Chapter 28-Lukas (Patreon)

Lukas’s fingers found the gap between two palisade logs. He tested the give, then shifted his weight upward. The timber was still green, sap tacky on his palm; the new lashings creaked when the wind pushed the wall. For a moment, the raw scent of pine resin hung in his nose—sharp and sweet, almost syrupy, so strong it cut through the damp and the distant woodsmoke. He wiped his hand on his sleeve, but the sticky trace lingered in his skin. The Landing lacked a wall like this because adventurers and soldiers patrolled aggressively. Lord Harold wanted to build the industry first.

As soon as the torchlight slid past the outer face of the wall and moved away, Lukas climbed, swinging his leg over the top.

Boot toe into a knot. Pull up and pause. Breathe through his nose, slow, like Garrick taught scouts to do when belly-down in wet grass waiting for a patrol. The guards' rhythm had stayed the same for six cycles—one fast walker, one slow talker. Neither saw Lukas as he moved up the wall.

You’re the contingency. Margaret’s voice had been flat and precise in her office, as she calmly explained the plan to him and sipped tea.

If the envoy is in danger, you do not wait for a second order. The coded line on the forum is the order. Extract them and leave our message. No one should see you unless you want them to. For payment, we will guide you to stronger stealth perks.

He had nodded then, eager for a real mission, but he was questioning that decision now.

His shoulders leveled with the palisade top. His heart beat so hard he felt it in his throat. A bright, ridiculous thought pushed through his focus, impossible to suppress.

This is actually happening. His pulse hammered against his eardrums, all heat and jitter, and for half a second, his breath caught—elation and doubt twining tight in his chest.

He rolled over and flattened along the inner walkway as the torch returned, cheek pressed to rough wood, pitch and damp canvas filling his nose. Below, Arjun’s town spread in uneven longhouses and half-finished frames, all timber and raw earth. Light leaked from chinks where planks didn't meet; others stuffed gaps with earth. More soldiers than the Landing would keep inside at night. Even at Veridia, soldiers faced outward, not inward.

They walked with their spears upright and their helmets on, not slung as the legionaries of the Landing would have, and they talked too much.

Lukas slid down the inner face into the shadow between two structures and stayed there until his eyes adjusted again. The forum message had been six words buried in a trade update he had been told to check. Weather turning. Bring the spare net.

He moved along the backs of the buildings, one hand brushing the rough planks to keep his line when the dark thickened between the structures. The town didn’t hold light the way the Landing did. Torches were set where they were useful, not where they shaped the streets, and the gaps between them swallowed whole corners of the settlement.

I need a better night-vision perk, he thought, not for the first time.

The ground sloped upward toward the center. Gravesend liked to build this way when villages upgraded. The bigger shapes were there too—one roofline much higher than the rest, and a wider open space in front of it with more guards. Amateurs, he thought. The legionaries in the Landing would never be allowed to act that way while on duty. Captain Hale would murder them. That man was scary, Lukas thought with a shudder.

He neared the inner palisade, slowed, and circled wide, keeping two buildings between him and open ground. This wall was heavier, logs thicker, and set closer; the gate was braced inside. Better-built, it seemed like system work, not local. He grunted, climbed, and pulled over fast, ready to flare mana into stealth perks if needed.

He lay flat behind on the walkway and watched.

Two smaller structures leaned against the inner wall—storage or barracks. Their doors were open; people moved in and out unchecked. One larger building stood off to the side of the Lord’s hall, squared with tight corners, its roof heavy with cross-timbers. A lantern hung at the door. Two guards didn’t wander. Bingo… if I had a diplomat, I wanted contained but not dead…

He watched the rotation once, twice, long enough for the pattern to settle in his head, then he began to move while a silent thrill ran through him. This was the part he had always imagined—the patient approach, the invisible line between being seen and not. It was just like his favorite game; if only he could have switched his name to Ezio.

The open space between the buildings was not suitable for a straight crossing, and his stealth was really only effective when he was standing still. There was too much torch spill and too many sightlines from the inner palisade.

He could see the guards who would see him as he crossed, so he made a deliberate mistake. Breath held, he let his boot drift too close to a loose chip of wood, setting up the sound he needed.

His boot sent it skittering out into the lane between two structures. It was out of place on the warm night where nothing should be moving.

The passing guard stopped.

“—was that?”

He turned, shifting his spear to his off hand and stepping into the gap between the buildings to look.

Lukas was already pressed flat against the far wall, one hand on the packed earth, as he crouched, the other steady on the knife.

