A cold breeze rustled through the leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant decay. Alaric stirred awake, his body stiff from the uncomfortable position he had spent the night in. The rough bark of the tree pressed against his back, a far cry from the luxurious bedding he had once known. But those days were gone. This was his new reality.
He exhaled slowly, watching the thin mist of his breath dissipate into the morning air. The world was still, save for the occasional rustling of unseen creatures in the underbrush. Sunlight barely filtered through the dense canopy, casting fragmented beams upon the forest floor.
Alaric stretched his limbs, feeling the slight soreness in his muscles—a reminder that despite his new abilities, his body was still adapting. His mind, however, was sharper than ever. The system's interface flickered before his eyes, reminding him of his status.
[Status]
Class: Apprentice Assassin (Level 3)
Strength: 9
Agility: 14
Perception: 11
Endurance: 7
Intelligence: 15
Perception: 10
Mana Control: 5
Stealth: 11
Skills: Shadow Cloak (Beginner), Silent Stride (Passive), Lethal Precision (New)
His growth was tangible, but he was still far from strong. He needed more power. More skills. More experience.
And his next Sign-In location would bring him one step closer.
Remnants of War
Alaric leaped down from the tree, landing with minimal noise. His movements were already smoother than the day before, a testament to his evolving physique. He had no clear direction, but his instincts urged him forward, deeper into the unknown.
As he walked, the forest began to thin. The trees became sparse, their roots gnarled and twisted around jagged rocks. The air grew heavier, laden with something indescribable—an eerie stillness that set his nerves on edge.
Then he saw it.
A vast expanse of scorched earth stretched before him, littered with rusted weapons, shattered armor, and skeletal remains half-buried in the dirt. The remnants of an ancient battlefield.
Alaric stilled, his pulse steady but alert. The ground was uneven, carved by deep trenches and the impact of war machines long forgotten. Time had claimed this place, but the scars of battle still lingered.
He stepped forward cautiously, his boots crunching against brittle bones. His eyes scanned the remains—many of the corpses bore signs of old wounds, their weapons dulled by age. But what caught his attention most was the emblem etched onto some of the rusted breastplates.
A black wolf howling at a crimson moon.
House Draven.
A phantom sensation crawled up his spine. His family's warriors had fought here. Died here.
Had they won? Had they fallen? What war had this been?
Clues of the Past
Alaric knelt beside one of the broken helms, brushing away the dirt. The crest was barely visible, but the craftsmanship was unmistakable. His father had once spoken of a war—a border conflict against a rival kingdom. Had this been one of those battlefields? Or was this something far older?
His fingers brushed against something cold.
A dagger.
It lay beneath the ribcage of a fallen soldier, its blade unnaturally pristine despite years of exposure. The handle was wrapped in worn leather, its pommel adorned with strange engravings. The moment his hand closed around it, a faint pulse of energy resonated through his palm.
[Unknown Dagger Acquired]
He frowned. This wasn't an ordinary weapon. Its design was foreign, unlike anything he had seen before. Was it a relic of war? A cursed blade? The system remained silent, offering no immediate insight.
Tucking the dagger into his belt, Alaric stood. His instincts whispered a warning—he was not alone.
Shadows Stir
A low, guttural growl echoed through the silence.
Alaric's hand went to his Shadowfang Blade, his senses sharpening. From the depths of the battlefield ruins, movement stirred. Shapes slithered between the wreckage, their eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.
Carrion fiends.
These creatures thrived in places of death, drawn to the lingering essence of the fallen. Their elongated, skeletal forms moved unnaturally, their jagged teeth bared in anticipation of fresh prey.
There were at least three of them, maybe more.
Alaric's muscles tensed. He could fight—but should he? They were scavengers, not hunters. If he moved carefully, he could avoid them altogether.
Activating Shadow Cloak, he faded into the dim light, his presence blending seamlessly with his surroundings. His breathing slowed as he stepped backward, moving through the ruins with practiced silence.
The fiends sniffed the air, their heads twitching in confusion. One of them let out a raspy snarl before turning away, disappointed by the absence of fresh flesh.
Alaric waited, unmoving, until the creatures slinked back into the ruins.
Only then did he exhale.
He was learning. He didn't need to fight every battle. Survival was just as important as strength.
Seeking Shelter
As the day stretched on, Alaric continued his trek, leaving the battlefield behind. The forest loomed once more, offering a semblance of cover, but the dangers remained ever-present.
He needed shelter. A place where he could rest without fear of being ambushed in his sleep.
His gaze swept the landscape, searching for a defensible position. A cave? Too risky. Low ground? A death trap. He needed elevation, a vantage point.
Then he spotted it—a massive tree trunk, hollowed and weathered by time. Its base was thick, its interior spacious enough to provide cover from the elements.
It would do.
With practiced efficiency, he gathered nearby foliage, creating a makeshift bedding of leaves. It was crude, but it was better than sleeping on exposed ground.
As night fell, he sat against the inner curve of the tree, his dagger resting on his lap. The distant cries of nocturnal predators echoed through the darkness, but here, in this temporary refuge, he felt a fleeting sense of security.
His mind wandered back to the battlefield. To the forgotten war. To the blade he had found.
There was something about that place, something unresolved.
But for now, he would rest.
The Path Forward
Dawn arrived with a golden hue, casting long shadows through the forest. Alaric stretched, his body already adjusting to this new life of hardship.
His next step was clear.
He needed to find his next Sign-In location.
He had no map, no guide—only instincts and determination.
And so, without hesitation, he stepped into the unknown once more.
The hunt for power continued.