Perhaps realizing it’s almost time for breakfast, Kyla stood up. “I think I should get the meals done for all of us now. Mr. Jorven, would you like to use dishes with us? I know they are just light meals but it would be great all of us could eat together?”

  Jorven hesitated for a while, thinking. “Um, actually, I got –”

  “Oi, Jorven, my friend, why did you decline the most beautiful woman’s offer? It hurt me like a thousands swords pierced through my body! Is it because you don’t like her food? Or is it… you don’t like us?” Vaelrik interrupted, hands rubbing his dark red hair. Clearly he doesn’t want his best friend to leave.

  With his hand on the forehead, Jorven shake his head, “Fine, just stop with these stupid pleas. But I will pack my things up after the meal, I have more weapons to forged.”

  Ignoring my starvation while thinking about the delicious meal, I set my swords on the table and turned to Jorven, curiosity burning in my chest.

  His earlier words about upgrading my weapons still lingered. "Master Jorven," I began, catching his attention as he inspected Vaelrik's rather dull spear leaning against the wall. "What exactly did you mean by ‘upgrade’? My swords feel fine as they are.”

  Jorven turned toward me, his silvery scales catching the morning light. His sharp gaze was assessing, like a jeweler appraising a diamond. "Fine is a dangerous word, kid. Fine is what gets you killed when excellent could have saved you. Let me show you what I mean."

  He reached into his large, battered satchel, pulling out two weapons wrapped in soft black cloth. With an almost reverent touch, he unveiled them: a long sword and an axe.

  The sword was breathtaking. Its blade shimmered with a faint iridescent glow, its edges impossibly sharp and polished to perfection. The hilt was wrapped in deep blue leather, complemented by a cross-guard that resembled spread dragon wings. The pommel bore a carved gem that seemed to flicker like fire within.

  The axe was no less impressive. Its double-headed blade was engraved with intricate runes that seemed to pulse faintly with a golden light. The handle was sturdy and wrapped in black leather, with accents of bronze that gave it a regal appearance.

  I couldn't hide my awe as I picked up the sword. Its weight was deceptive. For a weapon of such size, I expected it to feel heavy and cumbersome, yet it was as light as a feather. Swinging it experimentally, I marveled at how effortlessly it cut through the air, as if anticipating my movements.

  “It’s... incredible. It has the quality far beyond than any weapons I have ever laid arms on.” I breathed, unable to tear my eyes away from the blade.

  Jorven smirked, clearly enjoying my reaction. "That’s the difference, boy. A weapon isn’t just a tool; it’s an extension of you. When it’s forged properly, it works with you, not against you."

  Vaelrik chuckled from his seat. “Jorven’s been making weapons like this since we were kids. Having your best friend as your personal blacksmith? It’s saved my tail more times than I can count.”

  "Childhood friends, huh?" I asked, handing the sword back.

  “Since hatchlings,” Vaelrik said with a grin. “We’ve been through thick and thin. He’s bailed me out of trouble more times than I care to admit.”

  Jorven snorted. “And he’s been a pain in my forge more times than I care to admit. But enough nostalgia.” His gaze shifted to the weapon rack behind me. “Let’s see what your friends are working with.”

  He walked over and grabbed Kael’s dagger first, then Sylas’ wand. He inspected them with a critical eye, muttering under his breath. After a moment, he turned back to me, his expression twisted in distaste.

  “These are... awful.”

  I froze. “Awful?”

  Jorven pointed to Kael’s dagger. “The balance is all wrong. The blade is too thin for the kind of combat he’s likely to face. One wrong move, and this thing snaps.” He turned to Sylas’ wand, his expression softening slightly but still unimpressed. “And this... The craftsmanship is amateur. The focus gem isn’t aligned properly, which means it’s probably leaking energy every time she casts. On top of it, the gem are not stable so it can sometime cause unstable mana inside the gem. It’s a miracle she hasn’t blown herself up.”

