[Book 1] The Armory

The soldiers inched forward and sideward bit by bit in response to Immanuel's taunt, intending to surround him. It's as if each of them knew they would be outclassed as a unit if they tried to attack one at a time, so they needed to position themselves so that at least five of them could strike at once.

But Immanuel was not about to allow them the chance to do so. Although he gave them a chance to strike, he had no plans of remaining an unmoving target, so he inched backwards bit by bit, following the pace at which they were moving.

Then he broke into a run towards a patch of darkness that was now ahead of him, eliciting curses and barked orders from the soldiers. Immanuel was not content with reaching it—when he felt he had gone far enough, he made a sharp turn, gradually silenced his steps, and turned to face the soldiers who were now scrambling to find him again amid curses and barked orders from their many leaders.

"That's just one man! How is it that we are so many yet we can't kill him?!" rumbled the ramblings of one among their number. With silent steps, Immanuel moved in a circle, intending to reach a lone soldier. That soldier seemed to be searching for Immanuel at the least likely place to find him while also guarding their rear. But a silhouette of another soldier who approached and began to drag that soldier forward put that assumption to rest.

As he was dragged over towards the rest of them, his cries and apologies betrayed the likelihood of a severe punishment that awaits, as well as a soul-crushing fear of the danger that lurks in the darkness. Well, there goes my opening. Immanuel continued to circle the assembled soldiers anyway.

With his earlier target absorbed into the masses of soldiers, he moved towards another one also positioned at the rear. Unlike the other soldier, he played his role better—as though fully understanding how Immanuel moved, he did not gaze at one direction for too long.

But it turned out he was not so different from the other soldier who was dragged forward. Although he had a sword drawn, fear quickly overtook him—his eyes widened and he let out an audible gasp when, upon looking behind him, he saw Immanuel standing there. It looked as though he was about to let out a scream, but his head flying off his shoulder stopped that from happening.

Two loud thuds revealed Immanuel's position, but by the time the soldiers turned their attention to him, he had already hacked in half another one of their number and was swinging downward to kill a third.

"Shit!" shouted someone from the opposite end. The soldiers immediately facing Immanuel, with their limited time to guard themselves against his assault, let alone retaliate, were mowed down with wild swings from his slightly curved greatsword.

Those who were positioned behind them fared a little better, with three soldiers parrying the greatsword together as a few others behind them scrambled to surround Immanuel. But a swift front kick to one of those parrying Immanuel was enough to break the combination of swords blocking the larger greatsword. Immanuel spun, moving the sword around his body as he did, and the resulting swing had an arc so wide it slashed through everyone to the left, right, and front of Immanuel, killing them instantly.

All who saw how many of their comrades fell in one swing of a greatsword could only gasp in terror of the man who had done it.

"We're no match for him! Run away!"

"We no longer wish to fight you! Please let us go!"

Immanuel slung the greatsword on his shoulder. "Get out," he said, his voice stern. At that moment, the remaining dozen or so soldiers turned and brisk-walked away from the area. At least one of the survivors turned to catch a glimpse of Immanuel as they walked away, and, noticing this, Immanuel moved towards one of the dead bodies and began pulling it.

Strong wind blew. Clouds were starting to gather. Rain was threatening to pour. Immanuel pulled harder at the body. There's no better way to tell the military hierarchy what they deserve than a massive pile of bodies. I must pile these bodies up before darkness closes in and the rain starts to fall.

—

Immanuel left the wooded area just as the clouds have completely suppressed the light of the moon. He had interred he pile of bodies in complete darkness, to be exhumed by the light of daytime.

Standing before his house, Immanuel saw the mess on his front yard. Somewhere nearby were the remains of a campfire, tiny trails of smoke rising from it. They seemed not content with the outdoor kitchen that they also used that campfire for cooking, as evidenced by various cookware strewn nearby. Mats of different sizes were also scattered throughout his front yard by the soldiers, who turned it into their space for relaxation.

While Immanuel looked around the outside of his house to see what it had become in the months he had been away, while Maddox presented himself to the public as Immanuel, he readied to draw the greatsword and listened for sound coming from the inside of his house. They might have left some of their comrades here to deal with me in the event of their defeat or trap me inside the house if I ran here.

But besides the water flowing down the creek, he heard nothing else. For a moment, he thought to get inside by passing through his secret room, but he changed his mind at the sudden recall of the things Maddox said to him about Leanne.

Wait… aren't you divorced? That was what our superiors told me when I was asked to take your spot. They said she left you before our mission to kill Baron Ironhelm due to irreconcilable differences between you two.

She's not dead! Someone had taken her and married her. It's the same man who gave me the order to kill you.

Someone had relegated their wedding portrait to the storage room. It sat together with things that saw better days with the couple, essentials once silent witnesses to the couple's love and devotion to each other.

The oil painting made clear what people have observed about the couple. Leanne's facial features were depicted as piercing and prominent like Immanuel's, and the resulting image spoke of their longevity as a couple. Leanne and I have been together for so long that our facial features have eventually matched, they said.

