Ashern City – Reinhart Institute of War, 3rd of Brightforge, year 315 UC
Bryan stood near the far edge of the observation deck, arms crossed, eyes trained on the now-empty duel arena. Christopher hadn't moved either, leaning beside him, quiet since their last exchange.
"Hey."
Christopher said after a long pause.
"We should probably head back. Y'know… with the others."
Bryan didn't respond right away. His eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line.
"Why?"
He finally asked.
Christopher shrugged.
"Because we're still a team. And… you weren't wrong, yesterday. About the strategy thing. Studying the Battle of Kal-Dar? Total waste of time."
Bryan turned slightly toward him, one brow raised.
"You just said I wasn't wrong. So why bother saying anything else?"
Christopher scratched the back of his neck.
"It's not what you said. It's how you said it. You came off... cold. Arrogant."
"I am cold."
Bryan replied flatly.
"Arrogant, cold, rude—call it whatever helps them sleep. I don't care. I don't need their approval to do my job."
"Fair."
Christopher said.
"But still… you being around? Even if you don't talk? It'd show you're listening. That you're not just waiting for everyone to fail."
Bryan tilted his head, considering it.
Listening wasn't so hard. If only they weren't so irritating at times, then he could stand them. They were already wearing out their usefulness since he learned enough about them.
Still, it would be worth it to stand by just for the sake of reducing the amount of unnecessary small talk Alan would give him later..
"Let's go."
Bryan said.
Christopher smiled, then fell in step beside him as they headed back toward the rest of the team.
Bryan's eyes flicked toward the group as they approached. They were weak, but the fault was not all theirs. They have parents who failed them.
'They're starting from behind.'
His mistake was expecting more from them when they didn't have the same foundation.
He should expect less—not because they were worthless, but because they were undeveloped.
So then, what could he do to win the next match?
"What's this? Actual consideration for your team?"
The voice slipped into his mind.
Bryan's head twitched slightly, but his face remained still. He didn't look around.
Zoltan.
The little mouse was hiding again.
"What's the deal, Bryan? Why the sudden kindness? You actually helping someone? That's not like you. It's almost... charming."
Bryan gritted his teeth but didn't respond. Outwardly, he kept walking.
It was not him. Help others? They were far beneath him, and help was not given, it was earned. But, he didn't need anyone to remind him of that.
"So, what now? Gonna sit down and braid friendship bracelets?"
"Shut up, mouse."
Bryan muttered under his breath.
Christopher glanced at him.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Bryan waved it off.
"Let's get this over with."
As they neared the group, Bryan didn't say anything—but he stopped beside Farrah, arms crossed, as he listened to what they were disscusing.
Alexander noticed them first.
"Hey, you two good?"
He asked.
Christopher gave a quick nod.
"Yeah, we were just talking. I… kind of asked Bryan what he thought of the team."
Sabrina arched an eyebrow.
"That doesn't sound like a fun question."
"He was honest."
Christopher said with a small shrug.
"Told me we're all kind of crap. But he wasn't wrong. I needed to hear it."
Alexander's shoulders sagged a little.
"I'm sorry."
He said, looking directly at Christopher.
"What happened in that last match? That's on me. I pushed you and Sabrina to make a move when we didn't have vision. If this was a real battlefield… I wouldn't be able to live with myself."
Christopher waved it off.
"Don't worry about it. I'm not mad I died—I'm mad I died being useless. I didn't even get to throw a single punch."
There was a short silence before Sabrina exhaled and crossed her arms.
"Yeah. I'm sorry too."
She said.
"I'll try not to turn you into a charcoal next time."
Bryan glanced away, tuning out the rest. He didn't know why he'd bothered walking over.
So far, this was a waste of time.
No one was discussing anything that mattered. No primary target designation, spell coordination, anything. Just apologies and… bonding. Like that would win them the next match.
He narrowed his eyes. This was why he worked alone.
"It's not pointless, you know it isn't."
Zoltan's voice whispered.
Bryan's gaze snapped up, scanning the corners of the observation platform. Between the benches. The railing. Near the far wall.
Nothing.
But he knew the mouse was there.
Farrah's voice interrupted his search.
"What are you looking for?"
Bryan turned toward her. The reflex was to bite—mind your business—but he stopped himself.
Christopher's words echoed in his head.
It's not what you said. It's how you said it.
Bryan's jaw clenched, then loosened.
"Nothing."
He said simply.
"Just thought I saw something."
Farrah gave him a skeptical glance but didn't press.
"Right."
The conversation resumed among the others, but Bryan was only half-listening now, still staring at a shadowed corner of the room.
Zoltan's voice returned.
"That's the problem, isn't it? You don't get them. You're not like them. You never were. And the more you pretend, the more uncomfortable you'll feel."
Bryan said nothing. Zoltan was not wrong, but it also did not sound like something the mouse would say. All these snide remarks, they were hitting a little too close to home.
Zoltan would give advice, make snarky remarks, but never try to antagonize him. What was going on with the mouse?
Bryan wasn't sure when it happened, but at some point the conversation drifted into familiar territory—combat.
Alexander leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"I'm just saying, did anyone see what Alessia did in her match? She just walked up to the enemy team and blasted them. They had no chance to counterattack. They were just… gone."
