I WAS Humanity's HOPE-Chapter 38: Stalker

The hearth‑glow of the Dogs & Meat still clung to Richard Blackwood’s clothes when he stepped into the rain.

He walked Nadia home, her hooded cardigan pressed to his Shadow‑Weave Cloak as though she could borrow his warmth.

They spoke of trivialities—whether they’d meet the next day and where, which of their classmates were better looking—but beneath every jest lay something darker.

At Nadia’s gate, she lingered, candlelight from the parlour casting honey over damp paving stones.

"Sleep well, love," Richard said, mustering a grin that felt stitched to his face. "Doctor’s orders."

"You’re a dreadful doctor, Rich," she whispered. "Prescribe yourself some rest as well."

She rose on tip‑toe, brushed a kiss against the faint scar above his eyebrow, and vanished behind her door.

The street fell into wet silence.

Today was too close, he chastised himself, turning back towards his new house. I wonder if they know just how close to dying they all were at the dungeon.

The night smelled of peat smoke and sodden hawthorn.

As he neared his home, the lane was empty save for twisting fog, and yet something prickled at the base of his skull—an awareness as prominent as the sun.

Danger.

Richard slowed down, letting his senses settle.

Three heartbeats later, he was focused, much too aware of everything.

Richard’s gloved fingers brushed his obsidian daggers’ hilts, but he kept walking, cloak whispering over wet gravel.

As his manor emerged into view, he saw the silhouette perched on the oak‑board porch, umbrella balanced upon one knee like a gentleman at a garden fête.

Lightning rippled across bruised clouds, illuminating Aurelius Vance.

Wonderful, Richard thought, pulse thudding. Midnight tête‑à‑tête with the SS-Rank. Just who I needed to kiss my forehead and tuck me in.

Richard brightened his expression into polished awe.

"Guild‑Master! What an honour—did anhappenappened, or am I simply blessed with your presence?"

Vance unfolded his lanky frame, rain dripping from an immaculate coat. Silver spectacles cauggas lampas‑lamp so his eyes became twin moons.

"Spare me the fanfare, Blackwood. We both know why I’m here."

"I do? You’ll have to forgive me because I am as clueless as I look."

Vance shook his head. "Let’s speak inside, Richard."

Richard unlocked the door, ushering him inside.

Vance hung his umbrella and looked around, ignoring the youth next to him.

"Refreshments? Tea? Coffee? A dram, perhaps?"

"Nothing, thank you."

The older mage drifted along the hallway, fingertips trailing gilt frames. "You know, I see the resemblance with Meredith now. Does vanity run in the blood?"

Richard rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Vance chuckled, then stopped at a mirror.

On its surface, Richard saw the Guild‑Master’s reflection wink out. He quelled the shiver that threatened his spine.

"To business," Vance announced, returning to the centre of the hall. "Why is an S‑Rank mage skulking inside my academy dressed as an E‑Rank charity case?"

Richard raised an eyebrow. "An S‑Rank? In E‑Class? Surely you aren’t talking about me."

"Surely not." Vance’s tone softened into something almost playful. "I feel your power, Richard."

He forced a lazy shrug, though his every muscle coiled*.* "Congratulations on your sensitivity?"

"You saved two dozen pupils yesterday, Richard. Careful, your act is crumbling."

The Guild‑Master lounged on the sofa while Richard poured a single glass of whisky—for himself alone.

Rain ticked the high windows like a metronome counting their silence.

Vance steepled his fingers. "Give me provenance and motives. In return, I ignore your falsified records, and you keep playing the diligent student with your little friends."

Richard swirled the whisky.

The amber caught candlelight shimmered like bottled dawn.

If I admit anything, he’ll draft me into his schemes before dawn. If I refuse ,he’ll become unpredictable.

"I’m enrolled under my true name," he said at length. "I hand in essays, attend all my classes and even save classmates when monsters come knocking. That should satisfy any Guild Master."

"It doesn’t satisfy me." Vance leaned forward; the lamp‑glow haloed his spectacles but left his eyes dark. "Are you afraid of me, Richard?"

He offered a faint smile. "Should I be?"

"Almost everyone is, sooner or later."

Richard studied him over the rim of his glass. "Intimidation isn’t as versatile as you imagine. I’ve faced things that didn’t stop talking."

"And died for it, if rumour holds."

The whisky burned down Richard’s throat.

So he’s found out. Fuck.

"Rumours rarely pay my bills."

Vance tapped a jade ring against his knee.