  His words stung. Sylas’ wand had been my family gift to her when she turned five. “I gave her that wand,” I said quietly.

  Jorven’s face softened. “Ah. Well... it’s not the worst I’ve seen.”

  I crossed my arms. “You just said it was awful.”

  Jorven sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Alright, I take it back. But let me show you why I said it in the first place.” He turned back to the weapons, pointing out flaws in the construction and materials of each one. Mira’s wand was brittle and prone to cracking under pressure. Kaldor’s hammer was top-heavy, making it slow and unwieldy, while his shield was made of weak alloys that wouldn’t hold up against stronger attacks.

  When Jorven reached my swords, he paused, his brow furrowed. He first picked up my saber, its sleek, slightly curved blade catching the light of the forge. Then, he shifted his attention to my medieval-style sword, its straight double-edged design radiating a subtle, understated elegance. He examined both meticulously, running his calloused fingers along the edges, the hilts, and even the tangs.

  “These two,” he began, his voice serious, “are leagues better than the others I’ve seen so far.”

  I felt a swell of pride but held back any visible reaction. Jorven wasn’t done.

  “But,” he continued, his tone sharpening like a whetstone against steel, “even they’re not without flaws.”

  I frowned. “Flaws? Like what?”

  He pointed to the saber first. “The blade geometry—while functional—isn’t optimized. It’s slightly off-center, which could affect balance during a prolonged fight.”

  I tilted my head. “It’s worked fine for me so far.”

  “It will,” he admitted, setting the saber down and lifting the medieval sword. “But in a battle where every strike matters, you’ll notice. The tempering process for both blades was rushed—see these faint discolorations near the hilt? That’s a sign the steel wasn’t evenly treated. They’ll hold up for now, but if you’re serious about your craft…” He locked eyes with me, “…you’ll want something more reliable in the long run.”

  I glanced at my swords, feeling a strange pang of disappointment. I had trained so hard with these weapons, and yet, they weren’t perfect.

  “You make it sound like I’ll outgrow them,” I muttered.

  Jorven grinned faintly. “You will. And when you’re ready, I’ll craft blades that’ll feel like an extension of your soul. Trust me, you’ll know the difference.”

  Vaelrik, who had been listening quietly, chuckled. “Jorven’s got a point. I’ve seen the blades he forges—masterpieces, every single one.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere, Vaelrik,” Jorven replied, smirking.

  I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about his critique. These swords had been with me through thick and thin. But the idea of wielding something even better was… tempting.

  Before I could respond, footsteps echoed from the stairs as my friends came down, their voices carrying hints of curiosity.

  “Who’s this guy?” Kael asked, cautious as ever.

  Jorven stood up and turned to face them, his towering frame dominating the room. He gave a polite bow. “Jorven Steelmender, a master blacksmith and childhood friend of Vaelrik.”

  Sylas stepped forward, eyeing him suspiciously. “What’s he doing here?”

  Vaelrik clapped Jorven on the shoulder. “He’s offering to upgrade our weapons. But,” he added with a grin, “at a ‘reasonable price.’”

  The mood shifted instantly. Kael’s expression soured, and Sylas crossed her arms, frowning. Even Kaldor, usually composed, looked less than thrilled.

  “A price, huh?” Kael muttered. “Figures.”

  Jorven raised his hands in defense. “Hey, good craftsmanship doesn’t come cheap! But I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Generous of you,” Sylas deadpanned.

  The room tensed, but Jorven quickly waved off the grumbling. “Alright, alright, let’s put that aside for now. I didn’t come just to sell my services.” He glanced at Vaelrik, his expression darkening. “There’s a more urgent matter to discuss.”

  Vaelrik’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Jorven gestured for everyone to sit. “I suspect there’s a traitor among the Drakonians.”

  The room immediately swallowed in silence, leaving only the noises of Kyla’s cooking. But still, this silence is very scary, until Vaelrik speak up.

