The stench of stagnant waste and sludge was still fresh on Iver’s clothes by the time he finished his second task at the eastern drainage, his mind entirely focused on refining his spirit core.
Now, he stood before a weathered stone building tucked into a quiet corner of the lower district. A carved wooden sign hung loosely over the archway: NADIA ORPHANAGE. Pushing the door open, Iver stepped inside and handed his official Guild request scroll to a tired looking woman.
"Welcome, young man," Sister Elena said, giving him a warm, exhausted smile. "We’ve been expecting someone from the guild today, Thank you for coming."
Before Iver could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the wooden hallway. A small girl with messy brown hair and bright, inquisitive eyes stopped dead in her tracks, staring up at him from a few paces away.
"Who are you?" she asked loudly, tilting her head. "Where are you from? Are you an adventurer? Why are your eyes so pale?"
Iver maintained a blank expression, unbothered by the barrage. He didn’t answer.
Undeterred by his silence, the girl puffed out her chest. "I’m Senna! I’m five years old! What’s your name?"
Iver looked down at her, keeping his voice deadpan. "Ares. Ten."
"Ten?" Senna’s eyes went wide with curiosity. "Did you awaken your spirit core yet? What’s your spirit animal called? Mine is a Crow! Sister Elena says when I awaken my core and reach higher tiers, I’ll be able to shift into a shadow crow! It’s super good for flying!"
’What a mouthy kid, reminds me of my little step sister’ he thought.
"Senna, stop disturbing our guest!" Sister Elena scolded gently, stepping between them with an apologetic look toward Iver. "I am so sorry, Ares. She doesn’t know when to quiet down. Please, follow me to the storeroom."
"It’s fine," Iver replied quietly.
He spent the next two hours hauling heavy sacks of grain, dried roots, and crates of preserved vegetables from the delivery carts into the basement storage. True to form, Senna hovered around the doorway the entire time, whispering questions, mimicking his movements, and pointing out where things went.
’Yup, she ain’t nothing like her, this one is exhausting’. Iver ignored her babbling, treating her like background noise, yet his sharp eyes noted every detail of the building and its fragile occupants.
As he hauled the final crate into the pantry, he overheard two small boys huddled near the kitchen stove.
"Sister... are we not going to eat any meat today again?" one of the boys asked, rubbing his stomach. Sister Elena patted the boy’s head, her smile strained. "Not today, sweetheart. Meat is expensive in the lower market, and we don’t have the money to hire a Guild hunter."
Iver stood in the shadows of the hallway, watching the scene unfold. A strange, cold prickle touched his chest. He hated weakness, and he despised pity, but looking at the ragged, abandoned children living off scraps stirred a quiet echo of his own past in the Vorne estate’s cold dark. They were orphans without backing, completely at the mercy of a world that didn’t care if they starved. Without saying a word to the Sister, Iver turned and walked out the front door.
’Guess i’ll go hunt some meat for them, i can take it as training’
Thirty minutes later, Iver was moving through the dense woods just outside Ravencrest’s southern gate. He didn’t waste time hunting small prey. Using his keen senses, he tracked down a Tier 1 Horned Stalker, a medium sized deer like beast with toughened hide and rich meat and let the Basilisk’s gaze brush against its mind. Only a touch. The Stalker’s legs locked mid step. Iver slipped into its blind spot, drove the iron knife through its neck joint, and bled it out in a single clean motion.
’So that’s how long it holds’, he noted. ’A heartbeat or two. Good to know.’
Carrying the heavy carcass over his shoulder, Iver made his way back toward the lower district. But as he approached the alley leading to the Nadia Orphanage, the sound of harsh shouting and a sharp CRACK echoed through the street. Iver immediately ducked into a dark recess between two stone buildings, dropping his spirit signature to zero.
’what is happening over there?’ Through the narrow gap, he saw a sleek, unmarked black carriage parked outside the orphanage gates. Sister Elena was on her knees in the dirt, clutching a reddened, swelling cheek. Standing above her was a heavy set man in black leather armor, while two scruffy thugs dragged a kicking, screaming Senna toward the open carriage door.
"Let her go! Please! Take whatever money we have left!" Sister Elena sobbed, reaching out.
"Shut up, old hag," the leather armored thug sneered, kicking her back onto the stone steps. "This brat’s got value. Consider the debt paid."
