Light struggled to pierce the tangled branches above Maxim's hut. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the lingering regret of long years. Nineteen-year-old Raymond carried little: a common sword as a temporary replacement for his lost blade, and a leather pouch filled with a few meager coins. But his true burden lay within his eyes.
Raymond stood before Maxim, the man who had found him as a half-dead child near the docks, a victim of betrayal in his early years. Maxim, the retired mercenary, was a mountain of a man—clothed in silence, caution, and leather armor as weathered as his own skin.
"I taught you how to move like a shadow, how to fight with intellect, and how to read your enemy's intent," Maxim said in a gravelly voice, his gaze fixed on the black leather patch covering Raymond's right eye—the eternal tattoo of betrayal. "But there is one lesson I cannot teach you, Raymond."
"And what is that, Maxim?" Raymond asked, his voice cold and laced with a familiar, cynical edge.
"To trust," Maxim shook his head slowly. "You trust no one. That is your sword and your shield, but it is also your prison. Revenge drives you, but the ultimate power you seek cannot be conquered by a lone blade."
Raymond did not reply. He simply touched his eye patch with his left hand—a habitual gesture in moments of resolve, as if steadying the patch to summon the courage of a lost past.
"I will find Kelan. I will reclaim The Kingmaker. And I will avenge two families slaughtered in cold blood," Raymond declared, his words sharp as shattered glass.
Maxim offered no embrace, no well-wishes. Instead, he handed him a map drawn with hidden lines.
"The Sunken Arkan," Maxim said. "There, you will find the filth that Kelan loves to inhabit. Do not look for a nobleman; look for an information broker called The Scorpion. Good luck, boy. Do not die before you uncover the truth."
Raymond left the hut without looking back. He knew there was no return. Behind him, the darkness swallowed the forest; ahead, a world of spies and traitors awaited.
The port of The Sunken Arkan was a cacophony of filth, shouting voices, and the stench of rotting fish. Here, Raymond could finally breathe. In this place, everyone held a secret, and that made him an equal to all.
Disguised as a simple dockworker, Raymond avoided any erratic movement. Every step was calculated, applying Maxim's lessons on reading one's surroundings. His sole eye—the left—captured details with startling speed: the flick of a hand, the direction of a gaze, the tremor in a voice.
He entered a dimly lit tavern known as "Traitor's Anchorage." The noise was deafening, the light flickering. He was searching for one man: The Scorpion, a broker famous for selling himself more than once.
Raymond sat in a distant corner, ordering a foul local brew. When a hulking waiter approached, Raymond had already dissected his movements.
"I'm looking for 'The Scorpion'," Raymond said, his voice barely a whisper, yet carrying a calm, lethal threat.
The waiter laughed mockingly. "Everyone's looking for The Scorpion, kid. Someone like you shouldn't—"
Before the man could finish, he found himself pinned against the wall, Raymond's hand gripping his throat. Raymond didn't use brute force; he used a precise distribution of weight and pressure, exactly as Maxim had taught him.
"I'm not asking," Raymond hissed, his lone eye glowing with a harsh brilliance. "I'm informing you. I want The Scorpion. Now."
The waiter froze. In mere seconds, he realized this one-eyed youth was no mere dockworker.
"Back table... the dark corner," the waiter stammered, pointing toward an old man wearing a wide-brimmed hat.
Raymond released him and walked toward The Scorpion with steady steps. He sat down uninvited.
"Kelan. I'm looking for Kelan. An old pirate who suddenly became very wealthy."
The Scorpion lifted his hat, revealing a wizened, wrinkled face. He stared at Raymond for a long moment, then slowly broke into a yellow-toothed grin.
"Kelan? Everyone is hunting traitors these days. But betrayal costs dearly, boy. Kelan went to his old home. He went to the Isles of Mist. He was afraid... searching for something he couldn't find here. Something... ancient."
That was the first piece of the puzzle. Raymond placed a gold coin on the table without blinking.
"Thank you."
As Raymond rose to leave, The Scorpion noticed something familiar. "Wait, boy," the old man said, clutching the coin. "There's something else. Someone else was asking about the Isles of Mist. He didn't look dangerous—more like a sorcerer searching for a library. But he was asking about ancient magic... and Kelan."
Raymond paused. A sorcerer. Now, the game of personal vengeance had become much more complicated.
[End of Chapter One]