  Vaelrik frowned, leaning forward. “What is it again?”

  Jorven’s eyes flicked to me briefly before returning to Vaelrik. “I think there’s a traitor among the Drakonians.”

  The air grew heavy, and Vaelrik’s wings twitched in agitation. “A traitor? Why would you think that?”

  I tried to follow the conversation, but my mind wandered. A traitor among the Drakonians? The thought gnawed at me, unraveling a tangle of possibilities. Could it be someone close to Vaelrik? Or perhaps someone even higher up?

  The worst possibility crossed my mind—a wild theory, but one that refused to be dismissed. Could it be the Fire God herself? I clenched my fists at the thought, but then remembered her childish demeanor during our first encounter.

  She wasn’t capable of such calculated betrayal… was she?

  I shook my head, forcing the thought away, as Jorven continued.

  “I’ve been suspecting this for a week now,” he said, his tone heavy with fatigue. “Most nights, I hear noises outside my home. Voices, too faint to make out, but they always come at the exact same time—just past midnight. I thought I was imagining things, but last night…”

  He paused, and the room grew still. Even Vaelrik seemed uncharacteristically tense. “What happened last night?” He asked with a pause mid-sentence.

  “…last night, I saw a silhouette near this house.”

  “What?” Vaelrik stood abruptly. “Here? Near my house?”

  Jorven nodded grimly. “I was returning late from my forge when I saw it. A figure, cloaked in the shadows, hovering near the third floor.”

  The third floor. My breath caught. That was where my room was.

  Vaelrik leaned forward, his voice rising. “Why didn’t you alert me immediately?”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “I tried,” Jorven replied, his voice steady despite Vaelrik’s anger. “But as I approached, the silhouette slipped through an open window at the far end of the third floor. I ran to warn you, but halfway here…”

  Jorven paused again, his hand curling into a fist. “It flew out the same window and passed right by me as I tried to hide in a corner. Luckily, it didn’t notice I was there.”

  “How long was it inside?” I blurted out, unable to stop myself. My voice was quieter than I expected.

  Jorven turned to me, his expression somber. “Ten minutes, at most. Long enough for it to do… whatever it came to do.”

  The room felt colder. My thoughts spiraled. Ten minutes. Ten whole minutes, while I had been sleeping soundly, completely unaware.

  Something—someone—had been in my room. Watching me? Searching for something? The realization sent a shiver down my spine.

  “Duke?” Vaelrik’s voice snapped me back to the present. His hand was on my shoulder, steadying me.

  I hadn’t realized I was breathing heavily. My vision blurred for a moment as panic clawed at my chest. The idea of being watched—violated—while I slept left me shaken.

  “Calm down, Duke,” Vaelrik said firmly. “We’ll figure this out.”

  Even Kyla rushed in from the kitchen, her expression etched with concern. “What happened?”

  “Duke’s just startled,” Vaelrik assured her, though his eyes betrayed his own unease.

  I tried to steady my breathing, but the weight of what Jorven said wouldn’t let up. Kyla’s gentle touch on my arm helped, as did the quiet reassurances from my friends. Slowly, I pulled myself together.

  Jorven waited for the commotion to subside before continuing. “That’s why I need your help,” he said, his voice grave. “Whoever that was—they’re dangerous. And if we don’t act now, we might lose the chance to uncover the truth.”

  He leaned back, crossing his arms. “I’ll make it worth your while. Help me catch this culprit, and I’ll upgrade your weapons for free. No exceptions.”

  The others exchanged uncertain glances, their earlier excitement about weapon upgrades replaced with unease. For me, it was hard to focus. My thoughts kept drifting back to that window.

  “I can’t decide right now,” I said, my voice barely audible. I stood abruptly, the tension unbearable. “Kael, you handle it.”

  Before anyone could respond, I turned and hurried upstairs to my room.

