Chapter 6: Marked in Ink 

The depot's night noises pressed against the thin walls—clanging smiths, drunken laughter, the occasional scream. Nyx's finger moved across Regulus' bare back with the indifference of a clerk updating ledgers. The ink smelled faintly of copper and spoiled wine. 

Numbers bloomed in jagged strokes: 

Regulus Nihil 

Level 1

Strength: I-0 → I-12

Endurance: I-0 → I-19

Dexterity: I-0 → I-27

Agility: I-0 → I-17

Magic: I-0 

Skill: 

[Numquam Itineris] - You know what to do 

Nyx exhaled through her nose. "Twelve Strength." She flicked the inkwell's rim. "I've seen skeletons with more muscle." 

Regulus watched their distorted reflection in the window—her shadow pinning him still, the candlelight licking at the fresh numerals. The numbers told a simple story: he'd survived, not thrived. 

A crash echoed from the street below. The merchant's voice rose in familiar panic. 

Nyx tossed him his shirt just as something heavy hit their door. "Congratulations," she said as the wood splintered. "Your stats are now slightly less pathetic." 

Regulus stared at the ink-stained cloth in his hands, the numbers still burning against his skin. "This isn't enough," he muttered. "I need to grow stronger faster." 

Nyx snorted, kicking aside the broken door fragments as shouts echoed up from the street. "You fought goblins, kobolds, and one group of half-starved assassins." She tapped the drying ink on his back with a fingernail. "Double-digit growth across the board? You should be groveling in gratitude." 

The sounds of combat grew louder outside. Glass shattered somewhere below, followed by the unmistakable hiss of alchemical fire. 

Regulus pulled on his shirt, the fabric sticking to fresh ink. "We need better prey." 

Nyx's grin showed too many teeth as she melted into the shadows near the doorway. "Careful, little moth. Death eats arrogant men for breakfast." 

He buckled his knife sheath, feeling the new weight of his stats—slight, but present. "Then it'll choke on me." 

The shouting outside crescendoed—steel clashing, a man's gurgling scream. Regulus paused at the broken window. "Should we intervene?" 

Nyx didn't even glance toward the commotion. "That sniveling worm from earlier? Let the Altenans have him." She examined her nails, where shadows pooled like ink. "His corpse might actually be worth more than his cargo." 

A particularly wet crunch echoed from the alley below. The merchant's voice, now raw with terror, shrieked: "WAIT—I CAN PAY—" 

The sentence ended abruptly. 

Regulus felt his new stats thrum under his skin—seventeen points of agility begging to be used, nineteen endurance demanding test. His hand twitched toward his dagger. 

Nyx caught his wrist, her grip colder than the grave. "Don't waste your first night of real growth on charity." She jerked her chin toward the window, where torchlight now flickered against the far wall. "Besides...look." 

Through the grimy glass, three gray-cloaked figures dragged the merchant's limp form into the street. One methodically rifled through his pockets while another pressed a glowing sigil to his forehead. The body convulsed once before going still. 

"See?" Nyx's breath fogged the glass as she leaned close. "Athena Familia has been preparing for what they want." Her fingers tightened. "Tonight's lesson: stats mean nothing if you pick stupid fights." 

The third researcher suddenly looked up—straight at their window. 

Nyx blew out the candle. 

-----

Nyx's knee dug into Regulus' ribs with precisely calibrated cruelty. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." 

Morning light bled through the shutters, painting stripes across the wreckage of their room—overturned furniture, the shattered inkwell now crusted black, and three fresh knife marks scoring the doorframe where Athena's agents had tested the locks. 

Regulus blinked away the grit of too little sleep. Nyx straddled him with casual dominance, her hands conspicuously empty. No shadows coiled around her fingers—just pale skin and bitten nails. 

"Your turn to buy breakfast," she said, rocking forward to put weight on his diaphragm. "And before you ask—no, we're not hunting it today." A muscle twitched near her right eye as she spoke, the only tell of the effort it took to keep herself from using her shadows wantonly. 

