Chapter 9 – The Wall That Broke
Gravemarch was a town built on rotting bones.
Cyrus walked its uneven streets in silence, red-stitched robes brushing the mud. His mask, white and blank, concealed his face, giving nothing away. The morning fog hugged the ground like it was hiding something, and the townsfolk looked through their windows like they'd given up hope of being seen.
Beside him, Yura yawned, arms behind her head. "So, this Calen guy… you sure he's even worth it?"
Cyrus didn't answer at first. His voice came only after a pause.
"I read about him. Calen Veyne. The Silver Wall. Former Royal Knight Commander—led the charge during the Fall of Tharos. Held a collapsing flank with five hundred men and brought fifty back alive."
She glanced at him. "That's... oddly specific."
He tilted his head. "I used to read about this world all the time."
"You mean… in books?"
He gave a noncommittal shrug. "Let's just call them divine scrolls of another realm."
Yura raised an eyebrow, then decided not to press further. "You're weird, masked guy."
They walked in silence for a few more blocks. Gravemarch's outer district turned into weathered stone and cracked walls. A training yard sat behind a half-collapsed chapel.
And there he was.
Calen Veyne, 29 years old, stood alone under the pale sky. Even in a simple, sleeveless tunic and boots caked in dirt, he radiated strength. His frame was built like a fortress—muscular, broad-chested, and solid. His jawline was sharp, his cheekbones high, and even without his armor, he looked like someone forged for the battlefield.
He gripped a massive training sword with one hand and swung it in clean arcs, each strike thudding into the wooden post with a force that sent vibrations into the earth.
Cyrus crossed his arms, watching. "Still moves like a knight. He hasn't gone soft."
"You sure he'll join us?" Yura whispered.
"No. But I'll give him a reason to think about it."
Cyrus stepped into the yard.
"Calen Veyne," he said aloud, his voice cool behind the mask. "The Silver Wall of Tharos. The kingdom still sings your name—just not very loudly."
Calen's swing slowed. He turned slightly, grey eyes flickering with recognition… and wariness.
"You've got the wrong man," he said gruffly.
"No," Cyrus replied. "You're just pretending not to be him."
The training sword dropped to the ground with a dull thud. Calen turned fully now. His expression was unreadable—but his face said enough. Strong. Sharp. Worn, but not beaten.
"You wear a mask and speak like a noble," Calen said. "So either you're a fool, or someone trying very hard not to be noticed."
"I prefer the latter," Cyrus said, stepping forward. "You disappeared after a dishonorable discharge, didn't you?"
Calen's jaw tensed. "You're digging into stories that don't matter anymore."
"They matter to me."
"Why?"
Cyrus looked him straight in the eye-slits of his mask. "Because this town? It's going to fall. I know that. It's already begun—bribes, rot, the start of something worse."
"You see one crooked guard and think you know the future?" Calen scoffed.
"I see patterns. And I remember this place."
Calen narrowed his eyes. "From where?"
"Let's just say I've read this story before."
Calen didn't respond. But the look he gave Cyrus now had shifted—from dismissive to cautious.
Cyrus stepped closer.
"I'm not here to save the kingdom," he said. "I'm here to build something different. Something better. But I need people who remember what it means to stand for something."
"You want me to fight again?"
"I want you to see that not all battles are over. And that you're not finished yet."
Calen glanced toward the chapel, quiet for a long moment. "You think you're the only one who knows the world's ending?"
Cyrus tilted his head. "Maybe not. But I'm probably the only one trying to rewrite it."
That evening, Gravemarch grew quieter.
Cyrus sat on a rooftop, staring out at the dull flickers of torchlight. Yura was asleep inside. He stayed masked, unmoving.
Below, in a shadowed alley, two guards met with a cloaked man. Coin exchanged hands. A contract changed fingers. Cyrus didn't need to guess what it meant.
[System Notification]
[Mission Progress: "Cracked Honor" – 38%]
{Subtask Unlocked: "Leverage the Magistrate – Observe or Disrupt"}
[You are being watched.]
"I know," Cyrus whispered, eyes on the alley. "That's the idea."
Then, a shift in the rooftop behind him. He didn't turn.
"You followed me," he said.
Calen stood near the edge, arms crossed.
"I came to see if you're all talk," the knight said.
"You decide yet?"
Calen studied him. "You speak like someone with visions."
Cyrus chuckled. "Not visions. Just… spoilers."
"…What?"
"Don't worry about it."
Calen looked over the rooftops. "You said this town's going to fall."
Cyrus nodded. "Gravemarch rots from the inside out. Soon it'll be too late to save."
"And you're going to stop it?"
"If I can."
Calen's voice lowered. "You wear a mask. Hide everything. Why should I trust you?"
"Because I'm not asking for trust," Cyrus replied. "Just for a chance to prove that I'm right."
For a long while, neither spoke.
Finally, Calen said, "Tomorrow night. Meet me behind the barracks. There's someone you'll want to talk to."
Cyrus inclined his head. "Noted."
Calen stepped back into the shadows.
And Cyrus, sitting alone beneath the moon, murmured to himself, "One piece at a time."
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Cyrus is trying so hard to be mysterious and cool right now...