  Once inside that damn room, I shut the door and leaned against it, my heart racing. My eyes darted to the window at the far end of the room—the one Jorven had mentioned. It seemed perfectly ordinary, but now, it loomed in my mind like a portal to something sinister.

  I approached cautiously, staring at the glass pane. My reflection looked back, pale and shaken. My imagination ran wild. What if the figure had been waiting, watching me sleep? What if it had been mere inches from me, deciding whether to strike?

  The thoughts were too much. I bolted to the bathroom and vomited.

  When I finally emerged, wiping my mouth, I found Sylas waiting outside my room with a tray of food.

  “You look awful,” she said, her voice tinged with worry.

  “Thanks for the reminder,” I muttered, stepping aside to let her in.

  She placed the tray on the bedside table and sat beside me. I picked at the food, but my appetite was gone, even the starvation earlier is now overshadowed by my nervousness.

  Sylas didn’t press me to eat. Instead, she started talking, her voice light and soothing. “You know,” she began, “there’s a story I used to hear as a kid. About a leader who faced impossible odds.”

  I glanced at her, curious despite myself. “What kind of leader?”

  “A brave one,” she said simply. “The kind who wouldn’t let fear stop him, no matter what he faced. Ghosts, monsters, curses—it didn’t matter. He always found a way to win.”

  I frowned. “Sounds like a fantasy.”

  She smiled knowingly. “Maybe. But it reminds me of someone.”

  I caught the hint and sighed. “Sylas…”

  “You’re stronger than you think, Duke,” she said softly. “And you don’t have to face this alone.”

  Her words brought a faint smile to my lips. “You know, since I was a kid, I have always been scared of ghosts. My dad's stories of the dead coming back alive and haunting others really freak me out.”

  I guess being reincarnated into a new world also keeps my own phobias.

  Sylas chuckled, “ Even the mighty Duke has something to be afraid of. I could have scared you by levitating with a white blanket covering my body. But that's what makes you adorable.”

  “Not as adorable as your fear of spiders,” I shot back.

  Her laughter grew louder, and for the first time that morning, I felt like myself again. Draping a blanket over the window, I stood up and stretched.

  “To be honest, you’re too good at this.”

  “Good at what?”

  “Cheering me up.”

  She grinned. “Someone has to. You’d sulk forever if I didn’t.”

  I laughed quietly, the tension finally easing. When I glanced at the window again, it didn’t seem so menacing anymore.

  “Thanks, Sylas,” I said, standing. I grabbed a blanket and threw it over the window for good measure.

  “Feeling better?” she asked.

  “Yea, getting there.”

  The food now tastes as delicious as ever.

  With renewed determination, I opened the door and headed downstairs to regroup with my friends.

  I took a deep breath and descended the stairs, my earlier panic tempered by determination. As I entered the living room, the group turned toward me, their faces a mix of concern and resolve.

  “Alright,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “What’s the situation?”

  Vaelrik crossed his arms, his sharp eyes meeting mine. “We’ve been going over everything since you left. Kael agreed to Jorven’s offer—”

  Kael raised a hand casually from where he leaned against the wall. “The upgrades aren’t the main reason. We need to know who’s behind this.”

  “I know,” I said, nodding.

  Vaelrik continued. “We’ve been trying to figure out their motive. Betrayal like this isn’t random. There’s something bigger behind it. And there wasn’t any records of a drakonian betraying its race.”

  Sylas chimed in, pacing the room. “If it’s a traitor, they’re either desperate, being manipulated, or have something personal against Vaelrik—or all of us.”

  Jorven added from his spot by the fireplace. “They’ve already made their move once, or multiple times, so they’re likely to do it again. If it’s a group, they’ll send someone else. If it’s just one person…” He trailed off, his expression dark.

  I glanced at the others. Kael seemed lost in thought, his hand absently tracing the hilt of his dagger. Sylas’s usually lively face was tense, her brows furrowed. Vaelrik looked calm, but his tight grip on his spear betrayed his unease. Even Jorven, usually composed, had a restless energy about him.

