The estate loomed ahead, a fortress wrapped in wealth, its presence a testament to the power its owner wielded. Thick stone walls, reinforced with iron-spiked fencing, encased the grounds, standing as a warning as much as a defense.
Cain stood in the shadows of a nearby alleyway, watching.
This was prime real estate—close enough to the cathedral to be amongst the heart of the city’s elite, but just far enough from the central square to avoid the constant flow of merchants and commoners. The streets around the estate were quieter at night, lined with fine brickwork and elegant iron lanterns that bathed the area in soft golden light. Few people lingered in these parts after dark unless they had business worth thousands of gold.
The front gate stood tall, polished and flanked by mercenary guards in full armor, their stance casual but alert. Twice in the past two hours, the heavy doors parted to admit a well-dressed noble, or possibly a high-ranking official of some sort, each accompanied by their own security detail.
Cain watched the routine unfold.
The flow of movement.
The blind spots.
The moments of carelessness.
It wouldn’t be the easiest place to break into, though some of his missions back on Earth had been more difficult. But unlike back then, this time he had magic.
He shifted his stance, adjusting the dark, form-fitting clothing he’d chosen for this job. Over his usual gear, he wore a deep charcoal hooded clock, cut in such a way that the fabric barely rustled as he moved. A plan mask, black with faint silver etchings, covered the lower half of his face. His gloves were thin but reinforced at the fingertips.
Though he didn’t take a lot of time to prepare, he felt ready.
Tonight would be a night to remember.
He let his gaze drift past the guarded entrance, up toward the estate’s upper levels. The arched windows on the second floor were wide, some partially open to let in the night air. If he played this right, he wouldn’t need to bother with the gate at all.
A window would do just fine.
He could probably pull it off with the skills he had already, but there was no harm in being overprepared…
He called up his status window, scanning his available upgrades:
=Available Upgrade Targets=
->…
->Stealth (Rank 1/100)
+1: Improve all beneficial effects and reduce mana cost by 50%.
He tapped the selection.
A familiar sensation flooded his body—like ice flooding his veins before fading into something more natural. He activated the skill and his breathing automatically softened, his posture adjusted, and when he took a step forward—
No sound.
The difference was immediate.
The flickering torchlight seemed less intrusive, the shadows stretched just a little further, wrapping around him like an extension of his will.
=Stealth +1=
-Active Skill-
->Mana: 5/minute.
->Rank: 1/100
->Description: Your presence becomes softer, your movement quieter, and the shadows welcome you as one of their own.
There is no trace where no step was taken.
He flexed his fingers. ‘This should be enough…’
His eyes locked onto one of the open windows.
It was time to move.
Cain rushed forward, moving with the quiet precision of a shadow. His boots barely disturbed the earth as he reached the estate’s outer wall, fingers finding purchase against the cold stone. He climbed swiftly.
Below him, a lone guard trudged by, torchlight swaying with his sluggish pace.
“Fuck night shifts…,” the guard muttered, stifling a yawn.
Cain remained perfectly still, pressed flush against the wall. A moment passed. Then another. When the guard ambled away, he dropped soundlessly onto the grass, landing with a low crouch.
He adjusted the mask over his face and focused on his next goal:
The trellis.
On the eastern wing, an ivy-covered trellis stretched up the stone wall, thick vines forming a natural ladder. He watched as a pair of patrolling guards strolled beneath it, their conversation low.
“…You think we’ll get paid?” one muttered.
“As soon as the old hag stops spending all our money on wine…”
Their voices faded as they disappeared around a corner.
Cain moved.
With a single leap, he caught the trellis’ edge, his fingers gripping tight. The wooden frame groaned faintly under his weight, but it held. Hand over hand, he ascended, his boots finding narrow footholds along the stone.
Halfway up, he froze.
The distinct clink of armor below reached his ears. He pressed himself against the wall just beneath a windowsill.
A guard turned a corner, torch in hand. The glow spread outward, creeping up the wall, edging dangerously close to his position.
Too close.
The firelight reached him. And then—
The shadows stretched.
They pulled tighter around his form, bending unnaturally, twisting just enough to blur his outline. The light passed over him as if he wasn’t there.
The guard grunted, oblivious, and moved on.
=Level up! Stealth is now Rank 2/100=
-You become harder to detect while using Stealth–
Cain exhaled slowly, fingers reaching for the window latch. He tested the latch, feeling the slight give of old hinges. No resistance. He pushed it open an inch at a time, slipping through in a single smooth motion, the darkness welcoming him home.
He landed in a low crouch, the floor beneath him sturdy but coated in a fine layer of dust. The room smelled of oiled steel, aged parchment, and old leather. The air was still, undisturbed—this wasn’t a place people frequented often.
