In the end, only five of them stayed.
The foxkin didn’t hesitate. She simply sat down on a rock and began swinging her legs, the decision never in doubt for her.
Takkar lingered longer than he meant to. He paced the edge of the clearing, ears flicking toward every sound, jaw clenched tight. When the others finally began drifting away in small, frightened groups, he stopped pacing and stood very still.
Then he turned around and came back.
Lorian followed him, quiet as a shadow. He didn’t look at anyone when he made his choice. He just grabbed a sack to use as a makeshift pack and stood near Cain, eyes unfocused and empty.
The goblin girl stayed too. She waited until the last of the other goblins had gone, then walked back to Cain and set her feet deliberately, like she was planting a flag.
The troll was the last.
He watched the others leave with a heavy, unreadable expression, in no small part because Cain didn’t know how to read troll expressions. His hands were clasped together in front of him. When the clearing finally emptied, he knelt down and started shoving scattered items back into the crate.
“I will go where you go,” he said simply when he noticed Cain looking at him.
Cain nodded.
The bent-tusked orc didn’t look back.
Neither did the remaining beastkin and goblins.
Cain didn’t stop them.
When the clearing went quiet, the difference was stark. Five figures where there had been fifteen. The forest pressed in closer now, like the shadows approved of the smaller number.
“Alright,” Cain said. “That’s our party.”
They packed quickly. There wasn’t much to organize—food, blankets, spare clothes. Cain redistributed weight where he could, handing the massive troll most of the bulkier supplies without asking. The troll took them without comment, hefting the large crate onto his shoulder with ease.
When they were ready, Cain gestured toward the darker stretch of forest to the south.
“We’ll stay off the obvious paths for now. If you hear something you don’t recognize, stop moving.”
“And if we recognize it?” the goblin girl asked.
“Depends on what it is,” Cain replied. “Use your judgement.”
They moved out under the trees.
The forest felt dense at night, quiet in a way that made every sound feel deliberate. Cain took point, his senses stretched thin, his body humming with the restless edge of a man who yearned for violence.
Behind him, the foxkin walked with an easy, unhurried gait, her tail brushing leaves without a sound.
Takkar darted around the group like someone used to traveling in the forest, jumping from tree to tree like a wraith. Lorian stayed close to the goblin girl, while the troll brought up the rear, every step careful and lumbering. His sheer size made it impossible for him to move without knocking dangling branches out of the way or stepping on leaves or twigs, but nobody complained about the noise he was making.
He was carrying more than half their supplies. Anybody who complained had no conscience.
They’d gone perhaps half an hour when Cain slowed.
He raised a fist.
Everyone froze.
He crouched and examined the ground with a frown.
Human-sized footprints.
“Why are there humans around here?” he muttered.
But there was an easy explanation.
He’d chosen the clearing they started in for a reason after all.
That’s where he’d met them.
“Bandits…”
Takkar narrowed his eyes as he examined their surroundings from a branch high up in a nearby tree.
“I don’t see them…”
The foxkin tilted her head. “Isn’t it too cliché for bandits to appear on the first journey?”
“You’re conflating stories with reality,” Cain said. “Stories use bandits because they’re convenient narrative devices to provide immediate conflict and allow the main characters to murder without moral consequences. In reality, bandits exist for a million reasons, but I’m not about to give a sociology lecture.”
“Good,” Takkar said. “Because I think I see them…”
A branch snapped.
“Spread out,” a rough voice called. “I think I heard voices.”
Cain closed his eyes for half a second.
It was a vaguely familiar voice.
The ambush came from the same angles as last time, with the same lack of coordination, and the same confidence that said they’d never been punished properly.
When the first man stepped into view, Cain focused on the tattoo he knew he would find on his right shoulder.
As expected.
A unicorn with an axe for a horn.
It was the same damn bandits who tried to ambush him not far from here when he first appeared in this world.
Cain stepped forward before anyone else could react.
“Drop your weapons,” he said.
The bandit nearest to him barked out a laugh. “That’s a good one.” He shifted his grip on his sword and squinted through the trees. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”
A few more shapes emerged from the underbrush, men with rough gear and loose stances, spreading without rhyme or rhythm like amateurs.
“Five of you,” another voice called out. “One of you’s a troll? Those are rare around here.”
Takkar bristled from his perch, teeth flashing in the dark. The goblin girl took a half-step back, hands empty but poised to move. Lorian didn’t move at all.
Cain didn’t repeat himself.
He sighed, rolled his shoulders, and then activated a new skill he’d been meaning to try out.
Oath of Ash.
The air around him began to warm.
Every breath felt heavier going in than it had a moment ago. The leaves nearest his boots curled at the edges, darkening as if they’d been held too close to a flame.
Ash drifted down in the moonlight that peaked through the trees.
One of the bandits wiped his forehead, scowling. Another shifted his grip on his sword, flexing his fingers that were suddenly slick with sweat.
“What the hell is this?” someone muttered.
Cain exhaled.
The heat deepened.
