CHAPTER 137

Thorne sat back in the armchair, the plush velvet cushions cradling his aching body as he cradled a steaming cup of tea in his hands. The warm aroma of the brew wafted up, but he barely noticed it. The murmurs of conversation filled the room, a hum of voices that seemed distant, almost surreal. Uncle’s study was dimly lit, the fire crackling in the hearth casting flickering shadows across the walls lined with bookshelves. 

At the center of the room, Uncle stood, his imposing figure radiating a calm authority that held the attention of everyone present. Sid was at his side, his eyes flicking between Lord Thornfield and Kellan, who were seated across from them, their faces pale and drawn. The discussion was tense, words exchanged in hushed, urgent tones, the aftermath of the attack still fresh in everyone’s minds. 

But Thorne wasn’t listening. His eyes were unfocused, his mind elsewhere as he examined his character sheet, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It was strange, feeling this sense of satisfaction after everything that had happened. After all the bloodshed, all the chaos and death, he felt...proud. 

Name: Thorne 

Level: 39 → 41 

Race: Human 

Age: 19 

Special Trait:  

• Elder Race 

• Veilbreaker 1/5 

• Lunar Champion 2/5                 

Health Points: 578/1000 

Aether: 210/570 

Stamina: 170/920 

Core Attributes 

• Strength: 71 → 78 

• Agility: 93 → 96 

• Dexterity: 81 → 83 

• Endurance: 90 → 92 

• Vitality: 95 → 100 

• Spirit: 112 → 122 

• Wisdom: 57 

• Intelligence: 52 

Combat Skills 

• Daggers: 49 → 50 

•        Lethal Flurry: 13 → 15 

•        Backstab: 12 → 13 

•      Bloodletting: 6 

• Unarmed Combat: 27 → 28 

• Combat Reflexes: 42 → 44 

• Sword Mastery: 19 

•      Charging Strike: 3 

• Throwing Knives: 19 → 21 

•       Knife Fan: 7 → 8 

• Crossbows: 10 

• Critical Eye: 15 → 17 

• Archery: 24 

•        Piercing Arrow: 5 

•      Silent Draw: 7 

Stealth & Deception 

• Stealth: → Veil of Light and Shadow: 2 → 4 

• Shadow Meld: 33 

• Sleight of Hand: 23 

• Pickpocketing: 20 

• Lockpicking: 17 

• Stealth Strike: 25 → 26 

• Escape Artist: 36 

Survival & Miscellaneous Skills 

• Tracking: 27 

• Foraging: 6 

• Acrobatics: 45 → 46 

• Running: → Burst of Speed: 5 → 6 

• Herbalism: 6 

• Hunter’s Insight: 12 

• Cunning Trapper: 16 

• Swimming: 2 

Mental & Social Skills 

• Acting: 39 

• Haggling: 10 

• Reading: 15 

• Arithmetic: 12 

• Mindguard: 18 

• Echoes of Truth: 31 

• Mask of Deceit: 40 

• Deception: 36 

• Sculpted Persona: 12 

• Tactful Deflection: 7 

Defensive Skills 

• Resilience: 43 → 44 

• Aetheric Skin: 18 → 21 

Aetheric Abilities 

• Primal Aether Manipulation: 25 → 27 

• Aether Burst: 12 → 14 

• Aether Surge: 12 → 13 

• Aetheric Grip: 5 → 7 

• Invisible Threads: 6 → 9 

Special Abilities 

• Veil Sense 

• Lunar Regeneration 

• Silverlight Strikes 

He stared at the numbers, the skills, the points he had earned. He didn’t know how to feel about it. He had taken so many lives a few hours earlier, cut down men like they were nothing more than paper targets. And yet, his skills had catapulted, his strength and abilities growing in leaps and bounds. He’d even gained two character levels. At his level, even a single level was a cause for celebration, and he’d gotten two. 

His eyes were drawn to two things on his character sheet. The first was his age. He had turned nineteen. A faint, bitter smile tugged at his lips. Happy birthday to me... he thought. That had been one hell of a party. 

The second was his Daggers skill. It had finally reached level 50, the threshold he had been striving for. And now it was ready to evolve. He guessed that was his birthday gift—a gift paid for with blood. 

Thorne took a deep breath, scrolling through the options presented to him. He read through each one, weighing the benefits and drawbacks, imagining how each would affect his combat style. 

Ghost Blade 

• Description: Your mastery over daggers allows you to wield them with such precision and speed that your strikes are nearly imperceptible. This evolution increases your attack speed, accuracy, and critical hit rate with daggers, making your attacks nearly impossible to predict or block. As this skill levels up, your attacks become increasingly fluid, allowing you to chain attack seamlessly. 

• Passive Effects: 

• Increased attack speed and fluidity of movement with daggers. 

