"The bandits grow bold, young master. They say the Raven's wings are clipped."
Aldric placed a cup of hot herbal tea beside Caelan's bed, his weathered face tight with worry.
Five days had passed since their discovery of the hidden chamber.
Five days of secret training that left Caelan's frail body aching in ways he hadn't thought possible.
Exercises done before dawn and after sunset, away from any prying eyes that might report to House Fenn.
Simple movements at first—designed to build strength without risking further damage to his weakened form.
"Let them think so," Caelan replied, carefully moving to a sitting position.
Each morning was a battle against stiffness and pain.
"What gossip comes from the villages?"
"The people are afraid, my lord.
Riverstone has recovered somewhat from the last attack, but Oakmeadow and Westford remain on edge. They believe House Albrecht has abandoned them."
Caelan frowned. The original Caelan had indeed abandoned these villages, too consumed by illness and self-pity to care for his responsibilities.
But in Marcus Chen's world, reputation was everything.
The fear of one's name could be more powerful than any weapon.
"And our training?" he asked, taking a careful sip of the bitter tea.
"You progress well, considering your condition," Aldric said.
"The breathing exercises have already improved your stamina. But true mastery of Nullcraft will take months, if not years."
Time they didn't have.
House Fenn would return in three weeks, demanding payment Caelan couldn't provide.
And these bandits—almost certainly Fenn agents—were systematically destroying what little remained of Albrecht resources.
"Help me dress," Caelan said, setting aside the tea.
"I want to continue studying the Nullcraft texts this morning."
As Aldric helped him into simple clothes, Caelan reviewed what he'd learned so far.
Nullcraft wasn't just an anti-magic technique—it was a complete system of combat, espionage, and survival designed for those without magical talents.
The texts described methods to move undetected by magical senses, to disrupt spell-casting with precisely placed strikes, and to use everyday materials that naturally resisted magical effects.
Most intriguing were the sections on perception—training the mind to notice the subtle ways magic affected the physical world.
Magic, according to the texts, always left traces visible to those who knew how to look. With proper training, a Nullcraft practitioner could "see" magic without actually sensing it, noting how dust moved differently around enchanted objects, how light bent subtly near wards, how sound distorted through magical barriers.
These techniques aligned perfectly with the observational skills Marcus had developed as an assassin.
Already, Caelan had begun to notice strange patterns of shadow in the manor's older sections—remnants of House Albrecht's shadow magic, perhaps, still clinging to stones laid by his ancestors.
A sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. Aldric moved quickly to the door, opening it just enough to speak with someone outside.
The conversation was hushed, urgent.
When Aldric turned back, his face had gone pale.
"Troubling news, my lord. A messenger just arrived from Westford village.
The bandits struck again last night."
"Westford?" Caelan frowned. "That breaks their pattern."
"Yes, my lord. And worse, they burned half the village.
Those who couldn't pay their 'protection' were... made examples of."
Cold anger settled in Caelan's chest. "How many dead?"
"Seven, my lord. Including the village elder who had sent appeals to you previously."
Targeted violence. Not just robbery, but a message.
To the villagers and House Albrecht.
"Bring the messenger in," Caelan ordered.
"I want to hear the details myself."
The messenger was a young woman, no more than twenty, with soot still staining her face and clothes.
She knelt before Caelan, exhaustion evident in every line of her body.
"Rise," Caelan said. "Tell me what happened."
"They came at midnight, my lord," she began, her voice hoarse from smoke and crying.
"Twenty men, maybe more. Armed with swords and torches. They gathered everyone in the village square and demanded payment—triple what they took last time."
"Did they identify themselves?"
"They called themselves the Free Company, my lord. But their leader... he said to tell you specifically that they acted with the blessing of 'higher powers' than House Albrecht."
Confirmation of what Caelan already suspected.
House Fenn was behind this, removing the last vestiges of Albrecht's influence from the region.
"Did you notice anything about their weapons or clothing?" Caelan asked.
"Any symbols or markings?"
The messenger hesitated. "Their leader wore green and gold under his cloak. House Fenn colours. And..." She reached into her pocket, withdrawing a small metal pin.
"I found this after they left. One of them must have dropped it."
Caelan took the pin.
It showed a simple design: a half-eclipse with a star at its centre.
Nothing from House Fenn's heraldry, nor any symbol he recognised from Caelan's memories.
"Thank you," he said.
"Go to the kitchen. Aldric will ensure you're fed and given a place to rest before returning."
After the messenger left, escorted by Aldric, Caelan examined the pin more closely.
The craftsmanship was fine, not something common bandits would possess.
Another piece of evidence linking these attacks to someone with resources.
When Aldric returned, Caelan held up the pin. "Do you recognise this symbol?"
The old servant's eyes widened slightly. "Where did you get that, my lord?"
"The messenger found it after the attack. You know it?"
Aldric nodded slowly. "The Eclipsed Order. A secret society is mentioned in some of the older texts in your father's collection.
They were thought to be nothing but legend—cultists who worship darkness and chaos."
"Not so legendary," Caelan said.
"And working with House Fenn, it seems."
"A troubling alliance, if true."
Caelan set the pin aside, his mind working quickly.
Bandits supported by both a noble house and a secret cult.
Targeting Albrecht villages with increasing violence. The pattern was clear—they intended to destroy everything connected to House Albrecht, preparing the way for Fenn to claim the territory officially once Caelan failed to pay the "tribute."
"We need to send a message," Caelan said.
