story." His tone didn't wobble. "I ran away. Hid in a random cart that was coincidentally coming towards the Lionheart kingdom. Lionheart guards didn't ask me many questions, so I took refuge here. I stopped using the name because names draw knives. I slept under wagons and in ditches. Work where I could. When Riverdale made sense, I stayed." He lifted a shoulder. "Rest is history."
"Oh, and I also use a charm that lets me hide my identity as a fallen noble from prying eyes. Guess it stopped working on you since I've become your subordinate."
The room was silent for a bit.
"You should've told me before," Arin said.
"I didn't want you thinking 'noble trouble' every time you looked at me," Raul said.
The atmosphere cooled. The thin arc stayed faint on Arin's palm.
"How do you feel?" Arin asked, wanting to change the conversation.
Raul flexed his hands, rolled his ankles, and breathed through his nose. "I don't feel much different, just a bit lighter."
"That's good," Arin said.
Raul sat on his bed. "Three men under you for now. That's a good start."
Arin nodded. "You're goddam right."
Arin looked back at the empty air where the screen had been and mumbled to himself. "Soldier, five percent after imprinting Raul. I wonder how quickly it'll grow from now on."
Raul laid back with his hands behind his head, eyes on the ceiling.
"One thing," Raul said. "Since we're not hiding anything anymore, I want revenge on those traitors who backstabbed my family, hope you're cool with that. When it's time, don't stop me, even if it takes my life. Although I don't plan on dying."
"Noted, man," Arin didn't say much.
Raul shut his eyes. "Good."
Arin washed his palm. The faint arc stayed.
Outside, Ashenvill went on, boots, voices, a wheel that needed grease. Inside, there were two cots, a wobbly table, two men with coins in the bag, and steel that wouldn't fail.
"Tomorrow," Raul murmured, half asleep. "Let's kill more fucking monsters."
"You got it, buddy," Arin said
The window took a slice of lamplight. The door held. Ordinary night. The atmosphere was odd in the room after all that sudden burst of honesty, but that didn't stop them from their main focus: to get stronger as fast as they could.