He checked the notifications that had piled up during the night, pleased to see that the mission had turned out more profitable than he had initially thought. Both his social and combat skills had seen significant progress, and he had finally leveled up.
Each level-up felt like a cause for celebration now that his progress had slowed, with every advancement requiring intense training and real-world experience. He quickly distributed the fifteen attribute points and scanned his character sheet as he approached the staircase leading down to the ballroom.
Name: Thorne
Level: 36 → 37
Race: Human
Age: 18
Special Trait: Elder Race
Health Points: 791/900 → 791/950
Aether: 198/540
Stamina: 574/900
Core Attributes
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Strength: 71
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Agility: 83 → 88
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Dexterity: 78 → 81
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Endurance: 90
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Vitality: 90 → 95
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Spirit: 105 → 107
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Wisdom: 54
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Intelligence: 50
Combat Skills
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Daggers: 47
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Lethal Flurry: 9 → 10
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Backstab: 11
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Bloodletting: 3
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Unarmed Combat: 27
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Combat Reflexes: 38 → 39
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Sword Mastery: 19
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Charging Strike: 3
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Throwing Knives: 19
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Knife Fan: 6
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Crossbows: 10
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Critical Eye: 13 → 14
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Archery: 24
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Piercing Arrow: 5
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Silent Draw: 7
Stealth & Deception
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Stealth: 49
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Shadow Meld: 32 → 33
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Sleight of Hand: 23
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Pickpocketing: 20
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Lockpicking: 17
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Stealth Strike: 23
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Escape Artist: 35
Survival & Miscellaneous Skills
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Tracking: 27
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Foraging: 6
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Acrobatics: 44
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Burst of Speed: 2 → 3
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Herbalism: 6
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Hunter’s Insight: 12
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Cunning Trapper: 16
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Swimming: 2
Mental & Social Skills
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Acting: 36 → 37
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Haggling: 10
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Reading: 15
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Arithmetic: 12
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Mindguard: 16 → 17
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Echoes of Truth: 31
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Mask of Deceit: 38 → 40
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Deception: 36
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Sculpted Persona: 8 → 10
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Tactful Deflection: 5 → 6
Defensive Skills
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Resilience: 43
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Aetheric Skin: 16 → 17
Aetheric Abilities
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Primal Aether Manipulation: 24
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Aether Burst: 12
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Aether Surge: 9
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Aetheric Grip: 5
The din of the party was getting louder, reminding him that he needed to return to the festivities and maintain his cover. He heard hurried footsteps behind him. His shoulders tensed, wondering what new calamity had befallen him.
Thorne turned around slowly, keeping his movements nonchalant as he prepared for whatever—or whoever—was coming. His gaze landed on Alden, who was approaching him with an unreadable expression. There was something off about the other noble’s twitching movements, his nervous eyes darting around the corridor.
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As Alden came closer, his voice was low but filled with barely controlled anger. "Who are you?" he growled, his tone demanding answers.
Feigning surprise, Thorne tilted his head slightly, letting his Acting skill portray bewilderment. "What do you mean, Alden? It's me, Thorne Silverbane," he replied smoothly.
"Don't play with me!" Alden snapped, his fists clenching at his sides. "I know what you did! Is Silverbane even your real name?"
Thorne glanced around discreetly, scanning the few nobles nearby. They seemed too absorbed in their own affairs to notice the tension between the two. "Why would I lie about something like that?" Thorne asked, his tone tinged with indignation.
"To kill Lord Valewyn!" Alden's voice rose, and Thorne's eyes darted around the hall. He couldn't afford to let this conversation draw any more attention. His mind raced, trying to piece together how Alden could have figured it out. He had been so careful.
Thorne stepped forward, grabbing Alden by the arm and dragging him toward a nearby door. "Let me go!" Alden protested, struggling against Thorne's grip.
"That's enough," Thorne hissed, his voice cold and authoritative. his eyes scanning for a quiet place to continue their discussion. He spotted a door that looked more utilitarian than decorative and shoved it open. Inside was a large room filled with supplies and crates of cleaning goods. Thorne pushed Alden inside, causing him to stumble, before closing the door behind them.
The young noble stumbled before whirling around, his face flushed with fury.
"How dare you! Don’t touch me ever again!" Alden spat, his anger flaring as he regained his balance. "I could have you hanged for that offense, common filth!"
Thorne didn’t respond immediately. He checked the hallway through a crack in the door, ensuring they hadn’t been followed, before leaning against it. He leaned against the door, crossing his arms in a seemingly relaxed pose, though his ribs screamed in protest. His mind was focused on one thing: what to do with Alden.
"Calm down and explain what has you so riled up," he said, his voice measured and steady.
Alden's face contorted in incredulity, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. "Are you serious? You just killed the Warden of the West, and you have the gall to ask me why I'm outraged?"
