The forest stretched like an unbroken sea of green shadows, branches weaving a tangled ceiling overhead that filtered the sunlight into gold-tinted shafts. Damp moss clung to every stone and tree trunk, and fat ferns brushed against Drevan’s boots as his warhorse trudged along the half-forgotten trail. The air was thick with humidity, buzzing insects, and the quiet, breathless tension that only came in places untouched by men for far too long.

  Drevan scowled as another branch snapped across his face. “Miserable bloody jungle,” he muttered, swiping it away. His black cloak was torn in three places, and his fine leather boots were caked in grime. He adjusted his grip on the reins and rolled his aching shoulders. “Built an empire, and they can’t keep a road open. Typical.”

  Behind him, Kaia’s unconscious form bounced limply with each hoofbeat, her wrists bound and head resting against the saddlebags. She looked pale, her skin marked with bruises from the earlier battle. Drevan didn’t look back again.

  “Master will be thrilled,” he said aloud to the woods. “One seal, two adventurers dead, and a would-be prize for me.” His smirk twisted at the corner. “Maybe I’ll finally be given a real post again. Not this gods-forsaken wilderness.”

  A twisted root nearly unseated him. Drevan cursed, jerking the reins and guiding the horse around it. “Too long in the wilds,” he muttered. “Too long babysitting ancient doors and listening to ghosts whisper in broken ruins. Maybe I’ll get assigned to a real city. Somewhere with wine. And Brothels.”

  He sniffed and glanced at the canopy above. “This time, I’ve earned it.”

  Then, with a sneer, his thoughts turned to John.

  “And that one,” he muttered, shaking his head. “That damned adventurer. Mouthy little worm. Always talking. ‘Laser swords.’ ‘Space monks.’ Every time he opened his mouth, it was some obscure reference or ridiculous Earth fantasy. Like life is just one long joke.” He spit off the side of the horse. “So uncivilized.”

  His voice dropped into mockery. “Oh, it’s like that one movie! It’s just like that one game! Do you know what it reminded me of?” He rolled his eyes. “What kind of madman sees the arcane design of an ancient dungeon and thinks, ‘Oh, this reminds me of a cartoon from my childhood’?”

  Drevan scoffed again. “Adventurers. Always romanticizing danger, always acting like it’s all part of some grand story. No respect. No understanding. Just chaos and idiocy wrapped in leather armor.”

  He could see it now: walking through a marble hall, the seal in one hand, Kaia in chains, and the smug satisfaction of finally being free of this endless mud and moss.

  “I’ve paid my dues,” he said. “And I’ve been very, very patient.”

  The forest, of course, said nothing. But it pressed in tighter—more trees, vines, and shadows that moved when he wasn’t looking directly at them.

  “Soon,” Drevan said, settling deeper into the saddle. “Everything turns.”

  It did.

  Just not the way he thought.

  The forest shifted subtly as Drevan rode deeper into the dense underbrush. The trail—if it could still be called that—narrowed into a twisting mess of roots and gnarled limbs, forcing him to slow his steed. Kaia’s unconscious form remained slumped over the horse’s back, arms dangling, swaying with each step.

  He muttered a curse under his breath, brushing a low-hanging branch from his face. “Vile wilderness. Filthy, damp, crawling with insects. How do people live like this?”

  The moment he cleared the next thicket, the first trap triggered.

  A rope, hidden under a thick layer of leaves, snapped tight around the horse’s front legs. The beast reared and screamed, crashing down in a tangle of limbs. Kaia tumbled off its back and rolled to the side with a soft thud.

  Drevan landed hard but was on his feet in a blink. “Coward’s tricks,” he spat.

  He scanned the trees, drawing his saber. But nothing moved. No sign of John.

  A whisper of metal. A glint of light.

  A throwing dagger whistled from the shadows and embedded itself into Drevan’s thigh. Poison burned immediately—subtle, paralyzing, meant to slow the blood. Drevan snarled and tore it free.

  “Rogue!” he called into the trees. “I know this is you! ”

  More silence. More shadows.

  Then the forest came alive.

  A snare tightened around his boot, yanking him off balance. As he hit the ground, a weighted log swung down from above, narrowly missing his head. Thorns tore at his cloak as he rolled away, only to trip a second trap: a pressure plate that released a volley of crude darts. Most missed. One didn’t.

  Drevan grunted and staggered to his feet, breath labored. “So this is it, Bradford? Hide in the trees, chip away at me like a rat?”

  From somewhere above, John’s voice echoed, smug and amused. “Hey now, you say ‘rat’ like it’s a bad thing. Some rats carried the plague, you know.”

  “Come face me like a warrior!”

  “Oh no,” John said. “See, you’re thinking of the wrong genre. This isn’t honorable dueling. This is guerrilla warfare meets Saturday morning cartoons.”

  Another trap went off—this time a burst of smoke and glittering powder that flared with a loud snap and blinded Drevan momentarily. He cursed, swinging wildly.

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  Somewhere beyond the chaos, Kaia stirred.

  John’s voice floated closer, now tinged with steel. “You took something from me. You don’t get to walk away.”

