The first rule Adrian Vale had established for his new life was simple.
Never become important enough for anyone to remember your name.
The second rule was even simpler.
Never stand between a powerful person and an assassin.
Unfortunately, the imperial examination grounds had been designed by someone who hated both principles.
“Candidate number seven hundred and thirteen!”
Adrian closed his eyes.
The examiner shouted again.
“Candidate number seven hundred and thirteen! Step forward!”
Around him, hundreds of young men and women in polished armour stood beneath the enormous banners of the Aurellian Empire. Beyond the examination grounds, the imperial capital of Aurelia glittered beneath the morning sun. Golden rooftops crowned the hills. White towers rose above crowded avenues. The imperial palace stood at the city's highest point, its enormous silver dome visible from almost everywhere.
It was beautiful.
It was prosperous.
It was doomed.
Adrian knew this because he had read about it.
Or, more accurately, he had read a fantasy novel in his previous life whose author had apparently considered the destruction of an entire empire an excellent way to begin the story.
The Aurellian Empire would collapse.
The capital would burn.
The imperial family would be slaughtered or scattered.
And the tyrant Emperor Lucien Aurelius would become one of the most hated figures in the history of the continent.
Adrian had been unfortunate enough to awaken inside that world.
More unfortunate still, he had awakened as Adrian Vale, a minor character whose name appeared in precisely three paragraphs of the original novel.
In the first paragraph, Adrian was appointed to the Royal Guard.
In the second, he was promoted after a series of military incidents.
In the third, he was executed for allegedly conspiring against the emperor.
The author had not even given him a speaking line.
Adrian had taken that personally.
He had no intention of becoming a footnote in somebody else's tragedy.
He wanted money, a quiet house, reliable food, and enough distance from the imperial court that nobody would remember he existed.
The Royal Guard examination had seemed like an excellent place to begin ruining his own prospects.
Unfortunately, he had underestimated the examiner.
“Candidate number seven hundred and thirteen!”
“I heard you,” Adrian muttered.
“Then step forward!”
Adrian stepped forward.
The examiner, a broad-shouldered knight with a magnificent moustache and the expression of a man who had personally invented disappointment, inspected him from head to toe.
“Name?”
“Adrian Vale.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Combat experience?”
“Very little.”
“Magical aptitude?”
“Unremarkable.”
“Special qualifications?”
“None worth mentioning.”
The examiner lowered his parchment.
“You understand that this is an examination for the Royal Guard?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And that the Royal Guard protects the emperor, the imperial family, and the stability of the empire itself?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you have no particular qualifications?”
“I am extremely ordinary, sir.”
A few candidates nearby turned their heads.
The examiner stared at him.
Adrian maintained a perfectly respectful expression.
He had spent three weeks preparing for this examination.
Not studying.
Preparing to fail.
He had intentionally selected a mediocre sword. He had neglected the more advanced combat manuals. He had avoided joining a prestigious training group. He had even submitted his application late enough to receive the least desirable examination slot.
Yet somehow, the registration office had classified him as a candidate with sufficient potential to be tested personally.
The empire was already conspiring against him.
“Very well,” the examiner said. “Demonstrate your swordsmanship.”
Adrian drew his sword.
He performed three movements.
The first was too slow.
The second was badly balanced.
The third ended with his sword pointing at the ground.
The examiner's moustache twitched.
“Again.”
Adrian repeated the movements.
This time, he made the second one worse.
“Again.”
“Sir, I believe I have demonstrated the limits of my ability.”
“Again!”
Adrian sighed.
He was beginning to understand why the empire would eventually collapse.
Its institutions were incapable of accepting a perfectly reasonable answer.
He repeated the movements for a third time.
The examiner watched him in silence.
Then he made a mark on the parchment.
Adrian felt a flicker of hope.
Finally.
The mark of failure.
He had done it.
“Candidate Vale,” the examiner announced, “your technique is peculiar.”
Adrian's hope vanished.
“Thank you, sir.”
“That was not praise.”
“My apologies, sir.”
“You possess no formal stance, your footwork is inconsistent, and your transitions are atrocious.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Yet you repeatedly place yourself outside the obvious line of attack.”
Adrian blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your movements are inefficient, but your positioning is unusual. You avoid direct exchanges even when you have the opportunity to attack.”
“I dislike being hit.”
The examiner stared at him.
Several candidates laughed.
The examiner did not.
“Fear of injury is not a qualification.”
“I agree completely, sir.”
“Then why do you keep moving like a man who expects every opponent to be stronger than himself?”
“Because many people are stronger than me, sir.”
A silence followed.
The examiner looked at the parchment again.
For one dreadful moment, Adrian wondered whether honesty had become a punishable offence.
Then the examiner made another mark.
