My Cheat Skill Lets Me Copy Powers....But only if i kill-Chapter 38: King’s Pawn

Chapter 37 - King's Pawn

The walls of Valkris loomed ahead, their grey stone bathed in the golden hue of late afternoon, casting long shadows across the dirt road. The breeze carried the familiar scent of the city — smoke from forge fires, fresh bread from the market district, and the subtle tang of the nearby river.

Renji inhaled slowly. The smells, the sounds, even the skyline — all the same.

Yet everything felt... off.

Not wrong. Just off.

His boots crunched over loose gravel as he approached the gates, the weight of his worn gear pulling heavier with each step. Ash clung to his cloak's hem, the faint scorch marks along his bracers a quiet reminder of the battle below ground.

To his left, Elara kept her arms crossed, eyes scanning the city walls, her usual smile absent. On his right, Lena moved with less bounce than usual, her fingers resting lightly on the hilt of her blade, more out of habit than need.

They didn't speak — not because there was nothing to say, but because the silence between them felt more honest.

The two guards at the gate shifted as they neared, their postures stiffening. One of them glanced at Renji, brows drawing together slightly. No recognition, no alarm — just that hesitation people have when they sense someone's been through too much.

No words exchanged, just a nod.

Renji didn't return it. He walked through the gates without slowing, the familiar streets of Valkris stretching before him.

The city was alive — the market bustled, vendors called out prices, adventurers shouted to each other from tavern steps. But as Renji and his companions entered the heart of it all, a noticeable shift rippled outward.

Conversations didn't stop entirely, but they softened. Heads didn't turn directly, but eyes flicked over shoulders, following their path. A few paused mid-step, hands frozen halfway to coin purses or tankards.

Lena's voice was quiet, barely audible. "They feel it."

Elara nodded. "We went into the unknown... and came back. That doesn't go unnoticed."

Renji's gaze drifted over a group of adventurers near a tavern, their laughter dying down as they caught sight of him. One of them leaned in, whispering something — his companion shrugged, glancing Renji's way.

Curiosity. Speculation. But no answers.

"Let them guess," Renji muttered, more to himself than them.

They reached the familiar bend in the road where the inn came into view. Its crooked sign, still swinging gently, creaked in the wind — a sound so normal it felt foreign.

Elara paused beside him. "Guild next?"

He nodded once. "They'll want a report."

Lena tilted her head. "Want us to come?"

"No." He met her eyes briefly. "I need time. Alone."

They didn't argue. Elara reached out, gave his arm a light squeeze. "We'll be at the inn. Don't vanish."

Renji offered a faint, tired smirk. "I'll try."

As they turned toward the inn, he stood still for a moment, the sounds of Valkris swirling around him — muted, distant.

Then he walked toward the guildhall, the weight of unseen eyes trailing behind him, and the truth of the dungeon sealed in silence.

The moment Renji stepped into the guildhall, the air felt thicker.

The room buzzed with noise — laughter, clinking mugs, the dull thud of boots on stone — but as he passed through the doors, the energy shifted. Not silence — that would've been too obvious — but a sudden awareness. The kind that pulled eyes toward him, even when heads didn't turn.

A conversation near the bounty board faltered mid-sentence. The sharp bark of a laugh near the bar trailed off into a cough. Adventurers glanced sideways, subtle as they thought they were, their gazes flicking over Renji's scorched cloak, the dirt-streaked armor, the worn handle of his blade.

He didn't return the stares. Just moved forward, each step deliberate, boots echoing over the polished stone floor.

At the reception counter, a familiar clerk caught sight of him. Her posture straightened immediately, professionalism snapping into place. "Renji. One moment."

She didn't ask about the dungeon. Didn't ask if he was injured, if he needed a rest. Instead, she vanished through a side door, quick and efficient.

Renji stood still, arms crossed. The noise around him resumed — carefully. Controlled. He caught snippets of hushed words, nothing distinct. It didn't matter. He knew the tone.