They shoved Senna into the carriage, slammed the door, and the driver whipped the horses into a fast gallop, heading straight for the eastern gates.
’Are they traffickers but from the sound from sister elena, its something about a debt’
Iver didn’t rush out like an enraged hero. He stayed hidden in the shadows, calmly calculating the situation until the carriage turned the corner. Only then did he step out, walking over to the sobbing Sister Elena.
He dropped the heavy Horned Stalker carcass onto the porch steps next to her. Sister Elena gasped, looking up through tear streaked eyes from the meat to Iver’s cold face. "A-Ares? Oh gods... they took Senna! They took her! Please, you have to call the guards"
"The guards won’t care," Iver said, his voice flat. He looked down the road where the carriage had disappeared. "Stay here, i’ll be back."
"Wait! You can’t go after them alone! They’re dangerous men"
"It’s fine," Iver cut her off cleanly.
He didn’t wait for her reply. Activating Presence Erasure, his physical form seemed to blur and vanish into the air.
Following the carriage tracks was ridiculously easy. Iver moved like a silent phantom through the crowded streets, effortlessly matching the speed of the horses while completely invisible to the bustling crowds. He followed the carriage out through the eastern gate and half a mile into the overgrown, dusty scrubland surrounding the city outskirts. The carriage finally pulled up outside a dilapidated, abandoned stone house hidden behind a dense cluster of dead trees.
Keeping his stealth fully active, Iver glided past the wooden fence and slipped through a broken window into the house’s rafters. He perched on a ceiling beam, peering down into the main room.
Eight were rough looking street thugs armed with rusty shortswords and hatchets. The ninth was the leather armored man who had struck Sister Elena, sitting at a wooden table counting copper coins. Senna was bound with rope in the corner, her eyes red from crying, but her mouth gagged with a rag.
"Our Lord will be pleased with this one," one of the thugs grunted, tossing a damp cloth over Senna’s head. "She’s young enough to be molded easily."
"Indeed," the leather armored leader replied, taking a sip from a clay jug. Guard the doors. The delivery contact arrives at midnight." Nine targets. Iver assessed coldly from above.
He had no formal sword training. He was a ten year old boy in a small frame, lacking the raw physical reach of an adult soldier. But what he lacked in swordsmanship, he made up for in terrifying precision and absolute stealth. He didn’t need grand martial techniques; he only needed a sharp blade and an opening. Iver dropped from the rafters without making a sound, landing silently behind a guard standing near the back door.
Slide.
Iver’s iron knife slipped cleanly into the back of the thug’s throat, severing his windpipe before he could gasp. As the man went limp, Iver eased his body to the dusty floorboards. He moved to the next one. A quick, brutal puncture behind the ear. Down. The third thug was leaning against a pillar. Iver stepped into his shadow, grabbed the chin, and dragged his blade across the neck in one fluid motion. By the fifth body, the leader at the table suddenly frowned, sniffing the air. "Hey... what’s that smell? Is something rotting?"
It was the subtle, invisible trace of Iver’s corrosive Basilisk miasma bleeding from his skin.
"Jansen? Marcus? Where the hell are you guys?" another thug called out, turning around. His eyes widened in absolute horror as he saw four of his comrades lying in pools of dark blood. "What the! We’re under attack!"
Chaos broke out. Swords were drawn, chairs were flipped.
"Where are they?! I can’t see anyone!" a thug screamed, swinging his blade wildly into the empty air.
His stealth remained flawlessly active. To the thugs, it was as if an invisible demon was harvesting them one by one. Iver didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside the wild swing of a panicked thug, driving his knife upward through the man’s lower jaw into the brain. He spun around the table, using his small size to slip under the leader’s broad sword strike, and thrust his blade deep into the leader’s exposed armpit, piercing the heart.
Within forty seconds, the shouting stopped. Nine bodies lay motionless across the blood soaked floorboards. Iver stood in the center of the room, wiping his bloody blade against a dead thug’s trousers. He took a slow breath, letting his stealth fade. In the corner, Senna’s eyes went wide as Iver suddenly materialized out of thin air. He walked over, pulled the gag from her mouth, and sliced through her wrist bindings.
The moment her hands were free, Senna threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his chest. "Big Brother Ares! You came! You saved me from the bad people! You were so, so cool!"