It pressed inward rather than outward, sinking into skin and lungs. Embers glimmered faintly along the ground, tracing cracks that weren’t noticeable before.
Behind him, the foxkin’s ears twitched.
Takkar realized that his hands weren’t shaking.
The goblin girl swallowed, surprised to find her breath steady despite the tension.
The bandits were not having the same experience.
One of them dropped his sword with a yelp, clutching his forearm as red welts bloomed beneath his sleeve. Another staggered back, eyes wide, sweat pouring down his face as if he’d been running for miles.
“The fuck is this!” someone shouted, voice cracking.
=Oath of Ash=
-Semi-Passive Skill-
->Mana: N/A
->Rank: 1/100
->Description: While active, nearby enemies suffer growing fire damage over time. Nearby allies gain increased resistance to fear, fire, and despair.
When fire mourns, it weeps in ash.
Cain took a step forward.
The ground blackened beneath his boot. Leaves curled into themselves, veins glowing red before collapsing into ash. The embers along the forest floor flared brighter.
One of the bandits screamed.
He dropped to his knees, clawing at his chest as if he could rip the heat out of his lungs. Each breath came out wet and ragged, steam pouring from his mouth in thick white bursts. His skin blistered in uneven patches, burns blooming from the inside out.
Another man bolted.
He made it three steps before his legs failed him. He hit the ground hard, rolling, shrieking as the heat sank deeper, cooking muscle beneath intact skin. His sword skidded across the dirt, the metal glowing dull red before sinking halfway into the soil like it had struck soft wax.
The rest broke.
“Run!” someone shouted, panic tearing the word apart. “Run, run—!”
Cain didn’t chase them.
He didn’t need to.
=Keeper of the First Flame=
-Passive Trait-
->Mana: N/A
->Rank: Mythical
->Description: A guardian of a world’s primordial fire, wielding flames that burn with an ancient, inexorable will. Fire-based abilities become stronger and more efficient, and any flame under the Keeper’s command will never wane unless willed to do so. The Keeper cannot be harmed by their own flames and gains resistance to fire-based attacks. Those who dare to steal fire from the Keeper will find their own souls set ablaze.
Even if all else must be lost, the first flame shall remain forevermore.
‘Any flame under the Keeper’s command will never wane unless willed to do so.’
The moment the bandits caught fire, they were doomed unless he showed them mercy.
The heat pressed in tighter, heavier, every breath an act of defiance against the world. But unfortunately for these men, Cain had decided they were done.
One bandit collapsed face-first into the dirt, twitching. Another staggered into a tree and slumped against it, leaving a scorched handprint burned deep into the bark before sliding down and going still.
Only one stayed standing.
The so-called leader who’d given Nick some information when he first entered the world.
He backed away slowly, sword dangling uselessly from his hand, eyes locked on Cain with something close to recognition now.
“You,” he rasped. His voice was hoarse, already half-ruined. “You look different, but—”
Cain closed the distance.
Each step made the air hiss.
The bandit tried to lift his sword but his arm refused to obey. His muscles seized and tendons locked as the heat finally overwhelmed whatever stubbornness had kept him upright.
Cain stopped an arm’s length away.
“Last time, I let you live.”
The man’s knees buckled. He hit the ground hard, gasping, skin splitting along his forearms as the heat finally burned through. “P-please—”
Cain looked down at him.
“You should’ve learned.”
The heat surged once more.
The man’s breath hitched.
Then stopped.
Silence followed, thick and absolute.
*Ding*
=You have defeated (12) Bandits=
=Level up! Oath of Ash is now Rank 3/100=
-Your oath has increased power and radius-
The aura receded as Cain deactivated the skill. Ash drifted lazily through the moonlight, settling over blackened leaves and scorched earth. The embers dimmed, fading back into nothing more than glowing memories etched into the forest floor.
Cain exhaled slowly.
Behind him, no one spoke.
Takkar remained frozen in his tree, eyes wide, tail rigid. The goblin girl stared at the bodies, her mouth slightly open, hands clenched tight at her sides. Lorian hadn’t moved at all, but his unfocused eyes now stared in Cain’s general direction.
The troll shifted his weight, the crate creaking softly on his shoulder.
The foxkin was the first to break the silence.
“…Well,” she said lightly, swinging her legs from her perch on the troll’s other shoulder. “That was efficient.”
Cain laughed.
“Honestly, I was expecting more. The original owner of the skill had a much stronger aura.”
The synergy of his skills made for a lethal effect, but the raw power was lacking.
“Do I just need to level up more?” he mused. “Or enhance it with skill points?”
Or were there more ways to improve his fire magic?
Takkar dropped from the tree in a near-silent landing, eyes still drawn to their scorched surroundings. The goblin girl wiped her hands nervously on her trousers.
“Let’s go,” Cain said.
They moved on.
It took a few minutes before anyone spoke. The forest closed around them again, the night resuming its quiet like nothing had happened.
Eventually, he sighed.
“Alright,” he said. “I’m tired of calling you ‘goblin girl’ and ‘troll’ in my head. Who are you guys?”
