Chapter 5: Anything Wrong?
Armored Dragon Calendar Year 412 – Claude, Age 7
[Claude POV]
Two years had passed since the water shattered my mind. I was eight now, though most days I felt much older.
The morning sun warmed my face as I sat on the cottage steps, working a small piece of metal between my fingers. The material had been infused with mana during the forging process, turning it from simple iron into something that could hold enchantments.
My experiments with magic tools had been yielding mixed results. The theory I was testing seemed sound.
The metal was shaped like a compass needle, thin and precisely balanced. I had spent three weeks on this piece alone, heating and cooling it in specific patterns that the knowledge in my head suggested would make it receptive to magical imprinting.
The theory was sound, I could feel that certainty from somewhere deep inside, but my execution was still lacking.
Too much mana and the metal would become unstable, prone to cracking under stress. Too little and the enchantment wouldn't take hold at all.
The margin for success was razor-thin, and my control over mana flow remained imprecise despite months of practice.
But I was getting closer. Each failure taught me something new, and the knowledge that surfaced from my fragmented memories occasionally provided insights that years of trial and error might never have revealed.
"What are you making?" My mother's voice came from the doorway.
"A compass," I said, which was partially true. The device would point toward something, certainly.
I just hadn't decided what yet.
The original intention had been to create a tool that could track specific individuals, a safety measure for when the teleportation event scattered everyone. But that design required materials I lacked, and enchantment skills I hadn't mastered.
For now, I was settling for simpler experiments. Learning the principles that would eventually let me create something more useful.
Mother smiled, that gentle smile of hers, the one that made everything seem like it would be alright. "Always tinkering with something. You're just like your father."
'I'm not like my father at all.' The thought struck me, sharp with an awareness no child should possess.
My father worked metal with skill born of decades of practice. I worked it with borrowed knowledge from sources I couldn't identify, trying to turn fragments of impossible memory into something functional.
But I smiled back and let her believe the comfortable lie.
The village had settled into a cautious peace over the past two years. My information campaign about slave merchants had taken root, transforming Buena from an easy target into a community that knew the dangers and prepared accordingly.
Parents taught their children escape routes. Lookouts watched the roads for suspicious travelers.
The adventurers I had subtly encouraged to visit had left behind training that might save lives when disaster came.
The changes were subtle enough that no one questioned them. A child's worried questions about slavers.
A traveling merchant's "warnings" about increased activity on the roads. Rumors that spread through the village gossip network until they became common knowledge.
Fear was a tool, and I had learned to wield it carefully.
Five more years. Maybe six.
The number lived in the back of my mind, a countdown to an ending I couldn't prevent.
But I could prepare. I could give these people a chance.
"Zenith is expecting," Mother said, settling into the chair beside me.
"Mm." I didn't look up from my work, but I noted the information.
The Greyrat household would be busy with new children soon. That meant changes in routine, new vulnerabilities, new things I would need to account for in my preparations.
Later that afternoon, I made my way to the Greyrat home. The bundle under my arm contained kitchen knives I had forged over the past week, payment for Paul's training, though he never asked for it.
The house was lively when I arrived. Lilia was hanging laundry.
Zenith rested in the shade, her hand on her swollen belly. Rudeus sat on the porch, practicing magic theory from a book that was probably too advanced for most adults.
"Here are the knives and other utensils I made," I said, presenting the bundle to Lilia. "Consider it payment for Paul's teaching."
"Oh my, you don't have to do that," Zenith protested from her chair.
"No, I need to. Otherwise I'd feel like a shameless sponger."
I puffed up my chest with exaggerated pride. "I'm eight years old, after all!"
Lilia examined the knives with an expert's eye, her expression shifting to surprise. "These are excellent quality. You made these yourself?"
"Of course. I'm a genius."
"Clearly humble too," Rudeus muttered from his book.
"Oy." I pointed at him.
"Show respect to your elders."
"You're one year older than me."
"One year is still older. Call me big brother Claude."
Rudeus's eye twitched. I could practically see the internal struggle, the adult mind inside that child's body warring with the social conventions of this world.
"What is it, big brother Claude?" he finally said, the words coming out like he was chewing glass.
"That's better." I reached into my pouch and pulled out a small object, a bangle I had been working on for weeks.
"Here. It's enchanted to boost magic output. Only works for emergencies, though, and don't channel too much mana through it or the enchantment will break."
"Here. It's enchanted to boost magic output. Only works for emergencies, though, and don't channel too much mana through it or the enchantment will break."
Zenith and Lilia both gasped. Paul, who had apparently been lurking nearby, stepped into view with wide eyes.