• Higher chance of bypassing defenses and landing critical strikes. 

• Improved ability to chain dagger attacks together without losing momentum. 

Thorne’s eyes narrowed as he read the description. It offered speed and fluidity, making his strikes almost imperceptible. It would make him faster, deadlier, but it didn’t quite fit his need to be elusive and unpredictable. 

Blade Dancer: 

• Description: Your movements with daggers become an intricate dance, your strikes flowing with grace and deadly precision. This evolution enhances your agility and evasiveness while wielding daggers, allowing you to dodge incoming attacks more effectively while maintaining offensive pressure. As the skill levels up, your movements become more unpredictable, and you gain increased resistance to disarm attempts. 

• Passive Effects: 

• Enhanced dodging capability and movement speed while using daggers. 

• Reduced chance of being disarmed or interrupted during dagger attacks. 

• Increased agility and flexibility, making his combat style more elusive and hard to counter. 

This one spoke to his agility, making him a blur on the battlefield, dancing through enemies’ defenses. He liked the sound of it, the way it would enhance his ability to evade and strike with precision, but it still didn’t feel right. 

Vengeful Blades: 

• Description: Your mastery over daggers has become an extension of your will. Each time you land a successful strike, you gain a surge of momentum that enhances your subsequent attacks. This evolution passively increases your damage output and precision with each consecutive successful hit. As the skill levels up, your strikes become more potent, and the momentum boost lasts longer. 

• Passive Effects: 

• Consecutive dagger strikes increase damage and accuracy. 

• After each successful hit, a temporary boost to his precision and focus. 

• Enhanced stamina management, allowing him to sustain his dagger attacks longer without tiring. 

This one caught his attention. It focused on building momentum with each strike, increasing his damage and precision with every successful hit. The idea of becoming deadlier with every enemy he felled, of turning his own anger and desperation into a weapon, resonated with him. It was almost poetic. 

Shadow Striker: 

• Description: Your proficiency with daggers reaches a point where your strikes are not just precise, but perfectly timed and placed. Your attacks exploit openings in your enemies’ defenses, increasing the likelihood of inflicting critical wounds. This evolution also allows you to recover quickly from missed strikes, wasting no energy or momentum. As the skill levels up, the chances of exploiting weak points and landing critical hits increase. 

• Passive Effects: 

• Increased critical strike chance and damage with daggers. 

• Faster recovery and reduced stamina cost for missed attacks. 

• Enhanced ability to identify and exploit weak points in enemy defenses. 

This option enhanced his ability to exploit enemy weaknesses, making his critical hits more potent. It was tempting, the idea of delivering fatal strikes with pinpoint accuracy, of turning every fight into a precise execution. But something about it felt too...methodical. 

Thorne tapped his fingers against the side of the cup, mulling over the options. He needed something that reflected the rage, the desperation he had felt during the battle. Something that would turn that raw emotion into power, into something he could use. 

Vengeful Blades. It suited him, suited the way he fought, the way he had survived that night. He had lashed out at everything in his path, growing stronger with each enemy he cut down. It felt right, like it was meant for him. 

Satisfied, he selected the option, feeling a faint rush of power as the skill evolved, the change settling into his body like a weight lifting from his shoulders. He glanced back at the character sheet, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. 

“Happy birthday to me,” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the low hum of conversation around him. He closed the character sheet and turned his attention back to the room, the noise of the heated discussion washing over him in a wave. 

It was almost a miracle they were all still alive. If it hadn’t been for Tom’s quick thinking and the timely arrival of the Lost Ones, they might have all been dead. 

Tom had gone to the guild, just as Thorne had ordered, and they had responded with their usual ruthless efficiency. The Lost Ones had descended on Thornfield Manor like a plague, sweeping through the estate and exterminating any enemy assassin they encountered. It had been a bloodbath—dozens of assassins cut down in the chaos of battle. The bodies had piled up, blood soaking into the marble floors, the walls stained with the signs of desperate struggle. 

And yet, despite the carnage, no one knew where the assassins had come from. The Lost Ones were the only assassin guild in this part of the kingdom, and there were strict rules about crossing into another guild’s territory. How had these killers appeared so suddenly, and who had hired them?  

Briefly the image of a bird flashed through his mind. He frowned trying to remember where he had seen that symbol, but everything had been a blur. A desperate bid for survival. 

The questions hung in the air like a noose, tightening with each unanswered speculation. 

Lord Thornfield was adamant that Lord Ravencourt was behind the attack. He was convinced his old rival had finally made his move, but Thorne wasn’t so sure. The suspicion made sense, Ravencourt had the motive, the means, but where had he found so many assassins? The sheer number of them was staggering. If they were from another guild, they were far from home and breaking every rule of the assassin's code. That made them desperate or very well paid. 