  “They’ll come back,” I said finally, my voice quiet but firm. “They didn’t do whatever they came for last time, so they’ll need another opportunity.”

  “And we’ll be ready,” Vaelrik replied, his tone resolute. “Do you have any thoughts for this, Duke?”

  I took a deep breath.

  The room fell silent, all eyes on me.

  “Here’s how it’ll go…”

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. To keep up appearances, we went on a field trip to notable places in Arkos. Jorven and Vaelrik led us to the Obsidian Watchtower, a massive structure once used to scout for invaders during the last Drakonian war. It’s not just a normal tower for scouting, it’s also built into a library with the name Grand Archives. With many drakonian students and professors studying there.

  Later, we visited Arkos’s Hall of Forges, where the finest Drakonian craftsmen worked. The air was filled with the heat and clanging of hammers on metal, and Jorven eagerly pointed out the intricate designs of weapons on display. Even though it is the biggest forge here, Jorven seem not to be working here. But that doesn’t stop other blacksmiths from asking to be his disciple. Consequently, we lost Jorven while he was running away from what I call a ‘Jorven fan club’. Kael seemed particularly interested in a curved dagger, while Sylas marveled at a pair of gauntlets etched with runes, Mira insisted we buy her a hat etched with gemstones on it, and Kaldor did get into a small quarrel with a passer-by, but I guess it would be fine.

  As we settled into the house, the tension eased slightly. Sylas broke the silence, her voice carrying a playful edge.

  “So,” she began with a smirk, “are we not going to talk about how Duke nearly got us banned from the Grand Archives?”

  I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It was one scroll! And that shelf was way too close to the walkway—it’s not entirely my fault.”

  Kael chuckled, leaning casually against the wall. “One scroll? Duke, you toppled a display that looked older than Arkos itself. The archivist’s face said it all.”

  Sylas burst into laughter. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that old man was ready to breathe fire. Maybe he’s secretly a drakonian soldier too.”

  Kaldor, who had been silent, finally spoke, his deep voice rumbling with amusement. “To be fair, those scrolls were packed tightly. If I’d moved the wrong way, I might’ve knocked something over too.”

  “See? Kaldor gets it,” I said, pointing at him as if that vindicated me.

  Mira shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Let’s not forget how Kaldor nearly scared that poor historian in the Hall of Relics. She thought you were one of the statues coming to life.”

  Kaldor chuckled, a rare grin crossing his face. “I didn’t mean to. She asked if I was part of the exhibit, and I thought it was a compliment.”

  Sylas giggled. “Honestly, with your build, it’s a fair mistake. You do look like you could’ve stepped out of some ancient tale.”

  “Ancient tale or not,” I interjected, “at least Kaldor didn’t trip into history like I did. Next time, someone else can lead the group.”

  Sylas smirked again. “Oh, don’t worry, Duke. You make every outing memorable.”

  We all shared a laugh, even though the underlying tension lingered. As the conversation settled, our thoughts inevitably turned back to the night’s plan. The camaraderie eased my nerves, but the weight of the unknown still loomed heavily.

  “Remember,” I said, my voice low but firm, “stick to the plan.”

  Vaelrik nodded, gripping his spear tightly. “No mistakes. We can’t afford to let whoever this is slip away again.”

  Kael crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall, though his sharp eyes betrayed his focus. “Let’s hope they actually take the bait tonight. I’m not exactly thrilled about pulling an all-nighter again.”

  Sylas smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Oh, come on, Kael. Think of it as an adventure. You love those, don’t you?”

  “Sure,” Kael shot back dryly, “but I prefer my adventures without potential backstabbers lurking around.”

  “Enough,” Vaelrik said, his tone sharp. “Focus. We need to be ready for anything.”

  Jorven stepped forward, hefting the bundle of our weapons. “I’ll get these sorted out. You all know what to do. Be on guard, stay quiet, and wait for the signal.”