Immanuel took out the wedding portrait from the storage, dusting it as he made his way to the bedroom he once shared with Leanne. Had the betrayal by his own comrades never happened, he would not have need of his eyes to get to their bedroom. But alas, when the soldiers took over, they shed the discipline taught to them and laid one trap after another, from wall to wall, in the form of mats, pieces of clothing, large bags, and things that hinted to each soldier's individuality, notably one soldier's bits and pieces of finished and unfinished wood carvings—one of which rolled when Immanuel stepped on it.

Immanuel cursed. The last time he fell as a result of disorder in his living space, he was just a little kid. After that incident, which nearly cost him his knee, he learned to keep his living spaces in order.

Realizing how much had changed around him since his supposed death, Immanuel kicked the wooden object as if it were Maddox. The object hit the wall and shattered, a sight that reminded him of the grisly death of the impersonator.

He died as he lived: a mimic.

At the upper floor of the house, a little bit past the landing of the stairs, he was met with the same scene of essentials, trinkets, and various knick-knacks littered all throughout. But unlike at the lower floor, Immanuel also began to perceive a suffocating, nauseating smell of sweaty human bodies the moment he stepped foot there.

The smell intensified the further into the upper floor he went. And when he saw what their bedroom had become—on two corners of the room rested much of their force's weapons, and the wooden frame of the couple's bed had broken down right at the middle—a number of possibilities instantly ran in his mind. But only one set of possibilities made the most sense.

When our captain found out about your cloak, those way higher up the ranks thought it would be better for someone to pretend to be you, rather than declare you dead. It was then decided that those soldiers will be staying there too.

"Whoever it was that ordered Maddox to kill me must have also given him the house and some men to lead, on top of a monetary reward," Immanuel said as he studied the weapons they had left behind. “And seeing that they had him assume my identity, that meant they must have promoted me too.”

Seeing no weapon that could differentiate him from future enemies, he proceeded to the headboard of the bed he once shared with Leanne.

"It looks like he definitely benefited from the house, especially our bed," Immanuel commented as he placed both knees on the mattress to let him reach the nail above the headboard. He then set back the portrait where it rightfully belonged.

Immanuel got off the bed and backed away, content with the alignment of the painting. But with the image of Leanne to the right of the wedding portrait being a reminder of Maddox's claim that she had been taken and married to another man, Immanuel could not help but try his hardest to piece together everything Maddox had said and the night he was killed. There seemed to be only one way to piece them together, Immanuel found out as he recalled a number of stories he had heard of in the past, but his mind somehow blanked out at each attempt at doing so.

No longer wanting to dwell on those past events and the likely reasons behind them, Immanuel walked back to the ground floor, kicking away anything in his path. Then he crouched into the maw of an unused fireplace and, with one hand, pushed forward the blackened rear wall within. Stone ground against stone as he pushed, until his mild effort, aided by a wheeled metal frame the carved rock was mounted to, revealed the full width of an opening to his left, one leading immediately into absolute darkness.

Immanuel crouched into the darkness without fear. Good. Seeing this place in complete darkness means they never knew about it.

The exact moment Immanuel stood upright, bright white light from tiny orbs of energy floating above him illuminated the chamber. The empty place looked no different than a dungeon cell for one, but Immanuel did not build this place to benefit anyone in particular.

Immanuel pulled out, with one hand, a loose wood plank that was positioned to one side of the room. Then he pulled out the adjacent wood planks, followed by wood planks adjacent to those adjacent to the first plank he removed, followed by more wood planks, never stopping until he felt the world tilt to one side.

"I forget how much has happened today. When I'm done with this, I am not putting the wooden floor back ever again," he commented while seated and looking straight ahead to sort out the spinning sensation. He had only removed half of the entire wooden floor. "Turns out it's much easier to push the planks out from below," he continued as he eyed the partly revealed wooden hatch.

When he felt he had enough rest, he went back to pulling wood planks. This time, he did not stop until he had removed the entire wooden floor to reveal the entirety of the hatch.

Immanuel lifted, then kicked the metal handle on the hatch forward to slide it aside. This revealed a short set of steps that led down to what looked to be a corridor enveloped in darkness.

The moment he had descended, light originating from the bunch of orbs floating around there pulled the darkness away and revealed to Immanuel his tunnel. "I missed this place," he hissed to himself as he started along the path of hardened, polished earth.

Not long after he started walking along the path, he reached a door to his left, which he pushed open without a second thought. Once he had stepped inside, orbs floating within lit up and revealed shelves that housed one-handed swords, daggers, and many types of combat supplies. There was also a table positioned to one side, and resting on it was a familiar belt and three combat-damaged leather pouches attached to it. These pouches held throwing knives and tiny explosives.

Immanuel recalled memories of the night of Maddox's betrayal the moment he laid his eyes on his utility belt, already red all throughout due to how much blood it was soaked in that night. He ran his fingers on it, unable to believe what he had just seen. Then, curious about the state of its contents, he pulled out of a pouch a cracked, chipped, and bloodied—but not rusted—throwing dagger to study. "This must be the crow's work… it must have salvaged some of my tools I brought that night. I thought they were lost forever," Immanuel said. Then, with his face grim, he continued, "I wonder how many of them I could still use, though."