Damn it, Thorne thought. How the hell did this seemingly oblivious noble know? His face remained impassive, but the curiosity gnawed at him. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his tone low and soothing. "You've clearly had too much to drink."
"I'm not drunk!" Alden shot back, his voice quivering with anger. "When you were gone from the ballroom for too long, I knew you were up to no good! I've been watching you all day. I heard you talking to your servants about some shady stuff and decided to investigate."
Thorne’s earlier observations about Alden’s uncharacteristically quiet behavior began to make sense. The young man had been biding his time, silently observing, just as he claimed. But the question still remained: how had he pieced it all together?
"You see," Alden continued, his voice growing steadier, "I noticed some slip-ups. You got names and cities wrong. While you were charming everyone around you, every once in a while, you'd let your guard down—whether it was a slip in your speech or a certain look in your eyes. Being in the sidelines has made me good at observing and analyzing people. When no one pays attention to you, you learn there’s power in reading people. It took me some time, but I figured you out. You’re not who you say you are!"
Alden stepped forward, his posture aggressive, as if he were ready to attack. Thorne regarded him carefully, realizing he had severely underestimated the young man. Alden was far more observant and intelligent than Thorne had given him credit for. Once again, he had let his own arrogance lead him into a precarious situation.
Now he had to rectify that mistake.
Thorne let go of his Mask of Deceit, allowing his true emotions to show. Curiosity more than anything else. How had this young noble managed to pierce through his carefully maintained facade?
"You’re certainly sharper than the rest of the nobles I’ve met here," Thorne said with a small smile. "Congratulations are in order. I thought I was better at faking an identity, but I guess my Acting skill isn’t on par just yet."
Alden narrowed his eyes at the sudden change in Thorne's demeanor. "I also have some skills," he admitted, his voice dripping with bitter satisfaction. "Being overlooked has given me a very useful one, Subtle Presence. It lets me eavesdrop on conversations without being noticed, makes everyone overlook me and forget I’m even there."
Ah, Thorne thought, that explains it. That’s how Alden seemed to pop into existence out of nowhere when Thorne had thought he’d forgotten him. And to think he’d felt bad for not remembering Alden was with him!
"That’s all very good," Thorne said, his voice taking on a mocking edge, "but the accusation of killing is a bit much, don’t you think?"
Alden gritted his teeth, his hands balling into fists once more. "I searched for you, and I found you! But before I could follow, you vanished. When I saw you again, you were near the Warden’s office. I was curious... so I investigated." Alden's eyes turned glassy, as if the memory itself was too much to bear. "And... I found him... dead."
The young man was clearly shaken, the shock evident in his trembling voice. It was likely the first dead body he had ever seen. But then his eyes hardened, and he pointed an accusatory finger at Thorne. "You did it! You killed him!"
Thorne nodded, feeling no need to lie. Alden had already figured out too much. "I did," he admitted, his voice calm and untroubled.
Alden’s eyes widened in shock at how casually Thorne confessed to the murder of the Warden of the West. Before he could react, Thorne’s hand moved with deadly precision, a dagger appearing in his grip as if by magic.
"And you," Thorne said in a voice devoid of emotion, "are no longer needed."
With a flick of his wrist, the knife sailed through the air, its edge catching the dim light as it found its mark in Alden’s chest. The young noble didn’t even have time to scream. His body crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide with shock and pain.
Thorne stared down at the body for a moment, a strange sense of finality settling over him. He had tried to manipulate Alden, to use him as a pawn in the complex game of noble politics. But in the end, Alden had been more than just a pawn—he had been a threat.
And threats had to be eliminated.
Thorne sighed, pulling the dagger free and wiping it clean before sheathing it. He looked down at Alden’s lifeless form, feeling a pang of something—regret, perhaps?—but quickly pushed it aside. He had a mission to complete, and sentimentality had no place in it.
Thorne took a few minutes to dispose of the body and with a regretful sigh he turned and left the room, locking the door behind him. The ballroom awaited, and there was still much to be done before the night was over.
Thorne reentered the grand ballroom, a carefully constructed mask of carefree drunkenness firmly in place. He knew he had been gone for a significant amount of time, long enough that anyone keeping tabs on him would have noticed his absence. As he walked, his gaze swept over the room, assessing the situation. The festivities were in full swing—couples danced under the soft, melodic voice of the bard, nobles drank and laughed loudly, and servants scurried about with trays of sparkling drinks.
No one seemed the wiser to what had transpired, no indication that Lord Valewyn’s lifeless body was lying somewhere in the depths of the palace. Thorne grabbed a flute of a sparkling liquid from a passing servant, letting the cool glass steady his hand as he scanned the room. His eyes locked onto Seraphina and Percy, who stood a few paces away, engaged in conversation with a group of young nobles.