"Be quiet," Iver said, gently pulling her off him. "We don’t need to linger."
He grabbed an oil lantern from the wall, smashed it over the wooden furniture, and kicked a pile of dry straw into the pooling oil. Taking Senna by the hand, he walked out the front door just as roaring flames began to lick the walls. Before leaving the perimeter, Iver dragged a heavy pine branch behind them, thoroughly sweeping away their footprints in the dust until they hit the main stone road. Behind them, the abandoned house burned furiously against the twilight sky, taking all evidence and nine corpses with it.
By the time they returned to the Nadia Orphanage, night had fallen. Sister Elena was standing on the porch, weeping softly, when the gate clicked open. When she saw Iver leading a completely unharmed Senna by the hand, she let out a choked cry and rushed forward, pulling the little girl into a desperate hug.
"Senna! Oh gods, Senna!" Elena sobbed, before looking up at Iver with wide, awe filled eyes. "Ares... how... how did you manage this?"
"They won’t come back," Iver said simply.
Senna immediately puffed out her chest, wildly waving her arms around as she animatedly described the rescue.
"Big Brother Ares was so cool! He was completely invisible! Whoosh! Bam! He beat up all the bad guys and set their mean house on fire! When I grow up and awaken my spirit core, I’m gonna be just like him!"
Sister Elena looked at Iver, her shock giving way to profound gratitude. "I... I don’t know how to ever repay you. Your guild scroll is signed and stamped, but please... stay the night. Eat with us. It’s the least we can do."
Iver considered the offer for a second. Returning to the tavern late at night might draw unwanted attention, and staying here allowed him to keep an eye on the perimeter in case any lingering thugs tried a second raid.
"Fine," Iver nodded.
That evening, the dining hall of Nadia Orphanage was livelier than it had been in years. The Horned Stalker meat Iver had brought was roasted over the fire, filling the building with a rich, savory aroma. The other orphans gathered around Iver, staring at his sharp features and quiet demeanor with absolute wonder, bombarding him with endless questions while Senna sat proudly beside him, acting like his personal bodyguard.
Iver ate his portion in quiet solitude, offering only brief, single word answers when pressed.
Later that night, while the entire orphanage slept soundly,
’She is a loud kid but she is honest, i can’t believe she can sleep after experiencing that, looking at her face seems she is dreaming of something good’. he thought as he looked at the sleeping senna.
Reaching into his coat, Iver pulled out a small piece of dark oak wood he had carved during his lonely weeks in the forest. It was a crude, small wooden dagger. He walked silently to her bedside, placing the wooden dagger on the small nightstand next to her head. Without making a sound, he slipped out through the window and into the pre dawn mist.
Sister Elena, waking early to start the kitchen fires, stepped onto the porch just in time to see his small, shadowed silhouette disappearing down the cobblestone street toward the Guild district. She bowed her head deeply, uttering a quiet prayer for the strange, quiet boy who walked in the dark.
...
Two hours after sunrise. A tall figure wrapped in a heavy, blood red cloak stood before the smoking, blackened ruins of the house outside the city. The cultist leader stared at the charred remains, his hands clenching into tight fists beneath his sleeves.
"Wtf happened here?" the man muttered, his voice raspy and dangerous. He stepped into the ash, inspecting the burnt bones scattered among the debris. His sharp spirit senses picked up the faint, lingering traces of burnt blood. "Nine men... butchered without sending a single alarm," the cultist whispered, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.
He knew the local Ravencrest guards were corrupt and lazy, but this level of brutal, silent efficiency was entirely different. ’Paladins? Or an Elite Inquisitor squad from the Radiant Empire?’ he thought, his eyes narrowing in fear. ’Did Solace catch wind that our Saint Mortis circle was gathering test subjects in Nilheim? ’He backed away from the ruins, shaking his head. No mercenary in this lawless border town could have pulled this off without a sound. It had to be a high tier Imperial hunter or a Church executioner scouting the region.
"Dammit," the cultist cursed, pulling his cowl down low over his face. "The Ravencrest branch is compromised. I need to report to the Grand Circle in Gloomhaven immediately and pull our operatives out before the Church closes the net."
Without looking back, the red cloaked figure vanished into the wilderness, abandoning the city entirely leaving behind a completely silent Ravencrest, and an unassuming ten year old boy named Ares who had just cleared his very first Guild tasks.
...