Chapter 6: Shadows of Kinship
Oxhollow Inn’s back alley lay shrouded in deeper darkness than the main streets of Tanchapel. A young sentry from the Bleakhollow Gang yawned widely, boredom etched across his face as he leaned against a damp wall. This assignment felt pointless. The target was some half-elf fighter the boss wanted watched, nothing more. Report her movements every few hours and stay out of sight. Simple.
"Ah... who wanders these streets at this hour anyway?" he muttered, fighting to stay awake. Patrols could turn a quiet night into a bloody mess. The Bleakhollow leader, Diapheis, had grown ambitious lately, moving beyond petty protection rackets into bigger underworld plays. Failure here meant a shallow grave — no second chances.
A faint scuff of movement reached his ears. The sentry tensed, peering into the gloom behind him. The alley remained empty. "Overthinking it," he grumbled, turning back toward the inn’s rear door.
---
’Sharp perception,’ Xander thought, retreating a half-step into deeper shadow. A Ranger’s Stealth suffered heavy penalties in urban environments — weakened by roughly forty percent compared to a true Thief’s. His current 24 points in the skill barely matched the sentry’s awareness in these cramped quarters. The wilds would have given him the edge, but here he had to be flawless.
One misstep and the man would raise the alarm, complicating everything. Xander held his breath, heart steady despite the close call. He had anticipated the sentry’s range perfectly this time.
Slipping back into cover, he weighed his options. Twenty spare skill points remained from earlier allocations. He channeled them all into Stealth, pushing it to 44. Not enough for advanced breakthroughs, but sufficient for this narrow alley. He advanced once more.
This time, the sentry didn’t react, eyes fixed on the inn’s back entrance.
The rest unfolded with practiced lethality. Xander moved like a ghost on padded feet, closing the distance in a silent rush. One hand clamped over the man’s mouth while the curved dagger flashed across his throat in a clean Cutthroat. Blood sprayed hot against the wall, but the sound died with the sentry. No cries, no struggle that carried.
Xander dragged the body to a nearby drainage ditch, where the city’s underbelly regularly discarded its victims. No one would investigate another corpse tonight. He claimed a modest haul — thirty silvers and a handful of basic trap components.
The gang’s gear was shoddy, barely better than his own common blade. Street intimidation tools, useless against real adventurers.
Satisfied, Xander reactivated Stealth and slipped back into the Oxhollow Inn. He climbed the creaking stairs with care, avoiding loose boards from memory. At the door to their room, he reached for the latch.
A flash of cold steel met his neck the instant it opened.
"Sneaky rat. What are your masters planning?" Elyra’s voice was ice, her sword steady against his throat.
Xander froze, then forced a wry smile. "Elyra, it’s me — Xander."
"Young Master?" Surprise cracked her tone. She lowered the blade as a candle flared to life, casting flickering light across the modest room. Her expression shifted from lethal focus to utter bewilderment, sword still gripped tightly in her right hand, candle in the left.
"Didn’t you say you wouldn’t return tonight?" she asked. "I assumed you’d rest at the Silver Order’s shrine."
Xander shook his head. "Their lodgings cost far more than we can afford right now." His eyes swept the room methodically — every corner, the heavy curtains drawn across the window. "We have maybe fifteen minutes. Did you notice anything unusual?"
Elyra hesitated, then pointed her sword toward the window. "Your warning earlier stuck with me. I scouted discreetly. There are watchers on the street, focused on this room and the inn."
"Bleakhollow Gang," Xander confirmed. "Two at the front, one at the back — until recently."
Elyra’s eyes widened. "Young Master Xander... how do you know all this? You seem like a different person since the fever broke."
"No time for the full story," he said firmly, meeting her gaze. "Elyra, trust me. The illness cleared my head. I understand what must be done now. I received... guidance. Watch."
He pulled aside his cloak to reveal the Sika Deer badge pinned beneath.
"A Ranger badge?" Elyra stared, stunned. "How? You became a Ranger? Just like that? You never trained for battle before. Is this... genuine?"