  Drevan spat blood, eyes scanning the treetops. “Fine. Then let’s end this.”

  But the forest offered no answers. Only more traps.

  And somewhere among the branches, John waited, smiling.

  John crouched beneath a curtain of leaves, hidden in the thick canopy as Drevan roared in frustration below. Another trap had sprung—a weighted log that almost broke his arm—and the bastard was still moving, still dangerous. John’s heart hammered, but not from fear. Not this time. You’re not just hunting a villain, he reminded himself. You’re hunting the man who took everything. Kaia’s scream still echoed in his memory. Thorin’s bloodied body. His own helpless collapse. This isn’t vengeance. This is a necessity. He flexed his grip on the dagger hilt. I don’t care if it takes every ounce of strength and every dirty trick in the book. I’m bringing him down. No matter what.

  John didn’t wait for Drevan to fully recover. As soon as the trap’s echo faded into the forest, he darted from the underbrush, blades already in motion. This time, he didn’t aim to duel—he aimed to dismantle.

  His first dagger came in low, slashing toward the backs of Drevan’s knees. The second aimed for the wrist that held the saber. Drevan pivoted, parrying one and twisting out of the other’s reach, but John was already shifting—vanishing in a blink and reappearing on Drevan’s left flank.

  “You want to play again?” Drevan snarled, whirling with a wide sweep.

  John ducked beneath the blade, rolled forward, and jammed a vial into the ground. Poisoned spikes erupted upward, catching Drevan’s shin. The black-cloaked warrior stumbled, hissing as venom began to burn through his boot.

  “You fight dirty,” Drevan spat.

  “I fight to win,” John countered, springing off a tree trunk and flipping behind him. “Sorry—didn’t realize you were still expecting honor.”

  Drevan turned, only to meet a flurry of thrown knives. Most he batted aside with his saber, but one grazed his side. Another nicked his jaw.

  John grinned. “Try dodging everything.”

  Drevan moved forward with a roar and a burst of arcane energy. Vines withered around him as he struck out with his saber in a brilliant arc of violet fire. John barely avoided a decapitating slash, his hoodie’s shadow weave absorbing just enough impact to keep him moving.

  They clashed again, blades ringing. John aimed low, feinted high, then spun and elbowed Drevan in the ribs. The rogue had improved—his style was faster, tighter, and more unpredictable. But Drevan still matched him move for move.

  With a growl, Drevan surged forward. He caught John's arm mid-strike and twisted. John gritted his teeth and flipped backward, narrowly escaping a killing blow.

  “You’re better,” Drevan admitted. “But still not good enough.”

  John crouched, breathing hard. “That’s what they all say. Right before I make them eat their own teeth.”

  He charged again, dragging a poisoned dagger across Drevan’s forearm. Sparks flew as steel kissed steel.

  Drevan lashed out with a knee to John's gut, then followed with a backhand that sent him staggering. But John didn’t fall. He rolled with the momentum and hurled two smoke bombs. The clearing filled with choking haze.

  Hidden in the smoke, John whispered, “Let’s see how well you fight blind.”

  The battle was only beginning.

  Drevan stood tall amidst the scorched clearing, his cloak singed in places, small cuts littering his arms and face. Yet he smiled, blood running down one side of his mouth. The traps had slowed him, the poison had weakened him, and John had drawn real blood. But still, he stood. And John was slowing.

  John's breaths came in short, ragged pulls. His muscles screamed with each movement. The tricks, the traps, the shadows—they'd given him an edge. But that edge was wearing thin.

  "Is this it, then?" Drevan asked, stepping forward slowly. "All that cleverness, all those little pranks. And you're still just a man in a silly shirt."

  John darted forward, hoping speed would outweigh exhaustion. He lashed out with a spinning kick, followed by a swipe of his dagger aimed at Drevan's throat. Drevan caught the kick mid-spin and slammed John bodily into a nearby tree.

  "Predictable," he growled.

  John collapsed in a heap, the breath knocked from his lungs. His vision swam.

  Drevan stalked closer, dragging his saber behind him, its edge sparking against the stones.

  "I should thank you, in a way," he mused. "You brought me to the seal. You gave me the girl. And now you're going to die here, in this mud, like all the other hopeful fools."

  John forced himself up to one knee. "Yeah? Well... at least I'm not the guy who monologues like a Saturday morning cartoon villain."

  Drevan's boot connected with John's ribs. Pain exploded through his side. He rolled, coughing violently.

  "You're not funny, adventurer. You're not smart. You're not strong. You're not enough."

  John tried to rise again, but his arms trembled, too weak to lift his own weight.

  Drevan raised his saber high. "This is what comes of playing hero. You should have stayed in your own world."

  John looked up at him, blood in his mouth, his vision narrowing. And still, he smiled as he drove his dagger into Drevan's thigh.

  The air thickened as Drevan clenched his fist, blood dripping from his thigh where John’s dagger had struck. His eyes burned violet, a pulse of arcane malice flashing across his armor. Shadows curled around his boots, twisting like living things. With a guttural word in a language John didn’t recognize, Drevan slammed his palm to the earth.

  The ground groaned.

