Chapter 36 — Betrayal Resolved
(Shadeblade POV)
The first light of dawn crept over Portscab, painting the jagged rooftops in cold, pale gold. Last night's ambush had left the outskirts of the city scarred: shattered crates, burned barrels, and claw marks where Tier‑3 monstrosities had tested our nerves. Yet the real challenge wasn't outside—it was inside.
Mira's tense whispers had reached me first. "Something's wrong. One of the allies… may have turned."
I adjusted the boney mask, crack glinting from my left eye to cheek. Step lightly. Sword ready. Observation sharp. Fundamentals intact. Chaos optional. Humor… maybe not today.
Bran's laughter, usually so reliable, was replaced with a frown. "You're kidding, right? After monsters and ambushes, now betrayal?"
Selia crouched on the roof, twin daggers glinting. "Not kidding. I've been watching movements all night. Someone… miscommunicated, delayed our signals. It wasn't an accident."
Vaelric stood stiffly beside me, crimson cloak torn slightly at the hem from yesterday's fight. Pride had been tempered by humility, yes—but betrayal was a test he wasn't ready for. Or so I thought.
"Step lightly, noble brat," I muttered beneath the mask. "Chaos is back. Fundamentals… now include suspicion."
---
We moved toward the suspected hideout, the morning mist curling around our boots like specters. Lysara's bow was ready, her eyes cold, calculating. Mira whispered instructions with surgical precision, but this time, every word was cautious, laden with mistrust. Korran's gaze, as ever, was unreadable, piercing the shadows. Bran flexed his fingers, shield ready, muttering under his breath about "traitorous scum."
The convoy path twisted through narrow alleys, perfect for ambushes. Step lightly. Pivot. Observe. Fundamentals.
And then it hit.
A trap—a simple one, crude but effective. One of the wagons exploded with a loud crash, sending supplies tumbling. Horses panicked. From the shadows, Tier‑3 mercenaries—not part of our crew—opened fire.
Selia leapt into action, daggers flashing. "Skeleton! Chaos incoming!"
I tripped over a loose stone, swinging my sword instinctively. Somehow, in a spectacular spin-and-fall maneuver, I knocked two attackers into each other, taking them out. Selia landed beside me, grinning. "You're a disaster… and a genius!"
Bran roared, blocking incoming blows, shield clanging against metal and bone. "Keep him upright, Skeleton! Or at least make him look heroic while falling!"
Vaelric hesitated, caught in the panic, then pivoted sharply. Step lightly. Swing. Hit. Step back. He was slower than usual, but precise. A faint smile crossed his face beneath the crimson cloak. Fundamentals working. Lesson applied.
---
The chaos revealed the traitor: a hooded figure we had trusted during previous missions. Signals delayed, instructions misinterpreted, the alley cleared for enemy entry. Betrayal.
Mira hissed from the side: "There! The hooded one—he's leading them!"
I adjusted my mask, clenching the hilt. Step lightly. Pivot. Slash. He lunged at the figure, but tripped over debris, spinning spectacularly—but my sword caught the traitor's side, drawing first blood.
Vaelric rushed past me, crimson cloak whipping. His swing precise, cutting off the enemy's escape. The first flickers of humility turned into action under pressure. He wasn't just learning to survive—he was adapting, applying lessons of trust, discipline, and observation.
Selia's daggers were everywhere, a blur of silver. Bran's shield cracked through two more attackers. Lysara picked off enemies from distance, quiet and deadly. Korran moved like a shadow, surgical strikes, no wasted motion.
The hooded traitor tried to flee—but a trap I hadn't noticed caught him. He stumbled, sprawling into the path of Vaelric's controlled strike. The noble's eyes widened for a brief moment—fear? Respect? Both. "I… see now," he muttered. "You… weren't exaggerating."
I groaned beneath the mask, tripping over a stray barrel in my usual fashion, but somehow ending up perfectly behind another mercenary. Slash. Pivot. Fall. Success. Chaos executed with fundamentals intact.
---
After the last enemy fell, the courtyard was quiet except for ragged breathing, creaking wood, and the distant cries of scavenging rats. We gathered, bruised, scratched, and tired—but alive.
Vaelric looked at me, crimson cloak torn, chest heaving. "I… understand," he said quietly. "I need to trust… observe… adapt. Pride… is useless without discipline."
I adjusted the mask, smirking beneath it. "Congratulations. You've survived betrayal. Optional chaos included. Bonus points if you tripped at least once."
Selia laughed from the rooftop. "Skeleton, you're the only one who can trip and still teach a lesson in humility!"
Bran clapped Vaelric on the back. "Alive. Humble. And maybe a bit less annoying. Good work!"
Lysara's silent nod conveyed what words never could: lesson learned, skill applied, trust cautiously rebuilt.
Mira checked the convoy and nodded. "Coordination restored. Mission… salvageable. Lesson embedded."
Korran's cold gaze swept over all of us. "Tier‑2 Disciplined, Sword-only, clumsy, adaptable… Leadership emerging. Vaelric… applying first lessons. Trust recalculated. Betrayal neutralized."
---
That evening, we feasted around a roaring campfire. Meat, bread, and Bran's notoriously questionable stew filled our stomachs. Laughter returned, tentative but present. Vaelric ate silently, contemplative, his pride tempered but not broken. Humility had roots now, tested by betrayal and fire.
I adjusted the mask, a small smile beneath it. Chaos, clumsiness, trust, discipline, and first lessons in loyalty stitched together into the patchwork fabric of our crew.
Step lightly. Sword ready. Trust rebuilt. Humor… inevitable with Selia and Bran around.
Shadeblade—Tier‑2, clumsy yet disciplined, sword-only, and ironically effective—had survived ambush, betrayal, and chaos, taught Vaelric humility, and ensured the crew remained intact.
Tomorrow would bring bigger trials. But tonight, laughter, survival, and first trust forged in fire marked the beginning of the crew's true cohesion.