Outside, the depot buzzed with morning commerce. Someone shouted about discounted Far Eastern silks. 

Regulus noted how Nyx's fingers spasmed when a cloud passed over the sun. "You're hiding your shadows." 

"Observant." She leaned down until her hair curtained their faces. "Athena's scribes leave magical tripwires. Use your new stats properly today, and I might not have to reveal myself at all." Her knee ground harder into his ribs. "Understood?" 

The door swung open without warning. A depot guard stared at them, his gaze sliding from Nyx's position to the broken furniture. 

"...Room inspection," he lied poorly. 

Nyx's smile turned saccharine. "Come back in ten minutes." She pressed a hand against Regulus' chest—warm, human, utterly shadowless—and shoved him off the cot. "We're doing stretches."

Regulus rolled his shoulder, testing the new weight of his stats as Nyx finally climbed off him. The guard's footsteps retreated down the hallway, but the tension lingered like gunpowder smoke. 

"What now?" he asked, rubbing his ribs where her knee had been. 

Nyx stretched with exaggerated nonchalance, her fingers brushing the ceiling beams—still no shadows, just a performance of casual humanity. "First, you buy me breakfast." She tossed him a coin purse that smelled of lavender and blood. "Then we find out why Athena's dogs were really sniffing around that merchant." 

A muffled explosion rattled the windowpanes from somewhere in the depot's eastern quarter. Neither of them flinched. 

Regulus weighed the purse in his palm. "You stole this from the corpse." 

"Correction." Nyx smirked as she adjusted her collar, her fingers deliberately clumsy with the buttons. "I inherited it from a business associate who tragically failed to pay his debts." She kicked open their ruined door. "Move, Little Moth. The best rumors get sold before noon." 

Outside, the depot's morning chaos unfolded with practiced rhythm—blacksmiths hawking dungeon-grade steel, spice merchants arguing over caravan routes, and everywhere, the low hum of adventurers comparing notes. Nyx walked just close enough that their sleeves brushed, her posture relaxed but her eyes tracking every gray cloak in the crowd. 

Regulus felt the numbers on his back like fresh brand marks. Twelve strength. Nineteen endurance. Not enough. Never enough. 

"Better prey," he muttered. 

Nyx's laugh blended perfectly with the market's din. "That's the spirit." 

The two of them walked around the depot, heading to a decent vendor for breakfast. Regulus feels exasperated however that Nyx seems to want dessert as a meal. 

As she orders however, he starts reflecting what has happened since they met. His isekai, Falna, first monster and human kill, Numquam Itineris, etc. Until a thought comes to mind.

Regulus caught Nyx's wrist as she reached for a street vendor's honey cake. "Eleven days." His thumb pressed against her pulse point. "You descended eleven days ago. So how do you know so much about mortal limits? About Genkai?" 

The vendor froze, pastry tongs hovering mid-air. 

Nyx's smile turned sharp enough to cut glass. She plucked the cake with her free hand and tossed coins onto the counter. "Darling," she purred, leaning close enough that the vendor couldn't hear, "I've been bluffing this whole time." She took a deliberate bite, golden syrup glistening on her lower lip. "Turns out mortal struggles are painfully predictable." 

They walked on, the crowd swallowing them whole. 

"Think about it." Nyx licked honey from her fingers. "Weak creatures always obsess over numbers. Strong ones rely on instinct." She flicked a crumb at a passing guardsman. "The rest is just...genre awareness." 

Regulus watched a group of adventurers haggling over monster cores. Their voices carried the same desperate edge as Nyx's theories. 

"You're lying." 

"Obviously. But ask yourself, Nihil..." She pressed the last bite of cake into his palm, sticky and warm. "Does it matter why I know, if I'm right?" 

The depot bell tolled overhead, drowning out whatever answer he might have given.