The city of Merrow had changed, though no one noticed. Heroes continued to parade through the streets, shaking hands, granting favors, smiling as though the world owed them faith. Merchants continued to haggle, children continued to chase one another through puddles, and the river carried the same dull scent of mud and fish. Ordinary. Predictable. Safe.
I walked among them, cheap sword at my side, Voraciel sheathed on my back. No one noticed. No one cared. Observation is always cheaper than interference. Patience endures.
The first kill in the Villain Palace had shifted something in the air. Not the city. Not the people. Me. I felt it in the whisper at the edge of my mind: "…kill."
Not a demand. Not a command. Just presence. Patient. Alive. Waiting.
I ignored it, for now. Observation always comes first.
---
By morning, I had returned to the docks. Crates, ropes, the mundane rhythm of work—it was comforting. Muscle memory, counting nails, lifting heavy objects, the smell of salt and fish. All ordinary. Safe. But my eyes were sharper, my awareness keener. Shadows had a meaning I had never noticed. Footsteps whispered intentions. Conversations revealed weaknesses. Patterns unfolded like maps in my mind. Observation is always cheaper than interference.
A group of soldiers marched through the docks, talking about the palace and the heroes' progress. Ordinary mistakes, predictable overconfidence. I counted them, noted their fatigue, the slight twitch in one's fingers, the uneven pace in their step. Observation is always cheaper than action.
The whisper came again. "…kill."
I ignored it. Not yet. Patience is a tool, sharper than any blade.
---
That evening, I walked the streets. The city smelled of bread and smoke. Lanterns glowed along cobbled streets. Children laughed, chasing imaginary villains, unaware of the real ones moving in shadows. Merchants closed shops, counting coins, oblivious to the world around them. Ordinary. Predictable. Safe.
I entered a narrow alley. Shadows stretched long in the lantern light. I felt them before I saw them—three men, ordinary in appearance but armed and dangerous enough to threaten merchants if left unchecked. They didn't notice me, not yet. Observation always comes first.
"…kill."
Voraciel hummed faintly, responding to intent at the edge of my mind. Not a command. Not demand. Presence. Patient. Alive. Waiting.
I stepped forward. Movement measured. Footfalls silent. The first man swung his dagger without warning. Predictable. Mistake. Observation pays dividends.
"…kill—Crimson Tide."
The sword responded as it always did. Not by chance. Not by anger. Intent made audible. Shadows stretched. Force guided subtly. The attack misaligned. The man fell, unconscious, his companions frozen in shock.
"…kill."
I repeated the motion. Clean. Controlled. Precise. Bloodlust is power. Not anger. Not morality. Only intent. Controlled, deliberate, pure.
By the time the last man collapsed, the alley was silent. The only sound: my breathing, slow, measured, and the faint pulse of Voraciel in my hands. Patient. Alive. Waiting.
---
I left the alley. No one had seen me. No one would speak of it. The city continued in ignorance. Heroes continued their performances. Merchants continued counting coins. Children continued dreaming of impossible victories. Ordinary. Predictable. Safe.
And I walked among them, unnoticed. Cheap sword at my side, Voraciel sheathed on my back. Observation remains paramount. Patience endures.
I returned to my room above the tailor's shop. Bread purchased. Coins counted. Routine maintained. Ordinary, unremarkable, invisible.
But the whisper remained at the edge of my mind. "…kill."
Not now. Not yet. Patience. Observation. Calculation. Intent.
I smiled faintly. The first blood had been shed. Voraciel had been claimed. The city had not noticed. The world had not noticed.
Bloodlust is awakening. The first technique mastered. Intent is everything.
And I am just beginning.