Uncle, who had been furious earlier when he’d arrived at the manor, now sat with a calm, almost placid expression, like a still lake concealing the turbulence beneath. He had come personally to retrieve the Thornfields, his presence a testament to the severity of the situation. Now, he seemed more focused on placating Lord Thornfield, who was pacing the study, his face flushed with anger, his hands clenched into fists. 

“We should kill him!” the noble shouted, his voice hoarse. He turned and pointed a trembling finger at Thorne. “Send that one! He cut down those assassins like it was nothing. Let him do the same to Ravencourt!” 

Thorne felt the eyes in the room shift to him, the weight of their gazes heavy. Uncle’s expression didn’t change, but there was a glint of something in his eyes as he looked at Thorne—a flicker of calculation, of something unreadable. Thorne held his gaze, his face impassive, though his mind was racing. 

He saw the small, proud smile on Sid’s face, the one he didn’t bother to hide. Thorne wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was Sid impressed by his performance, or was there something more? The thought made him uneasy, but he pushed it aside. Now wasn’t the time for doubts. 

Uncle turned back to Lord Thornfield, his voice smooth, measured. “We will deal with him, I assure you. But right now, we need to secure your home and the city at large. We can’t have an unknown threat lurking in the shadows.” 

Lord Thornfield gritted his teeth, his eyes blazing with frustration. “I want that bastard dead!” he snarled, his voice rising again, his hands shaking with rage. “He’s taken everything from me. My honor, my family’s safety. I won’t rest until his head is on a pike!” 

Uncle’s calm facade cracked for just a moment, his eyes flashing with irritation as he barked, “That is enough!” The words rang through the room, the sudden sharpness of his tone freezing the noble in his tracks. “You need to rest. There is a room upstairs prepared for you. I recommend you use it.” 

It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command, the kind that brooked no argument. Lord Thornfield stood there, his face flushed, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he glared at Uncle. But something in Uncle’s gaze must have warned him off, because he clenched his fists at his sides and turned away, his shoulders tense with barely suppressed fury. 

“Come, Kellan,” he snapped, his voice tight. His son stood, his face pale and drawn, and followed his father out of the study, his steps hesitant, as if he were afraid to move too quickly. 

The moment the door closed behind Lord Thornfield and Kellan, Uncle let out a long, weary sigh. He walked over to his chair and slumped into it, his usual poised demeanor cracking under the weight of the night’s events. He grabbed his goblet of wine from the table and took a long, deliberate pull, his eyes closed as if savoring the brief respite. 

“This is a disaster,” he muttered, setting the goblet down with a heavy clink. “Thankfully that idiot wasn’t killed.” His gaze shifted to Thorne, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. “Good job.” 

Thorne nodded, his expression a mask of perfect composure, his Mask of Deceit skill hiding his true emotions. His body still ached, a dull, constant throb that pulsed with every heartbeat. He was exhausted, bone-deep exhaustion that clawed at him, but he didn’t let it show. He couldn’t afford to.  

Sid spoke up, his voice thoughtful. “Is it possible that Ravencourt is behind this?” 

Uncle nodded, his fingers drumming lightly against the arm of his chair. “No doubt about that. Although I’m not sure which Ravencourt gave the command—the lord or his son?” 

Thorne considered the question, his mind turning over the events of the past few hours. He had to agree with Uncle’s assessment. “The lord seems too restrained for an act like this,” he said, his voice steady, calm. “His son, on the other hand...” He trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he thought of the younger Ravencourt, his arrogance and cruelty during their duel still fresh in his mind. “He could have sought vengeance for last night’s duel. But the question remains—where did he find all those assassins so quickly?” 

Uncle rubbed his temples in slow, circular motions, his face drawn with fatigue. “That’s what I don’t like. It’s the first time I’ve heard or seen those assassins. They were coordinated, efficient, but they weren’t local.” 

Sid walked over to a nearby chair and sank into it, his brow furrowed in thought. “Do you think it’s possible there’s a new guild we don’t know about?” 

Uncle looked thoughtful, his gaze distant as he considered the possibility. “I can’t believe that’s the case. We would have heard something. We have eyes and ears everywhere. The most likely scenario is that they’re from another city.” 

Thorne leaned back in his chair, his mind racing as he thought over the implications. “That means,” he said slowly, “that someone has been planning this for a long time. If they had time to come all the way to Alvar, then...” He let the implications hang in the air, the weight of it pressing down on the room. 

Uncle nodded, his expression grim. “It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. Someone has been preparing for this, waiting for the right moment to strike.” 

“What are we going to do?” Sid wondered aloud, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and concern. 

Uncle’s gaze turned cold, deadly. “We’ll wipe out any foreign influence from Alvar,” he said, his voice hard, unyielding. “And then...” His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening.  

“We will kill Lord Ravencourt.”