Bounty of Blades
The bounty was no longer a rumor.
It was a war cry.
By the time the second sun dipped behind the copper towers of Arinvale, my name had already crossed the lips of every bounty hunter, rogue mercenary, and assassin-for-hire in the midlands.
**Elias Black — Unmarked Mage**
**Reward: 200,000 crown pieces. Dead or alive.**
And still… I walked the streets.
Not hidden. Not in disguise.
Just me.
The cobblestones clicked beneath my boots. People gave me wide berths. Not because they recognized me—yet—but because the air around me had changed. I could feel it too. The weight of eyes. The system humming at the edge of awareness, scanning threats before I saw them.
I passed a wanted board. My name had been scrawled hastily in red ink, pinned over an older, faded bounty for a bandit lord. My sketch was crude, but the description left no doubt.
> "Veil-born. Unmarked. Suspected in the slaying of Arcanum agent Rynel. Approach with caution."
I tore the paper down.
---
They came for me first in the market district.
A trio of hunters in mismatched armor, blades glinting, confidence leaking from every step.
I pretended not to notice—until they drew close.
> "That your real name?" the leader asked. "Or just what the Guild calls you?"
I didn't answer.
He smirked. "Makes no difference. Your bounty buys us a keep."
That's when I vanished.
**Veilstep**. Right behind him.
> *Strike. Arcane Pulse. Sweep.*
The first was down before the others blinked. The second tried to run. The third begged for mercy.
I gave none.
> **\[+84 EXP | +2 Guild Hunter Sigils | +7 Mana Crystals]**
The system pinged, cold and precise.
People screamed. Stalls overturned. Guards looked the other way. In this city, money spoke louder than blood. And 200,000 crowns had turned me from man to legend in less than a day.
---
This was how it began.
Over the next few days, the city twisted into a battlefield.
**Guild runners** with enchanted spears.
**Beastcallers** releasing mutated wolves.
**Frostblades** from the Northern Court—each duel danced on a knife's edge.
They came at all hours. Daylight duels in public plazas. Midnight ambushes in sewer tunnels. I slept with one eye open, spell trigger runes etched into the skin of my palms.
And I met them all in kind.
I didn't hunt for the kill.
I hunted to survive.
But slowly, I started to change.
Every fight sharpened me. Every kill leveled me. My stat tree began to mutate—new branches appeared, dark traits that didn't belong to any class I'd seen.
> **\[Trait Gained: Echo Veil]**
> Leave a shadow echo at the last Veilstep location. Explodes after 3s. +5% Stealth.
> **\[Passive Upgrade: Phase Instinct]**
> Dodge chance increases by 12% when HP < 40%.
The system was evolving me.
Or maybe... rewriting me.
---
But not all hunters were reckless.
Some were calculated.
**The Hounds of Sarn** came for me on the fifth night—silent, cloaked, coordinated. They used pulse wards to block my Veilwalk. Triple triangulation traps. Magic dampeners. Poisoned blades.
They nearly got me.
I was bleeding, vision doubled, Veil channels sealed.
Then a shockwave hit.
A burst of wind magic shattered the nearest trap. Blades sang. Screams followed.
**Kael.**
He arrived mid-fight, slicing two of them from behind before nodding in my direction like we'd just met at a tavern.
Together, we cleaned up the rest.
He fought with the grace of a noble swordsman, all fluid arcs and purposeful strikes. I moved like a shadow possessed—appearing, striking, disappearing.
Opposites.
And yet, we survived together.
After, we collapsed beside a broken wall, our backs pressed to crumbling stone.
Breathless, sweat-soaked, I managed, "You always show up late."
He chuckled. "You always pick fights you can't win."
I coughed blood and smirked. "Still win them, don't I?"
Kael looked out over the dead. "Looks like you've finally earned your name."
I nodded. "So have you."
But beneath our banter was something heavier.
Kael's eyes held questions. Doubt.
And maybe... fear.
Because he'd seen what I had become to win.
And he didn't know if he could follow.