"I’m curious," he said at last. "Does the name Astralis still taste familiar?"

Richard kept his face a polite blank, though his pulse spiked. He’s not sure. He can’t know. How does he know?

"Do you mean the hunter? Everyone knows him."

Vance’s spectacles caught the lamp‑glow; behind the glass, his eyes were knives. "I’ve compared field reports, Richard. Astralis fought with two twin daggers that reflected the world and he had some constellation-like abilities. Let’s not even talk about his mask. Yesterday, an E‑Rank student showed some very similar stuff."

Damn classmates. Someone must have seen something and talked about it. The question is who?

Aloud, he murmured, "Lots of hunters use daggers and masks. Fashion recycles."

Vance smiled thinly. "True, but there aren’t a lot of people who reach the S-Rank," he said and leaned back, satisfaction radiating.

"Now, imagine what our dear Association director John Buckler might pay to silence the real Humanity’s HOPE had died ten years ago. And he has been skulking under my roof, no less."

Richard set the whisky on a side table before the glass betrayed his grip.

If he calls Buckler, the old bastard will stop at nothing to cover up the truth. Meaning he will try to kill me. Nadia, Mer—everyone—will get dragged through the muck.

"What do you want, Aurelius?" Richard’s voice emerged low, steady.

"Simple cooperation." Vance rose, strolling to the tall window.

Drops traced silver veins down the panes. "I’m negotiating a charter with certain patrons. Very lucrative. But the Board is skittish—too many recent dungeon outbreaks, not enough guarantees. You’ll act as my support whenever I deem it necessary. I can’t be everywhere, and some dungeons need clearing."

Richard folded his arms "Blackmail, then. Give you muscle or you try to unmask me."

There was irony there—what Vance could try and do was put the mask back on his face.

"Think of it as mutually assured discretion." Vance pivoted, palms open. "You retain your cosy student life, I get my deal. Nobody breathes a word."

And the moment I become of no use, he rats me out, Richard thought, anger coiling. Not happening.

He stepped closer, voice soft enough to frost glass. "There’s a flaw, sir. Blackmail only works when the target values his own skin more than the blackmailer’s."

Vance’s brow arched. "A threat?"

"A reminder."

Starlight—cold, white‑violet—bloomed within the study, outlining every line of Vance’s frame.

Books rustled; the air grew heavy, as though planets tugged it from every angle.

Inside that hush, Richard spoke, words edged with power.

"Astralis died once already. It made him very particular about his choices. If you force my hand, Aurelius, I won’t flee to—I’ll drag you into the same grave I crawled out of."

The starlight flared—pop—then vanished, leaving only candle flame and the patter of rain.

Vance exhaled, more impressed than afraid. "Such drama. You Blackwoods do love the flare."

He adjusted his spectacles, composing himself. "Consider my offer, Richard. The stars are lovely, but institutions outlive constellations. Help me and I’ll shelter your secret. Refuse, and the skies will come crashing down."

Richard’s smile held no warmth. "The institutions rely on people who believe in them. Unmask me publicly, and half your donors will ask how a Guild‑Master missed an S‑Rank—the first S-Rank—in his own corridors. You’ll bleed credibility."

Vance studied him for a long beat, rain ticking like a slow clock. At last, he inclined his head, conceding the point if not the match.

"Negotiations are... postponed." He fetched his umbrella. "But the night is long, Mr Blackwood, and memory longer. Sleep lightly."

He stepped onto the porch; thunder rolled like distant drums. Before the door closed, Richard called, "Aurelius."

Vance paused beneath the lintel.

"Don’t tell anyone." Richard’s eyes glinted emerald in the gloom. "Accidents happen."

A ghost of a smile crossed the Guild‑Master’s face. "Duly noted."

He vanished into the rain, umbrella blossoming like a black flower.

The latch clicked; quiet, rushed back in. Richard pressed a hand to the panelled wall. He knows too much, but not enough to strike—yet.

He grabbed his phone and found Meredith’s number.

Vance knows about me. He won’t act out—not yet. Be careful.

Upstairs, he peeled off the rain‑slick cloak and stored it in his inventory. It’d be clean when he summoned it again...

Very well, Vance. You want a fight? I’ll give you war.

In the corridor, the grandfather clock tolled two; outside, the storm began to spend itself against the dark.

Richard rolled aching shoulders, headed for the training room, and drew both obsidian daggers.

Sleep could wait because Richard had grown complacent, and from now on, he had to get serious again.

Just wait.