The guard took another four steps, leaned forward to peer into the dark, and that was enough.

Lukas slipped his arm around the guard’s throat, stabbing upward under the chin before the man could make a sound. The guard’s weight sagged instantly, and Lukas lowered him carefully to the ground. He had practiced lowering bodies like this, following Carter’s repeated instructions until it became instinct. Now, that training paid off.

He dragged the corpse into the deeper shadow behind a stack of split timbers, covered up the protrusion with other loose wood, and hid the spear with the body so the absence wouldn’t be obvious at a glance.

Lukas wiped his palm on his trousers and moved on. He dismissed the notification, already knowing what it meant. He’d just killed his first human, and it wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on right now. He knew it was something that was likely when he took this job.

The larger building sat where he had marked it earlier, separate from the Lord’s hall.

It looked wrong for a residence and too guarded for a simple storehouse. Yet it reminded him of Caldwell’s storage at the Landing—the same squared corners and solid build.

He slowed before the light touched him and circled wide, staying behind the line of smaller buildings until he was at the backs of the guards.

One shifted his weight. The other rested his spear’s butt on the ground and watched the yard.

They stayed aware, their heads constantly roving as if looking for something. He felt a thrill of fear and excitement run through him as he prepared to act.

Lukas waited through one full pass of the patrol, then another, counting the seconds in his head. Thirty breaths until the next pair rounded back. He pressed himself even tighter into the shadow, heartbeat loud as the gap shrank: twenty-five, then twenty. Their boots scuffed the grit now. With each counted breath, the sense of risk ratcheted higher. He became aware of just how little time remained if anything slipped out of place, his body tense and ready to move.

When the patrol turned the far corner, and the yard fell into that brief hollow where no one was looking directly at them, he moved.

A small stone flicked from his fingers struck the far wall with a soft tick.

Both men turned their heads at the same time, but he was already behind the nearer one.

Lukas stepped up behind the nearest guard and drove his knife under the arm. He thrust straight for the heart, as he was taught. As the guard collapsed, Lukas caught his weight, adjusting his grip to keep the body upright just long enough to shield himself from the second guard’s view.

The second guard opened his mouth, but Lukas stepped through, clamping the jaw and driving the blade up. They fell together, Lukas’s shoulder muffling the impact. For a moment, his rush turned sour; games lacked weight, heat, or the choking sounds of dying men. Blood soaked his sleeves red.

He stayed crouched between them, listening as he tried to fix his mindset.

The patrol hadn’t broken stride.

He dragged both bodies along the wall, around the corner of the building where the deeper shadow pooled, and wedged them behind a stack of bricks. He set the spears down beside them so anyone glancing past would see what they expected to see—wood, tools, clutter.

Then he went back to the door and placed his ear against it.

No sound from inside filtered through, and he slid his fingers along the seam until he found the latch, let a thread of mana bleed into his stealth perk, and eased the door open just wide enough to pass through. Inside, the dark was complete except for a room near the back. He struggled once again to see properly, swearing to himself. “First thing I’m doing after this is going to that dungeon and getting a good night vision perk.”

He stayed just inside the threshold, letting his eyes adjust, counting his breaths, feeling the air move in the space.

He closed the door behind him without letting it touch the frame and stood there another few heartbeats, the mana pull at the base of his skull telling him the skill was still holding.

The first room was empty except for stacked crates and the faint smell of oil and leather.

Voices came from deeper in the structure.

“…told you this one’s worth something. Look at the stitching.”

“Check the chest again. He said there were potions in it.”

Lukas moved toward the sound and found the inner door cracked open just enough for light to spill through.

Harold’s chest sat open on a table. Two of Arjun’s men stood over it, lifting vials, turning them in the lantern glow, arguing about what they were worth.

Beyond them, through another doorway, he caught the shape of a reinforced interior wall.

Thick timber planks set vertically, each one doubled and pinned with square wooden pegs. Cross-braces ran waist-high and shoulder-high, the joints tar-sealed and still glossy in the lantern spill.

He eased back into the dark, the shape of it settling in his head.

Two in the gear room. Unknown in the yard now that the patrol had moved on. He was on a timer until they noticed there was no one standing guard outside the door. He suddenly heard the guards outside, muffled laughter drifting through the walls. Lukas pressed back into the dark, heart hammering, watching the bright arc creep along the floorboards, shrinking the shadows. Any minute, they'd find the missing sentry and the alarm would follow.

He could take the two alone and hope they died quietly.

