Next Room Over – Elenya's Room
The walls were too thin.
Way too thin.
Elenya sat cross-legged on her bed, one ear pressed against the wooden wall. The candle behind her danced, casting trembling shadows across the old wallpaper and creaky boards.
She wasn't eavesdropping. Not exactly.
Then Reth's voice—flat, hesitant."You serious?"
A hesitation. Some fidgeting. A grunt?
Then—
"Harder."
Elenya blinked.
"...That better not be what it sounded like."
She inch-by-inch pulled her head back.
Glared at the wall as if it had just disparaged her whole family.
".nope,"
She got up, went across the room, picked up her pillow, and threw it against the wall with a thud.
"Thanks, that's enough," she said, to no one in specific.
Of course, nobody heard. Or mattered.
She got back onto the bed and fell face-first into another pillow, sighing.
"They'd better not be doing anything actually bad things," she grumbled. "If I'm stuck here hearing freaky bonding while they're jumping into plot material and I'm not even invited, I swear on the Saints."
A pause.
Then, distant, Asthia's voice from across:
"You're not entirely useless."
Elenya groaned more vocally.
"Ugh. Gross. Feelings. Kill me."
She flopped onto her back and glared at the ceiling.
Elenya shoved the pillow out of the way and kicked her legs over the side of the bed. Her boots landed with a dull thud on the floor. The candle was nearly burned down to its wax pool on the table.
She glared at it, then at the wall between her and Asthia and Reth. Their voices had finally fallen silent—bless the Saints—but the silence didn't soothe her.
"Feelings," she grumbled, scooping up her cap from the shaky, elderly chair.
"Next thing you know, they'll be braiding each other's hair."
She rested her braid under the cap, made sure her dagger—still secure under her tunic—was ready, and drew a map that had seen better days from her satchel.
The map rustled as she unfolded it over the bed, propping it down with her boot.
It wasn't large, but it would have to do. The City Lord's mansion was brightly indicated, ringed by twisting side streets and taverns.
She ran her finger to a old patch close to the marketplace: a tavern named The Crooked Tankard. It had a reputation—cheap liquor and loose lips.
"Discreet questions," she said, mimicking Asthia's stern voice. "Yeah. I get the drunkards while you two have your noble and knight act."
She tucked the map into her pocket, turned, and slipped out of the door. The corridor reeked of stale beer and wood dampness. The stairs creaked beneath her feet.
In the street, Redhill was abuzz with evening activity. Lanterns flared, hawkers bellowed, and carts rattled over the cobblestones. The air had a cutting edge, it was cold and damp—rain was on its way.
Elenya walked low in the head, passing through the crowd unobtrusively like a shadow. In plain dress and hunched posture, she melted perfectly into the background.
The Crooked Tankard was but a short block away, nestled into an alleyway just off the square. Its crooked sign creaked along with its name, and windows glowed with murky yellow light.
Within, the air was heavy with smoke and the acrid stench of stale ale. A bard played a lute out of tune in the corner, just loudly enough to cover hushed conversation.
Elenya looked around the room: exhausted dockworkers, a flustered merchant in attire too elaborate for the establishment, and off-duty guardsmen who still wore their gear.
She perched on a stool at the bar, already holding a coin.
"Whiskey," she told the bartender, a wiry guy with a nose scar. "Cheap."
He grunted and filled her a tiny shot that resembled remorse rather than liquor. She slammed it quickly, feeling the sting clear her head, then leaned in.
"Busy night," she said casually. "Something happening?"
The bartender wiped down a glass with a filthy rag. "Same as every day. City Lord's having a bash. Brings in the money folks—and the problems."
"Problems?" she asked, sliding another coin his way.
Morning - Asthia/Reth Room
The gray light of morning seeped through the twisted shutters.
Rain tapped against the window.
Reth woke up slowly, stiff. The strange rigidity of the inn bed strained across his back. He lay there, looking up at the beams on the ceiling—then the ping resounded in his mind:
[System: Bodyguard Lv. 4 – 400/400 EXP. Level Up Available.]
He took a slow breath.
Of course.
The throb in his muscles hadn't ceased leveling him. He went up slowly, flinching from the tension in his shoulder.
Asthia slept on next to him, an arm stretched across the blanket, hair a wild tangle framing her face. Her breath came in long, level drafts. Calm. A sight she rarely presented. Her sharp corners had softened too—but only a little—in sleep.
Reth's eyes flicked to the satchel slumped against the foot of the bed. Map. Tokens. Dagger. Still present. Still waiting.
[System: Optional Upgrade – ]
"Huh?"
He glanced at the screen, where a tiny glowing ➕ icon had materialized alongside the skills and abilities he already had.
".Can I upgrade one?" he said to himself.
Which should he upgrade?
Disobedience?
No—now redundant.
If things were going to turn messy in Redhill—and he had a good sense that they might—then it had to be something fighting-related.
His cursor lingered over Basic Sword Technique.
The one he was using currently.
He didn't hesitate, tapped the ➕ beside it.
The instant he did—
[Basic Sword Technique ➝ Level 2]
[Basic Sword Technique ➝ Level 3]
[Basic Sword Technique ➝ Level 4]
The upgrades cascaded quickly, one after another, as if the system was just waiting.
And then, another message flashed across his field of vision:
[Basic Sword Technique ➝ Refined Sword Technique]
Reth gaped.
"What the hell.?"
"Just like that?" he groused, looking down at his hands.
He flexed his fingers. No surge of power. No sudden clarity.
He didn't feel faster. Stronger.
Hell, he didn't feel anything.
"Maybe because I'm not holding a sword?" he thought.
Still, something about his posture had subtly shifted. His weight was more balanced. His breathing a little steadier. But barely noticeable.
He opened the skill tab again, this time actually reading the details.
[Refined Sword Technique – Level 1]
A more advanced version of Basic Sword Technique. Your attacks are strong enough now to split a normal human in half. The sword is lighter—not in weight, but in control—moving exactly as you think it will. Even attacks that look off-target hit with abnormal accuracy.
To its right was something new:
[Note: Techniques advance on reaching Level 4. The advanced version reverts to Level 1, opening up new passive enhancements.]
Reth blinked.
"So that's how it works…"
Each skill—each technique—when pushed to Level 4, would develop. Reset. Begin anew… but more powerful.
"Good to know," he growled.
His mouth twitched into a smirk.
Instantly, there was a faint noise outside—