"Wait, a magic circle? Wouldn't that make it a magic tool?" Paul asked.
"Obviously. What did you expect?"
"Whoa... Zenith, is this kid a monster in a different way? An eight-year-old enchanter?"
"Whoa... Zenith, is this kid a monster in a different way? An eight-year-old enchanter?"
"Praise me more," I said, grinning. "I am a genius."
Rudeus was staring at the bangle with an expression I couldn't quite read. Surprise, certainly.
But also something calculating, reassessing.
"See, I told you I'm awesome," I said, patting his head with exaggerated condescension.
"I... see."
His voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the slight narrowing of his eyes.
We understood each other, Rudeus and I. Two people carrying things too heavy for children's shoulders.
Two minds that didn't quite fit their bodies.
One day, we might talk about it openly.
But not today.
"Anyway." I drew my wooden practice sword and pointed it at Paul.
"Enough chitchat. Let's train!"
Paul grinned, pulling his own practice blade. "Getting bold, aren't we? Fine, but don't cry when I knock you on your ass."
"The only crying will be yours when I tell Zenith about that time you—"
"Training! Right now! No more talking!"
Zenith and Lilia exchanged amused glances as we charged at each other.
Clack. Clack.
Wooden swords clashed, filling the afternoon air with the familiar rhythm of practice.
The knowledge in my head whispered things about the future, but not everything. Some paths were clear.
Others were shrouded, uncertain, dependent on choices that hadn't been made yet.
I finished the basic enchantment on the compass and set it aside. The device would need more work before it was useful.
But the foundation was solid. The needle quivered slightly when I fed mana into it, responding to forces I didn't fully understand.
This was progress. Slow and uncertain, but progress nonetheless.
"I'm going to check the forest paths," I said, standing and stretching muscles that ached from training. "Make sure there's nothing dangerous near the village."
Mother's brow furrowed with concern. "Be careful, dear. Don't go too far."
Mother's brow furrowed with concern. "Be careful, dear. Don't go too far."
"I won't."
The lie came easily. I always went too far now.
The forest had become my hunting ground, my training facility, my escape from a village that couldn't understand what I had become. Here, in the shadows beneath trees, I could push my limits without fear of discovery.
Here, I could kill the monsters that threatened my home without having to explain how a child possessed such lethal capabilities.
The slavers came occasionally, probing the village's defenses, testing the routes for vulnerable targets. Most of them turned back when they saw how prepared Buena had become.
But some persisted.
Those ones I dealt with personally.
The first kill had been three months ago. A scout, separated from his companions, mapping the village for future raids.
I had tracked him for two days before striking, learning his patterns, understanding his weaknesses.
When the moment came, the knowledge inside me had surged to the surface with terrible clarity. My body moved with unconscious precision.
The knife found its target with lethal accuracy.
Thud.
The man crumpled before I even registered what I'd done.
I had stood over his body for a long time afterward, feeling nothing but a cold satisfaction that frightened me. Was this who I was now, a killer wearing a child's face?
The question had no answer. Yet the slavers kept coming.
[Lilia POV]
Something was wrong in Buena Village.
I had known it for months now, ever since the first body appeared at the edge of the forest. A slaver, the wounds had made clear.
His throat cut with dangerous precision, his equipment missing. The village guard found him on patrol and assumed bandits had killed him.
But I had seen enough in royal service to know better.
The cut was too clean. Too practiced.
The work of someone who had killed before and would kill again without hesitation. Someone who knew exactly where to strike for maximum efficiency.
My training as a lady's maid in the royal household taught me many things. Not just how to serve tea or arrange flowers, but how to observe.
How to notice what others missed. How to read people's movements and intentions from the smallest details.
The royal court was a dangerous place, and survival required awareness that most common servants never developed.
I moved through my duties at the Greyrat household with practiced calm, even as my mind catalogued every detail that didn't fit. The way Claude moved when he thought no one was watching.
The skills he demonstrated that belonged to someone far more experienced. The subtle changes in the village's defensive posture that seemed to originate from rumors he had spread.
The signs were subtle, but unmistakable to someone trained to observe. The way Claude's eyes tracked movement when he entered a room, automatically cataloguing exits and potential threats.
The way his posture shifted when danger was mentioned, settling into a ready stance that belonged to a trained fighter. The way he spread information through the village with the calculated precision of someone used to managing perceptions.
I had seen these patterns before.
"Lilia?" Zenith's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
She sat in the study, one hand resting on her swollen belly. "Is something troubling you?"
"No, madam." I smoothed my expression into the pleasant neutrality expected of a proper maid.