Or—

He slid along the wall, fingers brushing rough timber until he moved past the gear room and they found the edge of the holding room door.

Better odds with help.

He crouched beside it and leaned close enough that his lips almost touched the seam between the planks.

“Stay quiet,” he breathed. “Landing.”

A shift inside. Cloth against wood. Someone had been sitting against the door.

He worked the peg loose from the hasp and set it down quietly. There was still a chain that looked above it; he would have to figure it out. The gap opened just wide enough to pass a hand through.

The diplomat’s face appeared in the dark, and the face was calm in the shallow light.

Lukas pushed the knife in, hilt first.

“Cut yourselves free,” he whispered. “I need to get this chain off, then when I move on to get your gear, you’re with me.”

He drew the door back into place and closed the hasp without resetting the peg so it still looked shut, and settled into the shadow beside the wall.

Inside, he heard the faint rasp of blade on rope.

In the next room, the two men laughed over something in the chest, glass clicking softly as they set a vial down too hard.

The pull of his skill tightened behind his eyes, a slow ache blooming at the base of his skull; his vision prickled at the edges. A bitter, coppery taste crowded his mouth, and for half a breath the room seemed to tilt lightly beneath him. Lukas forced the mana flow closed and let the perk fade, blinking to clear the blur. Using the perk's active part always drained him fast. The one that helped him hide while staying still was much more mana-efficient.

He shifted closer to the hinge side and ran his fingers up the length of the chain.

He shifted closer to the hinge side and ran his fingers up the length of the chain.

The iron was cold against his touch, and he felt the end disappear into a spike driven through a plate set into the timber. It wasn’t clean work, and the plate sat crooked, one corner lifted where the wood had split under the hammering. Someone had forced it in fast and called it good.

He tested it once, with slow pressure increasing as he tried to pull it out.

The plate moved, but the spike did not. It was too loud to tear free and to slow to saw through.

He leaned his forehead briefly against the door, thinking through the angles while the murmur of the two men in the gear room rolled on, easy and careless. He eased the hasp up just enough to open a mouth-wide gap and breathed through it.

“Chain’s fixed to the wall,” he whispered. “Can’t pull it without a sound.”

Inside, the diplomat’s outline shifted closer.

“We’ll breach it from this side,” the man murmured back.

Lukas nodded even though he couldn’t see it.

“You hit the door hard,” Lukas said. “These walls will swallow the worst of it. When they come to check, I’ll take them from behind.” He felt his sleeves stick where the blood was drying it. That part wasn’t in the games either, but he had never felt so alive.

A pause. Then, very quietly, “Understood.”

He let the hasp fall back into place without the peg and slid along the wall to the corner where the gear room met the corridor, the dark folding over him again as he settled into it. He drew the shorter knife and began to pray. “They'd better be able to breach that door in one try,”  he murmured to himself.

His heart started to climb, from what was about to happen, that same tight excitement that had filled his chest the first time he’d dropped from a rooftop into a hay cart back on Earth, controller sweating in his hands.

If he could have, he would have saved right before this went off. He counted breaths.

One.

Two.

Three—

The first impact hit the door like a kicked drum. Wood boomed. The chain snapped taut and the plate tore another fraction out of the wall.

In the gear room the laughter stopped.

“What was—”

The second blow came harder. The timber around the spike split with a sharp crack that the thick walls caught and crushed.

Boots on the floor. A stool scraping quickly

“Let’s go!”

They came out together, just as he’d hoped, one reaching for his spear, the other turning his head toward the sound, attention forward.

Lukas stepped out of the shadow behind them and moved.

The first man died with the knife driven up under the ribs and across, Lukas’s free hand clamping the mouth and dragging him back into the dark as his legs folded. The second started to turn, breath filling for a shout, and Lukas was already inside his reach, blade punching into the side of the neck and ripping free before the sound could find air. Blood spilled. The man's spear fell from his grip with a dull thunk onto the packed dirt, and for a second Lukas felt the rush of hot breath wash past his cheek—the startled gasp of a life ending inches away. The moment stuck, bright and immediate, echoing in his nerves even as he let the bodies sink to the floor.

Behind him, the holding-room door burst inward on the third hit, the chain tearing loose in a spray of splinters.

The diplomat and his escorts came through low and fast, wrists free, eyes finding Lukas standing above the two dead guards. He widened his eyes while the adventurer behind him, “What the f-”, he cut off as one of the others knocked him upside the head.

Lukas wiped his blade once on a fallen cloak and jerked his chin toward the open room.

“I’m the contingency plan,” he said. “Let’s go.”