Xander could see the doubt swirling in her eyes. To her, this seemed more likely the work of another swindler preying on desperate nobles. Ordinary folk spent years grinding basic levels before earning a class. A pampered fourteen-year-old suddenly gaining one overnight defied reason.
"Take only what we need. Leave the rest," Xander instructed, tone leaving no room for argument. "Write a note for the innkeeper about storing our belongings. We’ll retrieve them later. I need your help right now."
His decisive manner left Elyra momentarily speechless. She had trained her entire life as both loyal bodyguard and capable butler for the Redoak Vale lord. Support was her role. Even if this new Xander unnerved her, she nodded and moved with efficiency, bundling essentials — coins, a few clothes, the remaining jewelry, and weapons.
They slipped out the back door into the night.
---
In the quiet alley, Xander whispered, "I observed their patterns earlier. The Bleakhollow sentries signal each other every twenty minutes with specific bird calls — three chirps for all clear. We lack the means to imitate it perfectly, so our window is short."
"I don’t follow," Elyra murmured. "You mentioned a sentry at the back. Where is he?"
Xander coughed lightly. "In the drainage ditch."
Elyra fell silent, mind reeling. The gentle young master she had protected for years had just admitted to killing a man in cold blood. This Xander moved with lethal precision, spoke with commanding clarity, and carried the weight of hard-won experience far beyond his years.
Desperation could forge steel from softness, she knew. Redoak Vale’s fall and the fever had broken the old boy. Yet she worried he might lose himself to the shadows.
Still, the rear sentry’s elimination bought them precious time.
"I’ll cut them down," Elyra growled, killing intent flaring. Xander had briefly explained the riverside ambush — how Bleakhollow thugs had tried to murder him, and how dream-like guidance had saved him.
"Not yet," Xander replied calmly. "Killing them all is easy. We need at least one alive for questioning."
"Alive?" Elyra frowned.
"I want to know who ordered this. The Bleakhollow Gang doesn’t strike minor nobles without reason. Someone is pulling their strings."
Elyra’s face twisted in sudden realization, shifting from confusion to burning rage. "Young Master... I think I know."
She ground her teeth. "These past days, while doing menial labor at your uncle Miller’s estate, I overheard some uncomfortable conversations. He’s been meeting with Bleakhollow contacts. Diapheis himself visited the mansion recently, leaving with pouches heavy with jewels. The kitchen maid Tina gossiped about it. I dismissed it then, but now..."
"Uncle Miller?" Xander’s expression went blank as he delved deeper into the merged memories. Fragments surfaced: Miller, a scheming relative who had always resented the main family line. Ambitious, greedy, and well-connected in Tanchapel’s underbelly. With Redoak Vale weakened by the gnoll attack, Miller saw opportunity — seize the lands, the mines, the title. Eliminating the young heir and his brother would clear the path.
The pieces fit too cleanly. The delayed city aid, the casino swindle, the ambush tonight. All threads led back to blood kin.
Xander’s jaw tightened. Betrayal from within stung deeper than external threats. "That explains the delays at city hall. Miller’s influence at work."
Elyra nodded grimly. "We must act carefully. He has guards and connections."
"We will," Xander assured her. "But first, survival. We slip the net tonight, regroup, and prepare. Redoak Vale won’t stay lost. Neither will I allow our family to be carved apart by vultures like him."
They moved swiftly through the alleys, Elyra’s sword ready, Xander’s senses heightened by his new Ranger abilities. The night air carried tension, distant sounds of the city masking their footsteps. Every shadow could hide another watcher, yet Xander felt alive — purpose burning away the last remnants of his frail noble shell.
As they navigated toward safer outskirts, Elyra glanced at him repeatedly. The boy she had carried five kilometers from burning ruins now led with quiet authority. Whatever "guidance" had awakened in him during the fever, it had transformed weakness into resolve.
Xander, meanwhile, reviewed his status mentally. The recent kills had added modest Battle Exp. Combined with the soulbound quest, power was within reach. But Miller’s involvement raised the stakes. Reclaiming Redoak Vale was no longer just about gnolls—it was about purging corruption from within.