  “Got it,” I said, meeting each of their gazes. “No risks, no unnecessary heroics. If things go sideways, call for help immediately.”

  “Understood,” Sylas replied, her expression sobering.

  “Oh, and by the way, thank you for upgrading our weapons

  “No need to thank. Perhaps I would be the one thanking you because you guys gave this big man items of his passion.” Jorven gave a small nod and headed toward his workshop. The rest of us dispersed, the tension hanging thick in the air as we prepared for the long night ahead.

  I climbed the stairs to my room, my heart pounding. Once inside, I went through my nightly routine—washing my face, brushing my teeth, anything to keep my mind busy. But the anxiety lingered.

  I walked toward the window, pulled down the blanket I threw on this morning, and threw it on the bed. I checked the window, making sure it was unlocked. A necessary risk for the trap. I arranged a few items strategically—a stack of books near the edge of the desk, a vase that could easily topple. Then, I slipped into bed, wrapping myself in the blanket.

  The minutes stretched into hours. I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts racing. The tension in my chest was unbearable. Was everyone else still awake? Were they ready if something happened?

  I shifted uncomfortably. The weight of sleeplessness bore down on me, and my eyes grew heavier with each passing moment. Sometimes I closed my eyes but still keeping my mind awake; that was a terrible idea as I almost fell asleep.

  An hour. Two. Three. Four.

  Nothing.

  I clenched my fists beneath the blanket, frustration building. My head ached from the lack of rest, and every creak of the house made me flinch.

  This is pointless, I thought bitterly. They’re not coming.

  Thirty more minutes passed, and my resolve crumbled. I couldn’t fight the pull of sleep any longer. My eyelids drooped, and my thoughts faded into darkness.

  But then, a sound.

  a small creak but for someone awake, it is still audible

  My mind was barely holding up got a refreshment as a jolt was sent through my body. My senses sharpened immediately. My heart raced as I forced myself to remain still, feigning sleep.

  I focused on the noises—the soft scuffle of footsteps, the barely audible sound of breathing. But it seems like there was only 1 person, the noises aren’t very chaotic.

  It’s here

  I waited, counting the seconds, letting the tension build. Then, when I judged the figure to be close enough, I threw the blanket over it and lunged, pinning the intruder to the ground.

  “Help!” I shouted, my voice raw with adrenaline.

  The figure struggled violently beneath me, its strength far surpassing my own. My arms trembled as I tried to hold them down, but my exhaustion was too much. It shoved me upward with a force that sent me crashing into the ceiling. Pain exploded across my back, and I fell to the floor, dazed.

  Through blurred vision, I saw the figure leap toward the window.

  “Stop them!” I croaked, but it was too late.

  The window shattered as the silhouette vanished into the night.

  Vaelrik was the first to storm in, his spear gleaming in the moonlight. The others followed, their weapons drawn, panic etched across their faces.

  “Duke!” Sylas shouted, rushing to my side.

  I struggled to sit up, my breathing labored. The pain in my chest was matched only by the burning frustration of failure.

  Vaelrik’s gaze darted to the gaping hole in the ceiling. “What happened?”

  “It got away,” I said hoarsely.

  Kael knelt beside me, his hand steadying my shoulder. “Did you see them? Anything?”

  I hesitated, the image of the figure flashing in my mind.

  “…I saw them,” I whispered. The room grew deathly quiet.

  “Who was it?” Vaelrik asked, his voice tight and urgent.

  I looked up, meeting his gaze. My voice was barely audible as I spoke the name that sent a chill through the room.

  “It was… Kaldor.”

  The air grew impossibly heavy, the revelation hanging like a storm cloud over the room.

  “No,” Sylas whispered, her face pale. “It can’t be.”

  Vaelrik’s grip on his spear tightened, his expression unreadable. “Are you sure, Duke?”

  “I’m sure,” I said, my voice trembling. “It was him.”