Virelle led him to a corner table where a stern?faced woman in leather armor waited, polishing a collection of short swords laid out before her. Candlelight danced off her silver?rimmed spectacles. She looked up, brow arching beneath a cascade of auburn curls.
“Ah, you must be Kaelos,” she said, voice both warm and clipped. “I’m Mistress Rowan, Hartwood’s master-at-arms and—unofficially—our resident scholar of unconventional magic.” She offered a curt nod, eyes flicking to the notebook tucked beneath Kael’s tunic. “I’ve heard rumors.”
Kael’s mouth went dry. Virelle gave him a subtle nod. “This is Rowan,” she whispered. “She’ll train you—if you’re ready.”
Kael swallowed. “Yes, Mistress Rowan.”
Rowan stood and motioned him outside into the inn’s fenced courtyard. Morning light softened the air; the distant trill of birds accompanied the scent of burning coals in the forge beyond. A wooden dumm y—stout, scorched, and festooned with broken blade scars—stood at the yard’s center.
“Before any grand spells,” Rowan said, unsheathing a short sword, “you need basics: footwork, stance, core focus. Even magic users must learn discipline.” She assumed a low guard stance. “Mirror me.”
Kael hesitated, then set notebook aside and squared his shoulders. He mimicked her stance: left foot forward, right foot angled outward, knees bent, back straight, gaze locked. The muscles in his legs burned—he’d never held a posture this long.
Rowan’s blade flicked forward in a practice strike. “Block,” she commanded. Kael raised his arms instinctively; sparks flew as her blade caught on an invisible barrier—the system’s reflexive shield he’d summoned days ago. He hardly noticed until Rowan withdrew in surprise.
He frowned. “I—I didn’t mean to cast Barrier.”
Rowan’s eyes widened. “The system’s auto?defense? Intriguing. It means you’ve internalized reflexive casting—but it could be dangerous if you summon without intent.” She turned to Virelle. “Keep an eye on that.”
Virelle inclined her head, brows tightening.
Rowan waved him forward. “Again. No barriers. Focus your mind on technique.” She sheathed her blade. “Trust your body first; then we add magic.”
Kael exhaled, tightened his core, and dashed forward. This time, when Rowan flicked the air, he parried with a wooden training sword. The dull thunk of wood?on?wood seemed almost musical. He backed away, panting.
“Good,” Rowan said, nodding. “Tomorrow, we shadow?step around the courtyard. You’ll learn to move unseen. Magic can cloak your presence—but only if your mind is disciplined.”
After the lesson, Rowan excused herself. Virelle guided Kael back inside. They found two empty mugs on the table where Rowan had sat; a half?eaten bread loaf cooled on a plate.
Warmth seeped back into Kael’s bones as he sipped watered ale. Virelle leaned in. “Rumors are flying,” she said quietly. “Hartwood’s hunters returned with tales of men in obsidian armor scouting the eastern woods. The Order’s creeping closer.”
Kael swallowed. “But why come here—this tiny village?”
Stolen novel; please report.
“Because Hartwood’s strategic,” Virelle explained. “The ‘Hollowed Gate’ is a known passage. Control it, and you control the flow of people—and information.” She glanced at the tapestry of the phoenix. “Hartwood’s defiance earned hatred. They think we’ll resist.”
A hollow ache bloomed in Kael’s gut. This village had offered him a lifeline; now it was in danger. He tapped the notebook: Objectives. The “Locate First Safe Haven” task glowed incomplete.
Virelle’s voice softened. “Stay vigilant. The inn’s owner, Jarrik, is loyal—but I can’t vouch for the rest. Watch who you trust.”
Footsteps echoed. Jarrik—a burly man with a thick beard—approached, wiping hands on his apron. “Training go well?” he rumbled, eyes sharp. “Master?Arm Rowan is demanding but fair. You’ll harden your body and sharpen your mind here.” He nodded at Kael. “Dinner’s on the hearthfire soon. Keep your blades sheathed in public, lad, and mind your magic.”