"What message, my lord? We have no army, no guards—"
"Not that kind of message." Caelan met Aldric's eyes.
"Tell me honestly—am I strong enough yet for what needs to be done?"
Understanding dawned on the old servant's face.
"You mean to go yourself." It wasn't a question.
"My lord, in your condition... it would be extremely dangerous."
"I'm aware," Caelan said. "But necessary.
These bandits think House Albrecht is finished—a dying boy in a crumbling manor.
They need to learn otherwise."
"Even with your... awakened knowledge, your body remains fragile," Aldric cautioned.
"And there are twenty armed men."
"I don't need to fight them all," Caelan said.
"Just create enough fear to make them reconsider their alliance with Fenn."
Aldric studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
"If you're determined, my lord, there are ways. Your ancestors didn't always rely on direct confrontation. Sometimes, a single death can speak louder than a dozen."
"The bandit leader," Caelan agreed.
"Remove the head, and the body falters."
"Precisely, my lord. And with some basic Nullcraft techniques, you might accomplish this without risking open combat."
Caelan nodded. "Tell me what you know about their camp. Location, guards, routines."
"According to our sources, they've established a base in the ruins of Blackthorn Keep, about five miles east of Westford.
It was an Albrecht outpost once, before falling into disrepair decades ago."
Another insult—using Albrecht's property to stage attacks on Albrecht's villages.
"And their numbers? The messenger said twenty, but is that accurate?"
"From what we've gathered, between fifteen and twenty-five men.
Mostly hired swords, with a few Fenn guards directing operations.
Their leader is a man called Brock the Butcher—a sellsword with a reputation for cruelty."
Caelan committed these details to memory. "I'll need maps of the keep, if we have them. And we'll need to prepare equipment."
Aldric bowed. "I anticipated your decision, my lord. I've already retrieved maps from your father's archives. As for equipment..." He smiled slightly.
"The hidden chamber contains more than just books and weapons."
That night, after the manor had grown quiet, Caelan and Aldric returned to the hidden chamber. In one of the small chests, Aldric revealed a collection of tools that would have made Marcus Chen smile in approval: thin wire garrotes, vials of dark liquid, small black crossbow bolts, and a set of climbing spikes.
"House Albrecht has always understood that sometimes shadows must do what daylight cannot," Aldric explained. "These tools were crafted for those rare occasions."
Caelan examined each item carefully. The poisons would be particularly useful, compensating for his lack of physical strength.
The climbing spikes might allow him to access the keep without facing guards at the entrance.
"I'll need dark clothing," he said. "And something to conceal my face."
As Aldric gathered the requested items, Caelan studied the maps of Blackthorn Keep. It was a small fortress, built on a hill overlooking a bend in the river.
Three possible entry points: the main gate, a postern door, and a partially collapsed section of wall near the old kitchens.
The main hall would likely serve as the bandits' communal area, with the leader probably taking the former lord's chambers in the north tower.
By midnight, Caelan had formulated his plan. It was not without risk, but as Marcus Chen knew well, no operation ever was.
The greater risk was inaction—allowing these bandits to continue destroying Albrecht villages while House Fenn waited for Caelan to fail.
"You're certain of this course, my lord?" Aldric asked as he helped Caelan into the dark clothing they'd prepared.
"They burn villages in my name," Caelan replied, his voice hardening.
"They'll die by my hand."
Aldric nodded, a hint of the old Albrecht pride showing in his eyes.
"Then let me show you one more thing that might help."
From a hidden compartment in the floor of the chamber, Aldric removed a small wooden box. Inside lay a jar of black paste.
"Shadow salve," he explained.
"Created from the essence of true shadows. It will help you move unseen, even by those with magical sight. Apply it to exposed skin before you leave."
Caelan opened the jar, finding the paste inside cold to the touch.
"A magical item, to help with Nullcraft?"
"Not exactly magic, my lord. More... a residue of your family's connection to the shadows.
The Black Seraph's gift turned to a practical purpose."
Another tool for his arsenal. Caelan set it aside with the other equipment he'd selected: a small crossbow with poisoned bolts, a thin dagger, climbing spikes, and a coil of rope.
"I'll leave tomorrow night," he decided.
"That gives us one more day to prepare, and the bandits time to grow complacent after their victory at Westford."
As Aldric helped him gather the equipment, Caelan spotted something half-hidden on a shelf.
Reaching up, he pulled down what appeared to be a folded piece of black cloth.
It unfurled into a cloak, as dark as a moonless night, with the Albrecht raven embroidered on its back in thread so dark it was barely visible against the fabric.
"The Shadow Cloak," Aldric said softly.
"Worn by your ancestors when they wished to move unseen.
Like the salve, it's not truly magical—but it bends light in ways that make the wearer difficult to spot in darkness."
Caelan swung it around his shoulders. The material felt impossibly light, almost like liquid shadow given form.
"This will do nicely," he said, a cold smile forming on his lips. The bandits thought they faced a dying house with clipped wings.
They would soon learn that ravens did not need wings to be deadly.
As they gathered the last of the supplies, Caelan examined the strange pin again—the symbol of the Eclipsed Order.
Its presence raised troubling questions.
Why would a secret cult ally with House Fenn against the Albrechts?
What was their interest in this region?
And how did it connect to the Black Seraph mentioned in Morvian's journal?
Questions for another day.
For now, he had a message to deliver—written in blood and fear.
House Albrecht was not dead.
And its enemies would soon learn exactly what that meant.