The room was functional. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with wooden crates stamped with supply codes, some left slightly ajar, revealing bundles of rations, bandages, and potion bottles sealed with wax. Further in, racks of spare weapons and armor stood at attention—rows of spears, swords, and axes, all well-maintained but standard issue.
He moved deeper, his footsteps soundless.
Near the back of the room, a small, cluttered section caught his eye. It wasn’t as neat as the rest—more like a graveyard for old tools.
A crate of rusted weapons.
A shelf of cracked gemstones.
He ran his finger over the label on a wooden bin:
JUNK
He didn’t waste any time rummaging through the old items. If there were anything truly valuable in there, he doubted a group as experienced and greedy as a mercenary guild wouldn’t have thrown them away.
But for the rest of the stuff in the room?
He flexed his fingers, a faint grin hidden beneath his mask.
He wasn’t about to waste time sorting through everything. Instead, he summoned his wardrobe.
A ripple of dim light flickered around him.
Then, his Infinite Wardrobe appeared, materializing in the center of the storage room. He propped the doors open.
It was time to start packing.
Cain moved methodically, grabbing entire racks of weapons and moving them inside with precise, fluid movements. Spears, swords, axes, shields—anything that wasn’t broken or rusted beyond recognition was worth appropriating for a new cause.
One after another, crates of unopened potions, sealed bandages, and combat rations disappeared. Stacks of armor, some still polished and bearing insignias of the guild, followed shortly after.
Nothing salvageable was left behind.
By the time he was done, the armor looked ransacked.
He unsummoned the wardrobe, causing it to vanish back into wherever it went, leaving no trace behind.
Cain moved to the door and tested the handle.
It was locked.
But locks weren’t an issue for them.
He didn’t know exactly how much stronger his body was than an average human, but he knew he was strong. He placed his hand over the metal latch and squeezed. There was a soft crunch. The mechanism crumpled under the force of his grip like dry parchment.
Then he stepped into the hallway.
The corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit by lantern sconces. Ornate rugs ran the length of the hall. The walls were decorated with battle banners, framed maps, and trophies of past conquests. Cain noted a pair of cat ears mounted on a plaque.
As he continued to scan the corridor, a sensation he hadn’t experienced before drew his attention to a pair of heavy door doors at the end of the hall.
The doors glowed with a thin layer of blue.
=Level up! Trap Perception is now Rank 2/100=
-Increased chance of perceiving traps-
‘Trap Perception…’
Considering the traps were on a door, he suspected they were more likely to be ‘wards’, magic sigils that prevented entry or set off alarms when triggered.
There were no guards in sight.
Cain carefully approached the double doors, brushing his fingertips over the magical wards. They pulsed faintly beneath his touch, humming with contained energy.
He had no experience navigating around magical wards, nor did he have any tools or skills that would let him do so.
But that was okay. He never expected to complete this mission undetected.
He pressed a hand against the center of the doors. Wood creaked under the force of his grip.
The hinges cracked.
The enchantments flared, likely setting off an alarm somewhere that he couldn’t hear.
Now he was on a timer.
Cain stepped inside.
The office was spacious—larger than he expected. A grand wooden desk dominated the center, stacked high with ledgers, mission logs, and correspondence. The air smelled of parchment and ink.
No sign of any mercenaries.
He moved swiftly, eyes sweeping the room. The walls were lined with tall bookshelves, the shelves stacked with bound contracts, maps, and various reports. A locked cabinet stood in the corner, reinforced with iron bands.
Cain was about to step toward it—when a muffled noise caught his ear.
His eyes snapped to the far side of the room, where a small sitting area was arranged near a decorative rug. Just beyond it, pressed against the wall near the base of a bookshelf, was a figure bound and gagged.
A captive?
The figure was curled against the wall, wrists tied behind their back, ankles bound together. Their dark-furred ears twitched, but their face remained neutral—eyes downcast, avoiding his gaze.
Cain narrowed his eyes.
‘Something seems off…’
The ropes were tight but not cutting into the skin. The gag was positioned just loosely enough to allow breathing. The beastkin’s tail, barely visible behind them, was still.
He sighed.
‘This looks staged.’
He turned his attention back to the cabinet, pretending not to have noticed. He smashed the hinges and ripped the door off, revealing several neatly bound ledgers.
He pulled one free and flipped it open. The pages were filled with handwritten notes—detailed records of contracts, payments, and ongoing jobs.
His eyes scanned the information quickly, filtering out most of the information until—
Commissioner: Dr. Elias Rathmore
Mission: Asset Removal — Beastkin Threat (Bloodclaw)
Status: Complete. Profits Allocated.
Dr. Elias Rathmore.