Thorne took a sip of his drink as he approached them, allowing his Acting and Deception skills to take over. He let his posture slacken, his speech slurring slightly as he greeted them. His eyes took on a distant, unfocused look, as if he were struggling to concentrate. To anyone watching, he appeared to be thoroughly intoxicated.
Seraphina and Percy exchanged a quick, confused glance at Thorne’s sudden change in demeanor. Seraphina gave him a questioning look, but she quickly masked her surprise and played along with his charade. "It seems our earlier game of dare was a little too intense for you, Thorne," she teased, her tone light and playful. "You were terrible at it—you had to drink after every round!"
Thorne forced a sloppy grin, leaning heavily on the back of a nearby chair for support. "What can I say?" he drawled, his voice thick with feigned inebriation. "I never was good at those kinds of games."
Percy chuckled, though his eyes remained suspicious as he observed Thorne’s odd behavior. "Well, you certainly look the part now," he said, raising his glass in a mocking toast.
Thorne’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the scene. The music swelled, and the laughter of the nobles filled the air, but beneath the surface, a simmering tension lay hidden. No one knew yet that the Warden of the West was dead, but Thorne knew it was only a matter of time before the news spread like wildfire through the gathered aristocrats.
Just as Thorne began to believe that everything would turn out well, a firm hand grabbed him by the arm, yanking him away from the group of young nobles. Every instinct screamed at him to fight back, to eliminate the threat, but he forced himself to maintain his drunken facade. He allowed himself to be led away, stumbling slightly as if he were too drunk to resist.
Alden’s father loomed over him, his face a mask of barely controlled rage. His grip on Thorne’s arm was painful, his fingers digging into the flesh. "Where is my son?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Thorne blinked slowly, feigning confusion as he swayed on his feet. "Alden?" he slurred, his words thick and clumsy. "Haven’t seen him for a while... maybe he’s off with... someone special?" He forced a lazy, lopsided grin, the picture of a drunken youth who had indulged too much.
The older man’s eyes narrowed, his suspicion deepening. "Don’t lie to me, boy. I know you’re not who you say you are," he hissed, his voice low enough to avoid attracting attention, but loud enough for Thorne to hear the threat clearly.
Thorne acted bewildered, his gaze unfocused as he muttered, "The only thing I know... is that a certain lady has very soft lips." He winked clumsily in Seraphina’s direction, adding to the lie, and the young woman played along, tipping her head and raising her glass in acknowledgment.
Alden’s father’s eyes blazed with fury, but he refrained from causing a scene. "If anything happens to my son, you will be held accountable," he warned, his voice like ice. "I’ll make sure of it."
Good luck with that, Thorne thought to himself, his mind flashing back to the moment he had disposed of Alden’s body in a waste chute, a place where the servants disposed of trash and debris. It was unlikely anyone would find the body anytime soon.
With a final glare, Alden’s father released Thorne’s arm, shoving him back toward the center of the room. Thorne stumbled slightly, letting his movements mimic the clumsiness of drunkenness as he made his way through the crowd. He had to find Jareth and Rhea—he needed to ensure they were prepared to leave once the mission’s completion became known.
As Thorne weaved through the ballroom, he made a show of stumbling a few times, selling the act of a drunken young noble. His eyes scanned the room until he finally spotted Rhea standing outside the ballroom with the other guards, all of whom were waiting for their charges. She looked serious and focused, her gaze constantly sweeping over the crowd. Jareth, however, was nowhere to be found.
Thorne caught Rhea’s eye and subtly signaled that he had completed his task. She frowned slightly, a look of concern crossing her face, but she nodded in acknowledgment. Thorne knew she would understand the implication and be ready to act when the time came.
Satisfied, Thorne returned to the group of young nobles, who were still indulging in drink and gossip. He rejoined them, slipping seamlessly back into his role. As the hours passed, he carefully observed the crowd, always on the lookout for any signs that the Warden’s death had been discovered.
He smiled and laughed, his act never slipping. A servant passed by with a tray of desserts, and Thorne’s attention was caught by a slice of blueberry pie. Without thinking, he took a piece, savoring the familiar taste as he continued his surveillance. The sweetness of the pie momentarily distracted him, and he allowed himself to relax slightly.
But then, like the buzzing of bees, whispers began to circulate through the room. The atmosphere shifted subtly, the laughter quieting, and the lively conversations grew muted. Thorne’s heart quickened as he realized what was happening.
The body had been discovered.
The realization sent a thrill through him—a mixture of satisfaction and anxiety. The mission was complete, but the most dangerous part was yet to come. He had to get out before suspicion fell on him.
For now, though, he would wait, blending into the crowd, just another face among many as the news of the Warden’s death spread like a shadow across the ballroom.
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