The Legendary Fool

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None of them had been quite sure how Aleph’s Total Recall ability would work and it wasn’t as if they were willing to risk severely injuring her just for the purpose of testing out it’s limits.

However, planning around such an outcome was something that they were more than capable of doing. As such, the first and most logical course of action was to separate her from the weapon, whether that be a sword, a throwing knife or as it was the present case, shadows given physical form.

Zirel’s cloaking had given him an advantage in accomplishing the necessary step without blowing his own cover or tipping their hand. Perhaps Aleph’s ability was capable of regenerating through the talon-shaped obsidian metal that had lodged itself in her abdomen, but there was no need in taking such a risk.

Tom was now alone in this fight. Zirel would act, but not until he saw an opening. And Aleph would try and play dead for as long as the situation allowed it. It was the single greatest advantage they would have against an enemy that already thought her dead.

So, he didn’t hesitate.

The Fool had revealed a truly absurd number to him. Using Active Shroud—Maya on Zirel had cost him seventy nine points and he had still failed. The master of the Shadow Guild demanded a far more absurd number that surpassed all his expectations.

One in the triple digits.

A complete hundred.

Tom was certain that they had messed up. The master of the Shadow Guild was far stronger than any of them had expected if he commanded one hundred points just to use Active Shroud—Maya on.

All the more reason why he couldn’t hesitate, even if it would cost him nearly all his SP.

Many in the Shadow Guild sought to know what was behind the heavy metal double-doors that barred their path to the master’s demesne. There were riches, of course, in the shut treasury behind him. Meticulously organizing it had become a pastime of his, though it was something he had to inevitably repeat each time they switched bases.

The last time had been half a year ago and that had only been because they had come across enemies with especially potent tracking abilities. He had dealt with them, naturally, but given their rather impressive strength and the ease with which they had tracked them down had compromised the location of their base.

While the treasury itself was impressive, the state of his own living quarters always surprised newly inducted enforcers. He was not the kind of man whose residence should’ve been able to be described in a single word, but such was the truth. It was barren.

Besides a single bed placed against the far corner of the wide, oblong room and jutting metal hooks from the stone walls where his bone armor was mounted, there was only an ordinary jute mat placed on the empty floor, where he sat and a series of dim lanterns that had been placed across the room in a seemingly random pattern.

There was no other source of light in the room and his own silhouette appeared ghastly to his enforcers when they entered, he knew.

But there was a much more deliberate reason behind his arrangements.

He twirled his fingers in a clockwise motion and watched as all the shadows in the room mimicked that motion. Shaking his head, he abandoned his control over the shadows. Then, he reached his hand forward and a sword of shadows appeared in his hands. A moment later it’s form coagulated into an actual, obsidian metal sword that was nearly perfect in dimensions.

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A soft sigh escaped his lips before he tossed it in his inventory.

The man did not seem deterred, as he reached out for the shadows anew, this time twirling both his hands in a clockwise motion. Satisfied, he moved his fingers in the opposite direction, allowing his hands to shift with the anti-clockwise trajectory of his fingers.

A vortex of shadows engulfed him before he released control over them.

Compared to a decade ago, when his misguided self had hungrily sought weakness mistaking it for growth, he had made vast strides on the true path.

All thanks to a man that had been his enemy.

He gritted his teeth as those humiliating memories resurfaced. It had been raining on that fateful day, all those years ago. When he did not have his powerful Rare Card to his name, when he was too far away from becoming the master of the Shadow Guild.

He had been proud back then. The rifts were challenging, but he was clever, resourceful and most importantly of all, vicious when the situation called for it. Nobody asked questions when it came to the rift. They all knew the risks and as long as there were no witnesses to report a crime, no questions would be asked.

A dead rift dweller was merely a failed rift dweller.

Back then, the tower had not been his hunting grounds. No, the tower was a miracle whose grandeur and mystique he was drawn to, a wonder of the world that he had to see with his own eyes.

That was where he had met a lone traveler, an ordinary looking man that wore light armor and carried a single blade who had been gazing upon the tower with none of the intrigue or awe in his gaze.

A bumpkin without an entourage, ordinary gear and a death wish was how he had seen the traveler. Back then, he had not been an assassin. So he had challenged him to a duel whose outcome he believed to be a foregone conclusion.

He had two uncommons and three commons on him. His versatility had allowed him to thrive in the rift while the others barely managed to survive.

Yet, he had lost.

To a single uncommon card wielder that could not have been much higher leveled than him. A light-based card that enhanced his speed. An ability that could be countered simply enough.

He threw balls of flame, only for them to be effortlessly weaved past. He empowered his sword with thunder and struck, only to find it batted out of his hands with a swift kick. Icicles were dodged and he caught a flurry of blows in the abdomen in return.

It wasn’t that the man was all that much more powerful than him. It wasn’t as if his raw abilities or stats surpassed him. No, the truth wasn’t that simple.

His opponent had a single uncommon to his name, but he had spent years practicing with it. He understood each of his own strengths and limitations, which was what allowed him to execute a maneuver as risky as kicking a thunder empowered blade out of his hands. He understood exactly how much and how well the light enhanced his movement and that could only be a result of endless practice, not talent.

It didn’t matter how many cards he amassed. He would lose, each time, to someone that had mastered a single one at the rarity of his Soul Card.

That encounter had left him armorless and weaponless, as the victor claimed his due. His left arm had been shattered to keep him from lunging at the traveler, who had never really seemed like he even wanted to fight him in the first place.

“If you want a second round, find me in the tower,” The man had said as his parting words, his tone frustratingly unafraid as the tower’s light enveloped him.

Only years later had he understood that the man had not left him with humiliation, but instead, a gift.

There was more to cards than the descriptions let on. The man had used a single uncommon too well, managing offense, defense, evasion and mobility with a card that should not have been so capable.

If he wanted to follow in the man’s footsteps, then he would have to master the true path.

From that moment onward, Zeth Aetherfall had dedicated his life to that singular goal.

Thus, the Shadow Guild was born.