The name meant nothing to him, but whoever they were, they had personally funded the extermination of a beastkin tribe.
Cain’s jaw tensed beneath his mask. He tossed the ledgers back into the cabinet and summoned his wardrobe, swiftly moving the entire cabinet inside.
Then, at last, he turned toward the beastkin.
A black-furred foxkin.
The foxkin’s ears twitched as he approached, though he kept his head lowered.
Cain crouched in front of him, one hand resting lazily on his knee.
“I assume you’d like me to cut these ropes,” he murmured.
The foxkin’s dark eyes met his gaze.
He smirked beneath his mask. “Or were you just planning to wait and see what kind of person I am?”
For the first time, the captive gave a real reaction—an almost perceptive narrowing of the eyes.
Cain pulled a dagger free, twirling it between his fingers.
“Let’s not waste any more time,” he said.
Then he sliced through the ropes in one clean motion.
The foxkin’s dark ears flicked, his tail giving the barest twitch of acknowledgment. He didn’t immediately move, though—he just sat there for a second, rubbing at his wrists as if contemplating his next action.
Cain slid his dagger back into its sheath. “Can you walk?”
The foxkin stretched his legs for a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”
His voice was smooth, calm—not the tone of someone who had just been ‘rescued’. He climbed to his feet in a slow, measured motion, eyes scanning the room.
Cain narrowed his eyes.
‘This guy is part of the test.’
He wasn’t sure what the foxkin’s role was, but he’d play along for now.
“Stay close,” he muttered. “We need to move.”
The foxkin obeyed without question, which only deepened Cain’s suspicions. He followed Cain’s movements precisely, mirroring his pace as they approached the door.
Cain took one last glance back at the office.
He had his prize.
Now it was time to erase his presence.
The Mercenary Guild would investigate this theft. Even without knowing who did it, he set an alarm off so they had to know there was a culprit. He wasn’t sure why it was taking so long for anybody to come investigate, though…
But regardless, they’d be searching for a culprit—and he wasn’t going to give them any other information to work with.
That meant burning this place to the ground.
He shifted slightly, making sure the foxkin wasn’t looking directly at him. Then, with a subtle flick of his wrist, he conjured a fireball.
The flickering orb hovered in his palm, illuminating the room with an eerie glow.
Cain let it sit for a moment, staring into its dancing flames, almost mesmerized by the beautiful destruction it would manifest.
He tossed the fireball toward the bookshelves.
The flames devoured the dry parchment instantly. The fire spread, licking at the wooden desk, catching on the rich carpet beneath their feet.
The foxkin stared at the newborn inferno with a hint of surprise.
Cain turned toward him. “We’re leaving.”
The two of them slipped back into the hallway, Cain leading the way.
No alarms sounded. No guards came running.
That was… unexpected.
He had shattered those enchanted doors. The wards had most likely activated. So where the hell was the response?
His mind raced through possibilities as they retraced his path. The hallways were eerily empty.
The moment they reached the window, Cain moved first, scaling down the trellis silently. The foxkin followed a beat later, his movements just as smooth. They landed soundlessly on the damp grass below, slipping back into the shadows.
The estate behind them was already beginning to glow orange, the fire spreading. A moment later, he finally heard a shout of alarm.
“Fire! We need water magic!”
Cain didn’t linger. He led the foxkin way, deeper into the night.
They didn’t stop running until they reached the edge of the slums. Cain picked a secluded alleyway, one where the flickering street lanterns barely reached.
He finally turned to face the foxkin, tilting his head slightly.
“Something you’d like to tell me?”
A slow smirk played across the foxkin’s lips. “I was curious,” he admitted. “I wanted to see how you’d handle it.”
Cain rolled his eyes. “You placed that ward.”
The foxkin shrugged. “Couldn’t have you sneaking in too easily. Wasn’t expecting you to just smash through the door anyway.”
Cain grimaced underneath his mask. He wasn’t mad, but he thought this was a little out there as far as trials go.
“Any other surprises I should know about?”
The foxkin chuckled. “Nope. We just wanted to know if you’d go for the rescue or leave me behind.”
Cain studied him for a long moment. He sighed. “What’s your name?”
“Call me Vey.”
He filed the name away. “Let’s get back to Lila.”
Vey tilted his head toward the pillar of smoke rising in the distance. “You sure you don’t want to stay and watch your handiwork?”
Cain glanced over his shoulder at the distant glow. The fire was fully engulfing the second floor now, smoke billowing into the sky.
He laughed. “Nah, I’m good. This should be enough to cover our tracks.”
As they walked through the slums, Cain glanced at Vey.
“By the way, you owe me a drink.”
Vey chuckled. “Fair enough.”
Project Knightfall 