The air in Velbrath Kingdom was thick with the scent of rain-soaked cobblestone, the chatter of merchants, and the murmurs of fear. Beneath the surface of its bustling streets, a quiet tension loomed—a kingdom standing on the edge of something dark.
Ryle Astoria walked among the crowd, hood drawn low, a simple leather-bound journal tucked under his arm. To the world, he was nothing more than a wandering writer, just another traveler weaving through the sea of people. But beneath his unassuming exterior lay a force that few could comprehend.
He had come here following rumors—whispers of a rising tyrant and monsters attacking the outer villages. The people spoke of fear, of disappearances, and of a noble who basked in false glory.
Viscount Ragnis.
The man claimed to have slain a powerful monster that had terrorized the outskirts, gaining the favor of the people and the kingdom's court. His fame spread like wildfire. But Ryle had spent too many years peeling back lies to accept anything at face value.
And when he arrived in the village Ragnis had supposedly saved, the truth was obvious.
The villagers spoke in hushed voices, hesitant at first, but words had a way of unraveling when spoken to the right ears. Ryle listened carefully.
"There was no battle," one whispered.
"No scorched earth, no destroyed homes," another added.
The stories were too clean. No noble, no matter how skilled, could kill a beast without struggle, without signs of combat. And then came the final clue.
"The real savior was cloaked," an old woman muttered, voice barely above a breath.
Ryle's eyes sharpened. A mysterious warrior had appeared on the night of the attack, moving like a shadow, cutting down the beast before vanishing into the mist. The villagers knew the truth. But Ragnis was nobility, and they were mere commoners. Who would dare challenge his tale?
Ryle would.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Ryle had gathered enough to publish an exposé that would shake the kingdom.
That was, if he lived to write it.
The moment he stepped onto the quieter streets of Velbrath, he felt it. The shift in the air. The weight of eyes watching him. A presence that did not belong among the innocent townsfolk.
And then he heard it. The faintest scrape of a boot against stone.
Ryle turned down an empty alley, feigning ignorance, letting the pursuers think they had the upper hand. The moment he reached the dead end, the trap was sprung.
Six armored knights emerged from the shadows, swords glinting in the moonlight.
"Ryle Astoria," the lead knight spoke, his voice hollow beneath his steel helm. "You've been asking too many questions. Viscount Ragnis does not appreciate prying eyes."
Ryle sighed, rolling his shoulders. "I was hoping to wrap this up quietly, but I guess I should've expected this."
The knight stepped forward. "You should've stayed in your place, journalist. Now, we—"
Ryle moved.
In a blur of motion, he closed the gap before the knight could react. He barely exerted any strength—just a simple tap to the man's chest plate.
BOOM!
The knight was launched backward like a ragdoll, crashing into the stone wall with a deafening crack. His body slumped, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Silence.
The remaining knights froze, eyes wide beneath their helmets. They had prepared to silence a journalist, not face a force beyond human comprehension.
Ryle exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Let's get this over with."
One of the knights snarled, slashing at him in a desperate swing. Ryle barely glanced at the incoming blade. His fingers caught the knight's wrist mid-swing, and with a flick of his arm, the man spun through the air before landing face-first into the cobblestone.
Two more charged. Ryle ducked under their swords, stepped between them, and delivered a light tap to both of their backs.
CRACK!
They were sent flying in opposite directions, crashing against the alley walls, unconscious before they hit the ground.
The last two knights trembled, stepping back in fear. Ryle simply raised an eyebrow. "Still want to do this?"
They dropped their swords and ran.
Ryle sighed, adjusting his coat. "I really wanted to avoid that."
Velbrath's corruption ran deeper than he expected. If a mere investigation warranted an assassination attempt, then whatever Ragnis was hiding was bigger than a simple stolen tale.
He glanced at the unconscious knights, then at the empty rooftops above. Somewhere, the real cloaked warrior was out there, watching, hiding.
And Ryle would find them.
Because the truth always found its way to light.