“Proceed to the second trial.”
Adrian looked at the sky.
His first plan had failed.
He had been examined, criticised, and sent to the next stage.
He had not even been insulted properly.
This was going to be a long day.
The second trial took place in the eastern courtyard.
Candidates were divided into groups and instructed to defend a ceremonial standard against a team of experienced Royal Guard instructors.
The rules were straightforward.
Protect the standard.
Remain inside the designated area.
Do not use lethal force.
Adrian immediately identified three ways to lose.
He could surrender.
He could allow the standard to be captured.
Or he could trip over something.
He preferred the third option because it would be difficult to interpret as cowardice.
Unfortunately, the courtyard had been cleaned.
There was nothing to trip over.
Adrian considered this a serious failure of administrative planning.
“Candidate Vale,” the instructor said, pointing toward a wooden standard planted in the centre of the courtyard. “You will defend the eastern approach.”
“Understood.”
“Your opponents are experienced guards. Do not assume they will be gentle.”
“I would never make that mistake.”
The instructor narrowed his eyes.
Adrian took his position.
Around him, the other candidates prepared for the exercise. Some adjusted their grips. Others whispered tactical advice. One particularly enthusiastic young man was explaining how he intended to defeat three opponents simultaneously.
Adrian envied his confidence.
He also suspected the young man had never been struck in the face by a wooden training sword.
The whistle sounded.
The instructors advanced.
Adrian retreated.
One step.
Two steps.
Three.
A training sword swept toward his shoulder.
He ducked.
Another struck the air above his head.
He stumbled sideways, collided with a wooden practice rack, and sent six training shields crashing to the ground.
The noise was spectacular.
Several candidates turned.
The instructor leading the attack stopped for half a second.
Adrian used the opportunity to retreat behind a stone pillar.
“Candidate Vale!” someone shouted.
“I am still defending the standard!” Adrian shouted back.
“You are hiding behind a pillar!”
“The pillar is inside the designated area!”
The instructor's expression suggested that he regretted joining the military.
Then the exercise changed.
A second group of instructors entered from the northern gate, forcing the defending candidates to split their attention. One candidate was disarmed. Another lost his footing. The young man who had promised to defeat three opponents simultaneously was currently losing an argument with one.
Adrian remained behind the pillar.
He was doing very well.
Then he noticed something.
The northern gate had opened too early.
It was a small detail. Perhaps the instructors had simply changed the exercise. Perhaps the schedule had been mismanaged.
But the two guards standing beside the gate were not wearing the same insignia as the other instructors.
Their armour was correct.
Their weapons were correct.
Their uniforms were almost perfect.
Almost.
The guard on the left wore his sword on the wrong side.
Adrian's stomach tightened.
In the original novel, the first major assassination attempt against Emperor Lucien Aurelius occurred during a public imperial ceremony.
The attackers infiltrated the palace using forged credentials and stolen uniforms.
The attack was supposed to happen several months later.
Adrian had assumed he would be long gone by then.
He looked toward the imperial palace beyond the courtyard walls.
A procession of officials was approaching the eastern ceremonial avenue.
The emperor's silver standard was visible above the rooftops.
Adrian looked back at the two unfamiliar guards.
One of them had just passed a small metal object to a third man near the gate.
The object caught the sunlight.
A narrow silver flash.
Adrian felt his heart sink.
It was not a training exercise.
Someone had brought an assassination operation into the Royal Guard examination.
And the operation was already underway.
“Candidate Vale!” the instructor shouted. “Return to your position!”
Adrian did not move.
He was trying to calculate the distance to the nearest exit.
The eastern courtyard had three gates.
The northern gate was compromised.
The southern gate led toward the ceremonial avenue.
The western gate was guarded by two officers whose loyalty he could not verify.
There was a narrow service passage behind the equipment store.
It might lead outside the examination grounds.
Adrian began moving toward it.
A hand seized his shoulder.
“Where do you think you're going?”
The instructor stood behind him.
Adrian looked at the hand.
Then at the instructor.
Then at the unfamiliar guards.
“I believe I have developed a sudden medical condition.”
“What?”
“A severe lack of enthusiasm.”
The instructor stared at him.
Adrian attempted to move around him.
The instructor blocked his path.
“Return to the trial.”
“Sir, with respect, I believe the trial has become dangerous.”
“That is the point of the examination!”
“No, sir. I mean genuinely dangerous.”
The instructor's expression changed.
He followed Adrian's gaze toward the northern gate.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the unfamiliar guard on the left turned his head.
His eyes met Adrian's.
The man's expression remained neutral.
His right hand moved toward his sword.
Adrian felt the unpleasant sensation of a future becoming real.
The guard drew.
Not toward Adrian.
Toward the instructor.