"Wiped them out."
Sabrina said, nodding.
"I'm having a hard time figuring out how we can act agains that. She came pretty close so maybe we need to stay out of range and maybe—"
"Flank?"
Farrah offered, already catching Sabrina's train of thought.
Bryan clicked his tongue.
"You're going about this the wrong way."
Sabrina rolled her eyes.
"Oh great. Here we go again. What now?"
Christopher raised a hand.
"Just give him a second. Let him talk. And Bryan?"
He glanced sideways.
"Still working on that communication thing."
Alexander exhaled.
"Alright. What's wrong with how we're approaching it?"
Bryan stood straight, arms crossed.
"For starters? Your mindset. You're treating this like a duel—a frontal assault. That might work against someone who's evenly matched. Alessia is not."
Alexander frowned.
"Why? Because she's stronger than us?"
"No."
Bryan's voice was flat.
"Because she's stronger than you. There's a difference."
Sabrina scoffed.
"Oh? And I'm guessing you'd stand a better chance?"
Bryan didn't even look at her.
"Obviously."
Farrah gave him a side glance but didn't argue.
Bryan continued.
"This isn't an even exchange. This isn't even a true duel. The objective isn't about honor or proving who has better technique."
He looked around at each of them in turn.
"What's the goal?"
Alexander answered.
"Team elimination."
"Right. The key word here being elimination. And they never stated how we have to go about it."
Bryan stated.
Christopher blinked.
"So... you're saying the method doesn't matter?"
Bryan nodded.
"Yes. If you know the enemy has a weapon that can wipe you out with one move, why walk through the front door? This isn't a fair fight. And treating it like one is suicide."
Farrah's brows lifted slightly.
"So what are you suggesting?"
Bryan's lips curled into the barest hint of a smirk. He enjoyed the aspects of combat. Planning for a mission, running scenarios over and over again until various different variables were accounted for.
All to put it into action and come out on top.
Infiltration was his favorite kind of mission, because it usually lead into assassination. Figuring out how to end someone before they even knew what was happening without anyone in the building knowing. It was like a game.
A twisted one, but a game nonetheless.
"Think of this less like a duel… and more like an assassination."
Sabrina straightened up, suddenly more alert.
"Wait. What?"
Bryan didn't answer right away.
Because Zoltan's voice slipped in.
"Now that sounds familiar."
Bryan's back stiffened. The others kept talking, but their words blurred into background noise.
"You said the same thing in Ravel Hollow, remember? Slit the lieutenant's throat before the guards even blinked. What was it again? 'This isn't a war. It's a culling.'"
Bryan's jaw tightened. He balled his fist at his side, the nails digging into his palm.
Zoltan was back again.
Where was he hiding? Was he under some sort of spell? Whatever the case, Bryan would have a word with him.
"You haven't changed. You've just changed targets."
Bryan's eyes scanned the platform again. Nothing. Just empty space.
But it felt like Zoltan was sitting right on his shoulder, whispering into his ear.
"You think these people will trust you once they know what you are? You're not like them, Bryan. Never were. And when it matters—when it really matters—they'll see it too."
Bryan gritted his teeth.
He remembered.
The stench of wet ash clung to his clothes. Blood soaked the dirt road beneath his boots.
The man knelt in the middle of the path, hands raised, unarmed.
"Please."
He choked out.
"Why is this happening? I—I've done nothing. Just let me go, I won't tell anyone, I swear—"
Bryan said nothing.
A crescent blade hovered beside him.
The man's eyes widened in the half-second before it struck.
The blade sliced through his throat, then swept across his chest. His body collapsed in two broken motions—first forward, then sideways, like a puppet with its strings cut.
No hesitation. No resistance.
A faint clink broke the silence as a knife tumbled from the man's sleeve, its blade tinged a sickly green.
Bryan stared at it. Poisoned. Meant for him.
A heartbeat slower, and that plea for mercy would have been a distraction. A trap.
Boots clicked behind him on the stones.
Violet's voice followed, calm and distant beneath the white-and-red rabbit mask.
"Good work."
She said.
"But that moment of hesitation? That'll get you killed someday."
***
He wanted to tell Zoltan how wrong he was, but he couldn't. Speaking out to the mouse would only cause the others to worry. Not that he was concerned with that.
It would just be a bad sign, considering what happened yesterday. They might think something is wrong with him.
Having a nosebleed, some headaches, and faint memories were one thing. But add on talking to yourself, and he would end up locked up in a mental institution.
He wanted freedom, but that was not what Bryan was looking for.
His fist clenched tighter.
"I'm serious."
He said flatly to Sabrina.
"You can wear their colors. Laugh when they laugh. Nod when they talk. But at the end of the day, you're still the blade, not the hand that holds it."
Bryan ignored him, only to find the others staring at him. Alexander's brow furrowed, Sabrina's arms slowly uncrossed. Christopher looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it. None of them moved closer.
'Why does it look like they've just seen a ghost?'
Bryan wondered, trying to figure out why their expressions looked the way they did.
"What?"
Bryan asked.
Farrah was the one to speak as she motioned to touch her own nose.
"You're bleeding again."
Bryan reached up and touched beneath his nose, pulling his hand back to confirm the smear of red.
Great.
It was happening again.