Kael nodded. “Thank you.”
Jarrik’s gaze lingered on the notebook. Kael closed it. Jarrik pursed his lips and moved on.
Once the innkeeper was gone, Virelle added, “You’re not the only one with eyes on that book. We need to secure a hiding spot—but first, you must grow stronger.” She tapped Kael’s shoulder. “Rest now. Tomorrow, more lessons—and then, reconnaissance.”
That night, Kael lay on a straw?filled mattress in a tiny room above the common room. The walls were thin, and he heard Jarrik’s soft snore from the next room. Moonlight seeped through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
He opened the notebook—but only orbited the Log page:
[00:00] System Initialized.
[00:02] Host awakened.
[00:05] Objective: SURVIVE.
[00:35] +1 SP: survived patrol.
[00:40] +1 SP: defeated dire wolves.
[01:15] +1 SP: survived courtyard training.
Below, a new action point gleamed:
[01:30] +1 SP: completed basic sword?stance training.
One Skill Point. He had choices: Flash Step to improve mobility, Detect to sense threats, or bolster Barrier further. Tomorrow, he’d weigh them.
Exhaustion tugged at his vision. He closed the notebook and drifted into uneasy sleep.
Kael jolted awake to a distant creak on the wooden floor. Moonlight sliced through the door’s cracks. He sat up, heart hammering. Virelle said to watch who I trust. He reached under his mattress and pulled out a narrow dagger Rowan had gifted—balanced, razor?sharp, with runes etched on the hilt.
He slipped on boots and crept to the window. Outside, the courtyard lay empty—trees cast long shadows in the moonlight. He heard a soft whisper at the door.
“It’s me,” a voice hissed. “Let me in—now.”
Kael froze. Virelle? He rose and unlatched the door. On the other side, a hooded figure stood—silhouetted, slender. The cloak looked too fine for a peasant—and the gait too deliberate.
When the cloak dropped, Kael’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t Virelle. A pale face with black?rimmed eyes and a mouth curling into a predatory grin stared back. The Obsidian Order’s seal—a jagged onyx fang—was embroidered on their cuff.
“System bearer,” they whispered. “The Order sends its regards.”
Before Kael could react, a wave of corrupt magic assailed him—iceshard needles stabbing his spine. He staggered backward, dagger in hand, as the intruder produced a small orb of swirling darkness.
He must fight—but unprepared. Pain flared. He lunged forward, aiming his dagger—and the orb detonated in a flash of violet light.
Kael crashed against the far wall, vision spinning. The intruder’s voice drifted to him, distant as a nightmare: “You can’t run forever, Kaelos. The Order always finds its prey.”
They vanished through the open door. Kael slumped to the floor, dagger clattering beside him. His side throbbed—no wounds, but he felt bruised to his core. The notebook had slipped from his coat and lay open on the floor, the Map page flickering.
He crawled toward it, fingers trembling. The orchards and fields of Hartwood lay safely on the map—but an ominous new marker glowed just beyond the eastern woods:
Obsidian Patrols Detected
His chest ached—not just from the blow, but from the realization: Hartwood was no refuge. The Order’s reach extended into his haven, hunting him in the night.
Exhausted, Kael returned to the straw mattress. He pressed the dagger’s hilt into his palm, felt its solid weight. He reached for the notebook one last time, tapped Objectives:
1. Survive Threats from Obsidian Order (2/∞)
2. Discover System Mechanics (2/100)
3. Secure a Hidden Base
4. Master Basic Combat Skills
5. Gain Ally: Virelle
He drew a slow breath. Pain and fear mingled in his gut, but beneath it burned a fierce resolve: he would not be hunted. Not tonight, not ever.
He closed the notebook, silenced its glow, and lay back. Dawn would come soon—and with it, new lessons in magic, sword, and the hard truths of survival.