The forest bled shadows under the weight of dusk. Twisted trees whispered ancient secrets through their gnarled bark as the last rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy like dying embers. Zero walked alone, his boots making no sound against the moss-covered earth.
He was no longer the nameless boy who had fled from fire and fate. That person had died the moment he'd cut down his first hero.
Now, he possessed something more valuable than power.
He had a name—Zero—a symbol of what he was willing to become. Nothing. No ties. No rules. No fate. A variable no one could calculate.
And tonight, that name would echo in the ears of another fool who believed the world revolved around light and justice.
The Hunt Begins
The town of Merrow's End sat like a rotting wound in the valley below. Small, isolated, and ruled by one of the lesser-ranked "Radiant Order" knights—Sir Calden, a third-tier hero known for his flashy armor and unwavering code of honor.
A perfect target.
Zero crouched on a rocky ridge overlooking the settlement, watching as torchlight flickered along the stone walls. He didn't smile—he rarely did when alone—but there was a subtle twitch of satisfaction at the corner of his eye.
Heroes had patterns. They followed oaths, dogmas, ideals.
Zero followed none. That made him unpredictable. Deadly.
He slipped into the town effortlessly, veiled in a minor shadow spell he'd harvested from the memory of the last rogue he'd eliminated. Moving like silence personified, he ducked through narrow alleys and glided past oblivious guards. He wasn't here for the common folk.
He was here for the knight.
Calden resided in the old chapel—a hollowed-out temple now adorned with banners and filled with the arrogant stench of righteousness. Through thick stained-glass windows, Zero could hear him—booming laughter, the metallic clink of armor, hollow preaching about duty and light.
A hero entertaining his squires. How quaint.
Zero waited, patient as death itself.
Hours passed like heartbeats.
When the laughter finally died and the squires' footsteps faded into the distance, Zero made his move.
The Confrontation
The chapel doors creaked open—not loudly, but just enough for Calden to turn.
The knight stood tall, his silver-etched armor catching the candlelight, his hand gripping a longsword with a hilt carved to resemble angel wings.
"Who enters so brazenly?" he demanded, rising from his seat.
Zero stepped into the wavering candlelight. His dark cloak drifted behind him like smoke. His face remained calm, his eyes cold and calculating.
"I'm here to learn, Sir Calden," he said softly. "Teach me what makes a hero."
Calden's lips curled into a sneer. "Another would-be challenger? You're too young to—"
Steel flashed in the dim light.
Zero didn't wait for grand speeches. He never did.
He dashed forward, blade drawn in the blink of an eye, forcing Calden into a defensive stance. Their swords clashed—creating a bright spark in the dim chapel—and Calden staggered at the unexpected speed and precision of the strike.
"Who are you?" the knight growled through gritted teeth.
"Nobody," Zero replied calmly. "But I'm better at killing than praying."
The duel unfolded—short, brutal, and merciless.
Calden was strong and well-trained—but predictable. He struck in wide arcs, defended with his weight, and hesitated slightly before delivering finishing blows. Zero analyzed every movement, every breath. He wasn't faster. He wasn't stronger. But he was smarter.
He baited Calden into overcommitting, sidestepped with fluid grace, and drove his dagger into the knight's exposed thigh. The hero fell to one knee with a pained curse.
Zero stepped behind him like a shadow.
"You're not a hero," Zero whispered, his voice low but clear. "You're just a man with armor and a script."
Then he drove his blade through Calden's back with surgical precision.
The knight gasped, crimson blood spilling from his lips.
The Harvest
But Zero wasn't finished. He pressed a gloved hand to the dying man's temple.
A faint blue shimmer crossed their skin.
Memory extraction activated.
Visions flooded Zero's mind—Calden's years of training, his sword techniques, his sacred spells. His private fears. His moments of doubt. His complete skill tree. Zero absorbed it all, his mind reshaping with cold precision.
And then... it was done.
Calden slumped forward, lifeless. His once-gleaming silver armor now dull and useless.
Zero stood over him, eyes glowing faintly as the stolen knowledge settled into place.
"One more step," he whispered to the silence. "One less hero."
He retrieved a cloth and methodically wiped his blade clean. No glory. No celebration. Just another brick in the road to the throne.
As he turned to leave, he carved a single word into the chapel's wall with the tip of his blade:
ZERO
Not as a warning. Not as a boast.
But as a reminder: even kings start at nothing.