"I was simply thinking about the preparations for the baby."
Zenith smiled, her kind face softening further. "It's exciting, isn't it? Our family is growing."
"Yes, madam. Very exciting."
I excused myself and went outside. I used gathering herbs as my pretext.
The forest edge was quiet at this hour, most of the village occupied with their afternoon tasks. I moved along the path Claude had taken earlier, my steps careful and deliberate.
The second body was harder to find. Whoever had disposed of it had done so more carefully than the first, burying it in a shallow grave some distance from the main trails.
But disturbed earth had a particular look to it. I had been trained to notice such things.
I knelt beside the grave, examining the scene with the detachment I had cultivated during my years in the royal household. Serving nobles required emotional distance from unpleasant realities, learning to observe without being disturbed by what one observed.
This one had died harder than the first. There were signs of a struggle, though not a long one.
The killing blow had come from behind, a strike that spoke of knowledge few possessed.
The technique was different from the first kill. More efficient.
More controlled. The killer seemed to have learned from their previous experience and refined their approach.
The equipment buried with the body confirmed my suspicions. Slaver's tools.
The implements of a trade that preyed on human misery. Whoever this man had been, he had dealt in human suffering.
I felt no sympathy for his death. Only curiosity about his killer.
Someone in Buena Village was hunting slave merchants. Hunting them with skills that seemed impossible.
Based on everything I had observed, that someone was an eight-year-old boy.
I covered the grave again, erasing the signs of my investigation. The slavers who came to this region deserved their fate.
I had no objection to their elimination. The question of who was doing the eliminating, and how they had acquired such capabilities, demanded answers.
I found Claude's training ground by following the faint trails he had left. The boy was better at covering his tracks than most adults.
But not quite good enough to fool someone with my background.
The clearing showed signs of intensive use. Training dummies carved with precision strike points.
Weapon racks holding wooden practice swords of various weights. A small fire pit with the remnants of alchemical experiments.
But it was the targets that caught my attention.
Crude drawings of human figures had been pinned to several trees, each one marked with annotations in a child's handwriting.
Strike zones. Weak points.
Angles of attack. The knowledge documented there was not something taught in any civilian context.
Someone had trained Claude in combat. Or something had given him knowledge he should not have.
I heard footsteps approaching and stepped behind a large oak, making myself as inconspicuous as possible. The skill came from years of learning when to be seen and when to be invisible, essential knowledge for any servant who valued their position.
Claude entered the clearing, his expression troubled. He moved to one of the training dummies and began a series of strikes, his form shifting between clumsy child and lethal precision without warning.
The transitions were fascinating to observe. One moment he would strike with the awkward enthusiasm of a boy playing at combat.
The next, his body would settle into stances that I recognized from the Sword God style, executing techniques with a fluidity that spoke of years of practice.
Then it faltered. Claude stumbled, catching himself against the dummy, one hand pressed to his temple as though fighting off a headache.
"Come on," he muttered to himself, frustration evident in his voice. "I had it yesterday. Why can't I..."
His body shifted again, executing a complex combination that belonged to a master swordsman. Then it faltered once more.
Claude stumbled, his expression shifting from cold focus to frustrated confusion in the space of a heartbeat.
"Damn it," he whispered. "Stay. Please stay."
He was talking to himself. Or to something inside himself that I couldn't see.
I watched with growing understanding. Whatever was happening to Claude, it wasn't consistent.
Sometimes he moved like a master. Sometimes like a child.
The transitions hurt him. He clutched his head each time, fighting for control of his own abilities.
He was fighting against something inside himself that gave him power but refused to be commanded.
When he finally left the clearing, exhausted and frustrated, I remained in the shadows.
A boy of eight was eliminating slave merchants with the skills of a warrior. A boy fighting an internal battle for control of his own abilities.
I should tell Paul. Should tell someone.
The situation was beyond my understanding.
But something stopped me.
Claude was protecting the village. Protecting children who might otherwise have been taken by the slavers he killed.
His methods were brutal. But his goals aligned with everything decent people claimed to value.
The pain in his eyes when his abilities failed him was real. He was carrying something too heavy for those small shoulders, carrying it alone.
In the royal household, I had seen children used as pawns in games they didn't understand. Forced to carry responsibilities that crushed them, broken by expectations they couldn't meet.
Whatever was happening to Claude, he was trying to use it for good. Trying to protect people who had no idea they needed protection.
I made my decision.
I would watch and keep his secrets, for now. But if Claude threatened the household I served, I would report what I learned.
That was my duty. I was a maid who noticed things others missed.
◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ AUTHOR'S NOTE ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆
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