Adrian moved before he had time to think.
He grabbed the instructor's shoulder and pulled him sideways.
The blade passed through the space where the man's neck had been.
The instructor stumbled.
Adrian lost his balance.
Both men crashed into the equipment rack.
Training shields fell.
A wooden spear struck the ground.
Someone shouted.
The assassin recovered instantly and lunged again.
Adrian saw the sword coming.
He also saw a discarded shield beneath his foot.
He stepped on its rim.
The shield tilted.
His foot slipped.
His entire body dropped awkwardly to one side.
The assassin's blade passed over him.
Adrian's shoulder struck the man's waist.
Both stumbled into the second attacker, who had just raised a crossbow toward the courtyard.
The crossbow discharged.
The bolt struck the wooden standard.
The ceremonial cloth tore.
For one frozen second, the courtyard became silent.
Then everyone began shouting.
“ASSASSINS!”
The first attacker tried to recover his sword.
The instructor struck him across the face.
The second attacker dropped his crossbow and ran toward the northern gate.
Three candidates pursued him.
A fourth threw a training shield.
The shield missed the assassin, struck a pillar, and knocked a decorative iron bracket loose.
The bracket fell directly in front of the fleeing man's feet.
He tripped.
Five candidates piled on top of him.
Adrian lay on the ground, staring at the sky.
He had survived.
That was good.
He had also prevented an instructor from being killed.
That was less good.
The instructor was currently kneeling beside him.
“Candidate Vale.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“Sir, I would prefer not to discuss it.”
“You pulled me out of the path of a killing blow.”
“It was a reflex, sir.”
“You disrupted the attacker's balance.”
“I slipped, sir.”
“You prevented the second assassin from taking a clear shot.”
“I fell into him, sir.”
The instructor studied him with an expression that made Adrian deeply uncomfortable.
Then the man rose.
“Secure the courtyard! Nobody leaves!”
Adrian opened his eyes.
Nobody leaves.
Those were terrible words.
They were the sort of words that preceded investigations, promotions, medals, and years of unnecessary responsibility.
He sat up.
Across the courtyard, the captured assassin was being dragged to his feet.
A guard searched the man's clothing.
Then he froze.
“Captain!”
The instructor turned.
The guard held up a small black token marked with a silver serpent.
Adrian's blood ran cold.
He knew that symbol.
In the novel, the Serpent Court had been described as a clandestine organisation that infiltrated noble households, military commands, and imperial institutions.
Its members had spent years preparing the empire's eventual destruction.
The original protagonist would discover the organisation much later.
Adrian had just stumbled into it during a failed examination.
He considered this a personal betrayal by the universe.
“Captain,” the guard said, “this token bears the mark of the Serpent Court.”
The instructor's face hardened.
“Seal the gates. Send a message to the palace. Nobody is to speak of this until the emperor's security office arrives.”
Adrian slowly stood.
Perhaps this could still be salvaged.
He had not deliberately fought anyone.
He had not issued an order.
He had not even drawn his sword.
If he explained everything carefully, perhaps the authorities would conclude that he was an unfortunate bystander.
He approached the instructor.
“Sir?”
The instructor turned.
“Yes, Vale?”
“I would like to withdraw from the examination.”
The instructor stared at him.
Adrian waited.
Then the instructor laughed.
It was not a pleasant laugh.
“Withdraw?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have just helped expose a conspiracy against the emperor.”
“I understand how that might appear.”
“You prevented an instructor from being killed.”
“An unfortunate coincidence.”
“You disrupted an armed attack without even drawing your sword.”
“I was on the ground for most of it.”
The instructor stared at him for several seconds.
Then he placed one hand on Adrian's shoulder.
“Candidate Vale, I have served the Royal Guard for twenty-seven years.”
“That is very impressive, sir.”
“In those twenty-seven years, I have met talented swordsmen, brilliant tacticians, fearless warriors, and fools who believed themselves to be all three.”
Adrian nodded politely.
“You are the first man I have encountered who appears determined to be none of them.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“That was not praise.”
“I apologise, sir.”
The instructor's grip tightened.
“You will remain here until the imperial security office arrives.”
Adrian looked toward the service passage.
It was only twenty paces away.
Twenty paces.
A lifetime of freedom.
He looked back at the instructor.
“Yes, sir.”
There was no point running.
Not while everyone was watching.
He would wait until they became distracted.
Then he would leave.
Quietly.
Without medals.
Without promotions.
Without becoming important enough for anyone to remember his name.
Adrian Vale had made a mistake.
He had assumed the empire's destruction was something that would happen to him in the future.
He had not considered the possibility that the future might notice him first.
And somewhere beyond the courtyard walls, the imperial procession was approaching.
The emperor was on his way.