Night fell.
Not a single lament disturbed the stillness of the dusk.
The caravan had made camp on the northern shoulder of the mountain pass. The soldiers, one by one, had drifted into a heavy slumber within their tents, arranged like a small nomadic settlement. To the slaves, no such comfort was granted.
They lay huddled together like smoldering embers around a single, meager heat source—a small mercy from their captors. In reality, they were nothing more than bait for predators and an early warning system for the guards.
Naturally, a pair of sentries had been posted to discourage any desperate ideas. They were clearly men of habit, as they had begun nodding off the moment the sun vanished beneath the horizon, their spears the only things keeping them upright.
Suddenly, in the dead of night, one of the slaves stirred. He scanned his surroundings; the guards were snoring, and his fellow captives were lost in fitful dreams. Finally, his lecherous eyes found the target he had been tracking since dawn: the boy with skin as pale as snow. The youth slept apart from the others, covered only by a tattered tunic, seemingly indifferent to the mountain's icy bite.
The old slave licked his lips, a look of wretched hunger crossing his face.
With a muffled step and a feline grace, he reached the boy in a heartbeat. He leaned down, reaching out to smother the boy's mouth, already savoring the repulsive act to come.
But before his hand could touch skin, a blade flashed in the dark.
The steel punched through the soft underside of the old man's jaw, driving upward through the cerebellum and piercing the base of the skull.
"You goddamn piece of filth! I knew you'd try it," Sunny hissed, his voice a jagged rasp. He remained perfectly still, careful not to alert the guards, who were snoring loudly enough to rival an orchestra.
With the dagger buried in his throat, the old man let out a strangled, hollow gurgle. Fresh blood bubbled over the hilt of the blade. His eyes, dilated and incredulous, rolled back as life abandoned him with agonizing slowness.
[You have slain a Dormant human.]
The Spell confirmed the kill. Sunny wrenched the blade from the man's neck with a sharp tug, unleashing a crimson spray as the corpse slumped heavily onto its shoulder.
Sunny stood up immediately. He tilted his head back and exhaled a long, shaky breath, letting the surge of adrenaline ebb and his muscles uncoil. It was the first time he had found the act of killing... satisfying.
He hated that feeling. And at the same time, he craved it.
He lowered his gaze and inhaled slowly, deeply.
'Now what?' the question came naturally.
The whip wound on his back had already closed, thanks to his attributes. The heavy chains prevented him from moving too far, but as he looked at the sleeping sentries, he recognized one of them-the man who had flayed his back that morning.
A treacherous smile played across his lips.
'I think I have an idea.'
***
The following morning, the early sun remained timid, hiding behind the jagged horizon of the mountain peaks.
Two bodies lay slumped in the pristine white snow, a dark canvas of frozen blood blooming beneath them. One was an old slave clutching a spear; the other was a soldier with his sword still drawn. Both bore a map of shallow lacerations and a few definitive, mortal punctures.
Goliath observed the scene with an otherworldly calm, stroking his rough, short beard with his remaining hand. His mind racing.
On the surface, the story was simple: last night, a slave had attempted to flee. A sentry had intercepted him. In the ensuing struggle, the two had traded lethal blows and finished each other off.
Whoever had orchestrated this knew their craft. It was brilliant, but it wasn't perfect.
Firstly, Goliath knew his men. He was well aware that those lazy wretches slacked off the moment his back was turned. In fact, he had specifically chosen those particular idlers for the night watch. He knew that the cleverer slaves would seize the moment to escape, only to wander into the wilderness and serve as unintended bait, drawing predators away from the main camp.
It was a common tactic among the Empire's veteran commanders.
Secondly, the geometry of the wounds didn't align with the narrative. The fatal strikes didn't match the weapons found in the dead men's hands. They hadn't been made by a broad spear or a soldier's sidearm; they were the clean, narrow punctures of a dagger.
The architect of this scene might have fooled the rank-and-file, but they had not fooled his seasoned eyes.
Goliath shifted his gaze toward the slaves, who were forced to kneel in a grid with their hands laced behind their heads. He watched his men move through the rows, inspecting and interrogating each prisoner with practiced brutality. Nothing was being left to chance-except, perhaps, for one little shadow whose head remained bowed. His expression unreadable.
The soldiers ignored the boy. They found it impossible to believe that such a pipsqueak could be a butcher.
No one noticed him.
No one, except for a single young recruit.
Goliath watched the newbie, finding him staring at the little shadow as if a seven-headed dragon might erupt from the boy's tiny frame at any moment and blot out the sun with its wings.
Because of the constant attrition of battle, the battalion was forced to conscript new faces from every village they passed. The rookie was the latest addition. Goliath had harbored suspicions about him from the start; his accent didn't ring of a native of the Empire of War.
However, the lad was quick with a blade and reliable enough.
Besides, if one were to investigate the past of every soldier in this unit, Goliath would have to be the first to remain silent. He, too, was not born of the War Realm.
With a heavy sigh, Goliath left the dead to their rest and walked toward his second-in-command to oversee the inspection.
***
The sharp crack of a cat-o'-nine-tails sliced through the mountain air.
A soldier paced menacingly in front of the kneeling slaves, the leather whip coiling like a serpent at his side. "Last chance!" he roared, his face turning a mottled purple. "Tell me who did it, or I'll hang every single one of you naked from the cliffs tonight. Let's see how long it takes for the frost to turn your blood to glass!"
The man turned to continue his tirade, but the words died in his throat. He found himself staring directly into a pair of crimson eyes.
Goliath stood behind him, his presence casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the morning light. "Enough," the Champion growled. "Get the slaves back into formation. We move now."
The soldier blinked, his bravado wavering. "But General, the murders! We can't just-"
Goliath leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous vibration that made the soldier's knees tremble. "Do I truly need to repeat myself? Put the slaves back in their lines. We are in the open, and the Corrupted do not care for your petty investigations. Move!"
The soldier scrambled to obey, barking orders to the other guards to get the caravan moving again.
Goliath lingered for a moment, his gaze drifting over the prisoners one by one. It stopped, for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, on the small shadow with the bowed head.
Then, with a practiced grace, he began moving through his ranks, issuing quiet, precise orders to his veterans until he reached the young recruit.
The rookie straightened immediately, offering a stiff, nervous salute to his commander. Goliath didn't salute back. Instead, he placed his heavy hand on the young man's shoulder, leaning down to whisper directly into his ear.
"Listen closely," Goliath murmured, his eyes scanning the horizon to ensure no one was watching. "When the shadow of the sun reaches the three-quarter mark on the slope, bring the boy to my tent. I will interrogate him personally."
Auro's eyes widened, his breath hitching in his chest.
"Find a spare set of leather armor and a crimson mantle," Goliath continued, his grip tightening slightly on the newbie's shoulder. "Dress him in them. I want him to blend in with the militia as you move him through the camp. Do you understand? Not a word of this to the others. Keep your mouth shut."
The newbie was paralyzed by the request for a heartbeat. Then, he offered a sharp, frantic nod.
"Yes, General. It will be done."
Goliath gave a single, curt nod and strode away, leaving Auro to stare at the back of the "child".