  Dark tendrils erupted from the soil—slick, writhing vines of black energy that lashed out in every direction. Trees withered where they touched. Moss hissed and died.

  John leapt to another branch just in time as one of the tendrils lashed across his previous perch, splitting it in two.

  “Okay,” he muttered, landing hard. “Note to self—don’t get touched by the evil spaghetti.”

  Drevan cut the spell and yelled for John to "Come and die already."

  John stepped into the clearing, boots crunching softly against the frost-laden grass. The twisted pines framed the battlefield, their long shadows stretching beneath the waning sun. Drevan stood at the far end, his armor reflecting faint streaks of red light, the edges lined with the dark crimson stains of past victories.

  John exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, Drevan. Final round. Let’s see if you’ve still got that smug grin after I’m done.”

  The Blackblade chuckled, the deep, metallic sound echoing like grinding steel. “Back for more, adventurer? I almost thought you’d take the hint and stay down.”

  John smirked, raising his palm. His dagger glinted as he drew it across his hand, blood welling up instantly. The blade pulsed faintly, reacting to the mixture of life essence and the poison he’d coated it with.

  “I’m just getting warmed up.”

  John lunged forward, blade flashing. Drevan met him with a heavy swing, but John dipped low, rolling under the slash. He struck out, scoring a hit across the knight’s ribs. The poison began its slow, insidious work.

  Drevan narrowed his eyes. “Faster. But still predictable.”

  The knight retaliated, boot catching John in the stomach. The impact hurled him backward, slamming into a tree. Bark splintered as John collapsed onto one knee, coughing. His ribs screamed in protest.

  Drevan approached slowly, sword dragging through the grass. “You’ve improved. You're even fighting like a rogue now.”

  John groaned, head hanging low. His vision blurred. The cold seeped in, but something flickered in the corner of his sight—a flashing notification.

  With a shaky breath, he acknowledged it.

  A video appeared in his HUD. His wife and daughter smiled back at him, They were at his mother in laws house. Christmas decorations in the back ground. They always visited for Christmas While he pulled overtime. His daughter’s voice rang clear in the winter air.

  “Dad, we love you! Even if you’re tired, you can do this! Don’t give up!”

  His wife nodded, her soft smile grounding him. “You always pull through. We believe in you.”

  John clenched his fists, fire returning to his veins. “Damn right.”

  Another notification appeared.

  [NEW SKILL ACQUIRED: SHADOW Step II.]

  [Shadow Step II] – Rare Active Skill

  Requires: Rogue Class

  You have learned to move through darkness not just as a veil, but as a medium. By slipping partially into shadow, you can now traverse short distances more fluidly and strike with greater precision.

  Effect: Instantly teleport up to 30 feet to any location connected by shadow. Now allows partial use: reach through shadows for quick strikes, disarms, or retrievals. Attacks made immediately after stepping gain +15% critical chance and apply Weakening for 3 seconds.

  New Feature – Shadow Chain: If multiple enemies are within range and connected by shadow, you can chain up to 3 Shadow Steps in quick succession, striking each target once per jump. Costs additional stamina per jump.

  Cooldown: 10 seconds

  Cost: Moderate stamina

  John’s lips curled into a grin.

  “Okay, Drevan. Let’s try this again.”

  He sank into the shadows beneath him. Drevan’s eyes widened as John’s figure melted away, only to reemerge behind him. John drove his dagger into the gap between the plates of Drevan’s armor.

  The Blackblade staggered, poison seeping deeper. John vanished once more, thrusting his hand through the shadows. His blade reappeared near Drevan’s heel, slashing across his Achilles tendon.

  Drevan’s saber faltered for just a moment—barely noticeable, but John saw it. The blade dipped in his grip before he corrected. A sheen of sweat broke across the Blackblade’s brow, his breath no longer measured.

  John narrowed his eyes. “Feeling that burn yet?”

  Drevan growled and swung with renewed fury, but his steps were heavier now. The deadly grace he once moved with was starting to degrade, his footwork growing sloppy at the edges. His left arm twitched before responding to commands. The venom was working.

  John pressed the advantage, forcing him back. Every exchange shaved a second off Drevan’s stamina. Every cut deepened the rot spreading through his veins.

  “You’re not invincible,” John said, ducking a wild swing. “You’re just a man with too much poison to keep living much longer.”

  Drevan didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His jaw was locked, knuckles white on the saber hilt.

  The poison was slow, but it was merciless.

  Drevan fell to one knee.

  “Good. But not enough.”

  John chuckled darkly. “Expect the unexpected.”

  His arm plunged into shadow again—this time emerging beneath Drevan in the most unfortunate of places and driving the blade deep into his nether regions.

  Drevan’s scream echoed through the clearing. The knight collapsed forward, writhing. The poison was relentless now, spreading rapidly.

  John strolled up to him, placing a boot under Drevan’s helmet and kicking it free. He crouched down to finish the job.

  Drevan’s body lay there dead, waiting to be looted.

  John wiped his blade clean, glancing at the flood of notifications. “I’ll deal with that later.” He sheathed his dagger, sighing. “First things first—Kaia’s waiting, and I need a drink.”