The new category in my status was a surprise I didn't need. Of all the things creeping at the edges of my sanity, the assassin's contract, the Royal Prince's betrayal, the hollow ache of grief that gnawed at me in quiet moments, this addition felt like the system nudging me one step closer to unraveling. I hoped it was the watcher's doing. If not... the alternatives were too vast, too chilling. Tampering with the soul? Or worse, the gods placing bets again.
There were many hypotheses, countless threads of thought I could follow, but each one tugged at the tangled yarn of speculation. Why now? Why not when I first regressed? If it had appeared during the disorientation of my return, I could've written it off as part of the system resetting. But days had passed. Battles fought, revelations endured. This wasn't timing, it was intent.
And that made it worse.
Maybe it had to do with the title Righteous Anger, or the mental clarity that came after the dinner with father. Maybe the pain I'd felt wasn't just from the system, it was a key turning in a lock I didn't know existed.
But no. I caught myself again. Spiraling into 'maybes' and 'what ifs' was a direct road to madness. Focus. Speculation could be poison if done without boundaries.
The word Quest itself felt deceptively harmless, like something out of adventure guild playbooks. Tasks. Rewards. Progress. But this wasn't a game. And this wasn't a list of errands.
It could be a guiding hand from the watcher. Or a leash.
Was I meant to follow these quests willingly, believing they served a greater purpose? Or was I already being played? Was the watcher shaping my story not to help me, but to watch me burn brighter before I fell?
Again, I clenched my jaw. These thoughts were shadows, and I needed light. Not fantasy. Not paranoia.
I closed the status window and let the darkness of my room settle again, eyes scanning the moonlit grain of the wooden beams above me. My only hope, the only thing I could cling to was that whatever game the watcher was playing, my family and friends wouldn't end up as pieces on the board.
.
.
.
These thoughts clung to me like a fly to a wall, and I didn't even notice time slipping by. The sun had already risen when a knock at the door pulled me out of my stupor.
"Young Lord, may I enter?" came a hurried and exhausted voice.
"Enter," I replied.
Hope stumbled in, breathless and flushed from running.
"You need to get ready for training, Young Lord. The knights are already at the training hall and are complaining about your absence," he said, still catching his breath.
At his words, I remembered, I had requested to train with the knights. I sprang out of bed with sudden energy, already pulling on clothes suited for combat practice.
Hope stood there, slack-jawed, watching me dress in a frenzy. He tried to help, but I silenced his attempts with a sharp glare. The entire outfit change took less than two minutes.
I threw on a black linen shirt and sturdy black work trousers, simple, functional, unassuming. Just as I finished, I dashed out of the room.
Scenes of daily life blurred past me: servants sweeping the halls, a maid carrying breakfast to Eloise, guards patrolling the estate. The mundane felt grounding as well as real. It reminded me that I was alive. That I had something to protect.
I burst through the front doors and sprinted toward the training yard.
And then I heard it, the chime of the system.
It wasn't the hostile glares of the knights that startled me, nor the whispering that followed my arrival. It was what echoed in my mind, cutting through everything else.
[Quest Added: Knight in Training]
A quest. I open the interface with a flicker of thought, almost instinctively now.
Quest: Knight in Training
Type: NormalDifficulty: Tier 0
Description:You aspire to be a knight. But will you survive the training?
Objectives:
1. Practice the basic training movements: Slash and Thrust - 1,000 times each day (0/30)
2. Win in a spar (0/10)
Reward:
1. Basic Swordsmanship Manual
2. A sharp sword
I stare at the glowing text hovering faintly in the air before fading into the back of my mind. A simple enough quest. On the surface, it's nothing exceptional, mundane even. But the implications? They're staggering.
This isn't just training anymore.
It's a path. A measurable, visible path forward.
The system has officially recognized my resolve. I don't know if this is a gift from the Watcher, a manipulation, or some fragment of fate realigning itself, but I'll take it. I'll use it.
1,000 slashes and thrusts a day? Brutal. But necessary.Winning ten spars? I'll have to earn that.
My hand moves on its own, resting on the hilt of the practice sword strapped to the rack at the edge of the yard. Its weight is dull, unimpressive. But now, I look at it like a stepping stone.
A tool for survival.A symbol of resistance.
I walk toward the training circle. The murmurs of the knights rise slightly. Their eyes follow me,not with respect, not yet, but with interest. Suspicion. Doubt.
Good.
Let them doubt me. Let them sneer and whisper.
I'll silence them all-one strike at a time.