The night before dawn felt heavier than any that had come before, weighed down by fire and blood. The campfires had burned down to little more than glowing red embers, occasionally snapping with a faint crackle—small reminders that the ambush was no dream. The air still reeked of blood and scorched wood, tangled with the damp scent of churned earth. Every breath carried the ghost of smoke, every shift of wind hinted at the violence that had passed, leaving one unsure whether to feel relief or dread.
Far on the horizon, the first pale shimmer of light bled into the sky, stretching timid fingers across the dark. Sunrise was coming. In that fragile glow, the camp revealed itself—strewn with corpses, weapons half-buried in the dirt, and still-wet trails of blood winding between scattered tents. The survivors, guards and caravaners alike, moved with quiet purpose: tending to the wounded, cleaning weapons in silence, or gathering the fallen for burial.
The sound of approaching footsteps made heads turn. It was Eleres.
He walked in from the shadows beyond the camp, his pace unhurried, each step measured. The blood-stained dagger in his hand caught the dim light for an instant before he sheathed it with calm, precise motions, as though he had merely gone for a short patrol instead of slipping through the chaos and claiming more than a dozen lives.
The guards' gazes were different now—no longer distant or indifferent. There was respect in their eyes, and something heavier… a shadow of caution, as though they had glimpsed a side of him that most men should never see.
Even the farm boy who had clung to his side since the start froze mid-step. In last night's chaos, he had seen it clearly—the unhesitating strikes, the silent kills, the way Eleres moved like a phantom between pockets of battle, never where you expected him to be. It was nothing like the fighting he had imagined before. The boy suddenly realized that the gap between them wasn't just large—it was a chasm, vast and unbridgeable.
"You… you really killed those men?" His voice was thin, almost lost in the morning stillness. Eleres only glanced down as he wiped his blade clean, answering with a simple, "Yes." His tone was so flat it could have been about the weather. When he looked up, he caught the complex mix in the boy's eyes—admiration, awe, and a trace of fear. A faint smile touched his lips. "Don't dwell on it. When you've seen enough, you'll know what to do."
The boy opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it, lowering his gaze.
Before long, Cedric approached with several guards in tow, his armor still marked with dried blood. His face was stern, but there was an unspoken acknowledgment in his eyes. "So, you've had this kind of skill all along," Cedric said, studying him for a long moment, as though reassessing everything he thought he knew. "Where did you learn it?" "On the battlefield," Eleres replied without hesitation. "Stay long enough, you learn to react quickly… and keep an eye on your surroundings. "His eyes held a calm, steady light, as if he were speaking of nothing important, yet the weight of the words lingered.
Cedric gave a short nod, choosing not to press further. Instead, he turned to his men. "Give him better quarters. "And so, when the caravan resettled, Eleres was moved to a spacious, well-kept wagon, far from the cramped corners where he had slept before.
Everyone was exhausted after the night's slaughter. Once they counted the losses and tended the injured, the caravan decided to remain in place until well after sunrise. The fires were rekindled—not with the frantic urgency of battle, but with a steady, welcoming glow, as if trying to smooth away the fear that had gripped them hours earlier. Somewhere in the camp, someone began cooking, and the faint scent of broth drifted through the cold air, mixing strangely with the lingering smell of blood.
Inside the quiet of his wagon, Eleres leaned back, eyes closed, letting the stillness settle over him. The creak of wood beneath him and the distant murmur of voices felt far away, almost unreal. That was when the cold, familiar voice echoed in his mind—
[Combat performance has reached system evaluation standards.]
[Necromancer class level increased to 3.]
[Assessing skill mastery…]
[Passive Skill Unlocked: Stealth Technique.]
A subtle shift rippled through his senses—Every flicker of shadow, every faint current of air seemed sharper, more tangible, as though the darkness itself had become a living thing that whispered its secrets to him. He knew instinctively that if he stepped into that darkness now, no gaze would linger on him; he could move unseen, unheard, like a shadow given form.
[Recommendation: Consider training in Assassin techniques to maximize synergy with stealth and lethal efficiency.]
He let the words linger in his mind, then slowly pushed himself upright. The wagon was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of movement outside. Eleres drew a slow breath and stepped into the narrow strip of shadow between the crates.
The change was immediate. His heartbeat felt slower, his breathing quieter, and the faint scuff of his boots on the floor vanished entirely. Even the air seemed to bend around him, muffling his presence. He reached toward the nearest lantern light, stopping just at the edge where brightness met darkness—his fingers almost seemed to dissolve into the gloom.
A faint thrill coiled in his chest. This was more than hiding; this was becoming unseen. He pictured the assassin squads he had once glimpsed on the battlefield—ghosts in human skin, slipping between tents, leaving only silence and blood in their wake. If he could master this, the blade in his hand would no longer be his only weapon. His very absence would be.
The system's voice faded, leaving only the faint ringing in his ears. He flexed his fingers, feeling the weight of the dagger at his side in a way he hadn't before. It was no longer just a weapon—it was an extension of his will, a tool perfectly suited to the path he now walked.
He opened his eyes slowly. Outside, the camp was stirring again, the first rays of sunlight spilling over the treeline and washing the world in pale gold. Life was returning, but for him, the world had taken on a different hue.
Beyond the blood and the dead, he had gained something far more valuable—A step deeper into the shadows. And this path—It would only grow darker from here.