They all looked at him.
The goblin girl blinked. “What?”
“I don’t like repeating myself.”
Takkar snorted softly. “Most people ask before they get this far.”
“I’m not most people.”
“Clearly.”
Cain gestured toward Takkar first. “You first, Takkar.”
The beastkin straightened slightly. “I’m Takkar.”
Everybody stared at him.
“We know.”
“Then why did you ask me?” he challenged.
“Next,” Cain said, turning to the goblin girl. She hesitated for half a heartbeat, then squared her shoulders again.
“Rikta,” she said. “I’m an apprentice fallen faecrafter.”
“A faecrafter?” Cain repeated. “I’ve not heard the term before.”
“A fallen faecrafter,” Rikta corrected. “True faecrafters don’t exist anymore. I think most people refer to us ‘goblin shamans’.”
“Oh, you wanted to learn about my skills,” Takkar realized. “I’m—”
Cain cut him off with a wave of his hand.
“Lorian, you’re next.”
“…Lorian,” the boy said after a moment. “I’m an echelomancer, like most beastkin. Most of my skills are sensory-focused. Things like echolocation, heat mapping, and so on.”
“So you’re a scout?”
“Sort of? I’m not very agile, so if you want someone to inspect our surroundings, Takkar is a better fit. My skills are better at detecting hidden threats and reading people. I’m not very good in a fight, but I do have some martial arts training.”
“Hmm…”
Cain wasn’t sure how best to apply the kid yet, but he figured the kid would show his own usefulness over time.
He nodded and then looked to the troll.
The massive figure lowered his head slightly. “Bill.”
Cain raised an eyebrow. “Bill?”
“Yes.”
“Is that short for ‘William’?”
“No, it’s short for Bill.”
“Ah…”
“I am a wandering adventurer from the Federation. I was captured when I tried to save a beastkin tribe from human mercenaries.”
“You took on an entire mercenary group alone?” Cain clarified, impressed.
Bill shook his head. “It was stupid. They captured the beastkin anyway, and I lost my freedom.”
“How do you fight?”
“Like most orcs and trolls, I use lesser scriptomancy.”
“Scriptomancy?”
“I’m not surprised a human doesn’t know about it. Since you can only practice one system, scriptomancy is probably rare in the human territories.”
*ding*
Cain flinched at the unexpected notification.
=Knowledge of other systems has revealed more information=
-??? -> Faecraft
-??? -> Scriptomancy
He quickly opened his status window.
===Status===
Name: Nicholas Draegan (Cain)
Age: 26
Race: Overseer (Human*)
Title(s): Custodian of the Eternal Sin
Health: 100%
Mana: 100%
Magic Systems:
Lesser: Echelomancy, Scriptomancy, ???, ???, Faecraft.
Mind: 20 | Body: 20 | Soul: 20
…
“…What?”
“According to legend, Scriptomancy allowed practitioners to write, store, edit, and execute ‘programs’ that modify reality. Lesser Scriptomancy is a weaker version of that. You can write programs in one of a few different forms, but the applications are limited, even if the results are powerful.”
“If the applications are limited, what do you use it for?” Cain asked.
“In my case, I cultivate magic circles around my core focused on physical enhancements. Since I’m naturally big and strong, I decided to make myself bigger and stronger.”
It was an easy-to-follow logic.
“Fascinating,” he said. “I’d love to learn more about scriptomancy and faecraft later.”
With most of the introductions now over, they fell into silence.
Cain looked around at them properly for the first time.
Five figures. Five shadows that moved when he moved.
He hadn’t asked for that.
He cleared his throat. “We’ll set up camp soon, now that we’re further away from the city. Two at a time. Takkar, Lorian, and I will be on separate shifts.”
Takkar and Lorian nodded.
“Bill, you’re with Lorian. Rikta, you’re with Takkar. The foxkin will take the last shift with me.”
She smiled like she’d just won a grand prize.
None of them argued or protested.
Their easy compliance made his stomach twist.
They walked a little farther before he found a place he liked—a shallow rise with good sightlines and enough cover to break silhouettes. He signaled a halt, and the group moved without hesitation.
As the others settled in, Cain stepped away from the fireless camp and stared out into the dark.
He rubbed at his face.
This is how it starts.
One thing led to another, and now he had followers.
He turned back toward the camp.
The foxkin was watching him, chin propped on her hands, tail swaying slowly behind her.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re thinking too loud,” she said.
He shrugged. “That’s unfortunate.”
She tilted her head. “Why do you hurt so much when you’ve lived so little?”
He considered the question.
Then answered honestly.
“I wish I knew.”
She accepted that without complaint.
Cain sat down on a fallen log, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Get some sleep when you can,” he said quietly. “Tomorrow we’ll reach the mountains.”
No one argued.
The forest hummed around them, indifferent and eternal.
Cain stared into the dark, feeling the weight settle in his hands.
For the first time since waking in this world, he understood something clearly.
Power would come easily to him.
And because of that…
He would be his own worst enemy.
Project Knightfall 