Was restraint.
Power without direction was noise.
Noise attracted attention.
And attention killed.
He sat in the dim corner of Uncle John’s shop, quietly sorting low-grade monster cores. His movements were slow, deliberate, unimpressive.
A weak orphan.
Harmless.
That was the image.
Across the street, two Tiger Battalion soldiers argued over gambling debt. One shoved the other. Steel nearly left its sheath.
Darian didn’t look directly at them.
He didn’t need to.
The threads were visible now.
Not physically.
But within the Observation Node.
Faint strands connected people to power. To fear. To corruption.
One of the soldiers—
His thread was darker.
Fractured.
Tangled with something foreign.
Darian narrowed his eyes slightly.
Not possession.
Influence.
Subtle.
Like rot beneath skin.
The Hollow Throne pulsed once inside his mind.
[Corruption Trace Detected.]
[Entity Residue: 3%]
So it begins.
Darian stood quietly and stretched, pretending boredom.
Uncle John, I’ll take the scrap cores to the refinery broker.”
John glanced at him briefly. Something unreadable passed through his gaze.
“Be quick.”
Darian nodded obediently and stepped into the street.
He adjusted his path slightly—
Following the corrupted soldier.
Not close enough to alert.
Not far enough to lose.
The soldier entered a narrow tavern near the border wall.
Low light.
Cheap liquor.
Loose tongues.
Darian entered five minutes later.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Ordered nothing.
Sat near the back.
Listened.
The soldier spoke with a hooded man. Their voices were hushed.
“…shipment moves tomorrow night.”
“…inner district priest won’t notice.”
“…payment in relic fragments.”
Relic fragments.
That meant temple involvement.
Temple meant faith.
Faith meant potential Entity contamination.
The thread darkened.
Darian closed his eyes briefly.
Options calculated.
Intervene directly?
Low success probability.
Report to John?
Uncertain loyalty spread.
Observe further?
Risk of corruption spreading.
Then—
The system flickered.
[Provisional Directive Available.]
[Neutralize Corruption Node.]
Reward: Authority +1%
Risk: Moderate
Darian’s breathing remained steady.
This would be the first.
Not survival.
Not accident.
Choice.
He rose quietly and left before the meeting ended.
Darian did not kill the soldier.
He didn’t even follow him.
He simply marked him.
That was enough.
The corrupted thread lingered in his perception like a stain across clear water. It connected the Tiger Battalion soldier to something darker — not full possession, not yet.
Influence.
A seed.
Darian walked past the tavern without turning his head.
Inside his mind, the Throne stirred.
[Corruption Node Detected.]
[Entity Residue: Minor.]
[Intervention Protocol Available.]
Darian did not respond immediately.
He never did.
He entered the void.
The Hollow Throne stood fractured in endless darkness. Threads of Zanthera extended outward like veins beneath skin.
He focused on the soldier’s thread.
It pulsed irregularly.
“Define intervention,” Darian said calmly.
Define intervention,” Darian said calmly.
[Options Available:]
-
Observe
-
Disrupt
-
Replace
-
Erase
He studied the options in silence.
Erase was inefficient. Sudden deaths drew attention.
Replace required infrastructure not yet built.
Observe allowed corruption to spread.
He selected:
Disrupt.
The Throne pulsed once.
[Intervention Method: Indirect.]
The thread split.
Not broken.
Redirected.
A second thread nearby began to glow faintly.
A gambler.
Deep in debt.
Desperate.
Desperation was easier to guide than corruption.
Darian leaned back in his chair in the real world, eyes half closed.
He did nothing
That night, rain fell over Zanthera.
Inside the tavern, the corrupted soldier drank heavily. Across the room, the gambler watched him.
Not because he wanted to.
Because a thought had been placed.
Not forced.
Suggested.
The soldier bragged loudly about tomorrow’s “shipment.”
The gambler listened.
And later—
He followed.
Darian did not watch.
He was reorganizing scrap cores in Uncle John’s shop.
His expression was mild.
Gentle.
Ordinary.
Inside—
[Intervention Progress: 72%]
He did not rush it.
Power should never appear unnatural.
Near the outer wall, steel flashed.
The gambler attacked first.
Clumsy.
Panicked.
The soldier retaliated with trained precision.
But he was drunk.
Unstable.
Angry.
In the struggle, both blades found flesh.
One body fell immediately.
The other staggered two steps—
And collapsed.
Rain washed blood into the cracks of the alley.
No witnesses.
Just another tragedy in the outer district.
Common.
Unimportant.
The next morning, the city whispered.
“Drunk fight.”
“Gambling dispute.”
“Outer settlement scum.”
The Tiger Battalion handled it quietly. No investigation beyond surface level.
Why would there be?
There was no pattern.
No assassin.
No organization.
Just chaos.
Darian listened to the rumors while sweeping the shop entrance.
Uncle John glanced at him briefly.
“You hear about the alley?” John asked.
“Yes,” Darian replied softly. “It’s sad.”
His eyes were clear.
Unaffected.
Inside—
[Corruption Node: Neutralized.]
[Authority Synchronization: 17%]
[Ghost Points +2]
No blade in his hand.
No blood on his skin.
No witnesses.
The Throne pulsed faintly.
Darian returned to his work.
Later that night, he entered the void again.
The corrupted thread was gone.
In its place—
A slightly clearer network.
Cleaner.
More stable.
But he also noticed something else.
Where one thread vanished—
Two new faint ones had formed elsewhere in the city.
Corruption did not disappear.
It migrated.
The Hollow Throne spoke again:
[Scale of Influence Insufficient.]
[Recommendation: Establish Sub-Nodes.]
Darian’s gaze sharpened slightly.
Sub-nodes meant infrastructure.
Agents.
Cells.
Layers between him and action.
That was acceptable.
That was correct.
He would not swing the blade.
He would design the battlefield.
And no one would ever know.
Far above the clouds, something ancient shifted slightly.
Not in anger.
In curiosity.
A disruption had occurred.
Small.
But precise.
It searched for the source.
It found nothing.
Because there was nothing to find.
Only a quiet boy in the outer settlement.
Smiling politely.
Sweeping dust.
While somewhere deep beneath Mythrion—
A fractured throne repaired itself by a hair’s width.
This is Darian’s path:
Not assassin.
Architect.