They didn't know what happened — but they knew he came back when others didn't.

The clerk returned, not alone.

A man followed her — tall, shoulders squared, his black uniform pressed and immaculate. The guild insignia glinted from a pin on his chest, silver thread against dark cloth, marking him not as staff, but as a ranking officer.

His eyes found Renji's with practiced ease. Not cold — not warm. Measuring.

"Guild Officer Maren. I'll take your report." No question. No option to refuse.

Renji followed him through a quiet corridor into a side office — small, clean, the air scented faintly of ink and aged parchment. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ledgers. A single wooden table sat in the center, with two chairs facing each other.

Maren gestured to the seat across from him and sat without waiting. Quill in hand, parchment before him, he began without ceremony.

"You explored the dungeon recently discovered beneath Valkris. Your party was gone longer than projected."

Renji didn't respond immediately. His gaze settled on the room — no windows, one door, a wall sconce flickering with gentle light. He answered flatly, "The dungeon was unstable. Collapsing as we moved deeper."

Maren scribbled something with neat strokes. "Survivors?"

"Only my party."

No reaction. No emotion in Maren's face.

"What threats were encountered?"

"Dungeon-class beasts. Environmental hazards. Structural collapse." Renji's tone didn't waver. "Standard complications for an unexplored dungeon."

Maren's quill hovered above the parchment. "And at the core?"

Renji met his gaze evenly. "Neutralized. It's inaccessible now."

A pause stretched between them.

Maren nodded slowly, pen moving again. "Understood."

Another beat of silence. Then he reached into a drawer, pulling out a parchment and a black insignia pin. Both were slid across the table with deliberate care.

"Due to the completion of your task, and the successful return of your team under exceptional conditions, the guild recognizes your efforts. Effective immediately, your rank is elevated to B Rank."

Renji picked up the parchment, examining the updated credentials without a word.

"No formal ceremony," Maren added, as if sensing the question. "Given recent events, we're opting for discretion."

Renji slipped the document into his coat, fingers brushing the edge of the black insignia. It didn't matter to him — but it mattered to others.

Maren stood, tucking the report into a leather-bound folder. "You've drawn attention, Renji. Within the guild. Beyond it."

Renji's eyes narrowed.

"Some call it respect. Others see a rising power. The difference is one of perception." Maren paused, gaze sharp. "Tread carefully."

Without waiting for a response, Maren turned and left the room.

Renji stood there a moment longer, alone in the quiet. The walls felt closer now, the air a little heavier.

He stepped back into the guildhall, slipping the insignia into his cloak pocket.

No one approached.

But every eye he passed watched.

The inn's common room had the comforting murmur of familiarity — the clink of mugs, the low hum of conversation, the steady warmth of a fire burning in the hearth. Yet at their corner table, Elara and Lena sat in tense silence, mugs untouched, eyes not on each other but drifting, unfocused.

Elara broke the stillness first, voice low. "He hasn't said a word about what happened. Not to us. Not to anyone."

Lena leaned back, arms crossed. "He hasn't stopped moving since we got back. Straight to the guild. Never asked if we were alright."

"He's not like that."

"He wasn't."

The words lingered in the air like smoke.

Elara's gaze flicked toward the stairs, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing in. "Did you notice? When we got back to the room? That letter. The one from the princess. It's still under his bedroll."

Lena looked over, frowning. "You checked?"

"No. I didn't need to." Elara's eyes narrowed slightly. "He touched the bed, looked right at it, and didn't move it. It's like he's... afraid to read it."

Lena scoffed, but her voice lacked conviction. "Or he already knows what it says."

They fell into silence again, the fire crackling beside them, a sharp contrast to the cold weight between their shoulders.

Elara reached for her mug but didn't drink. "He's pulling away."

Lena didn't argue. She sat still, eyes fixed on the wooden grain of the table. "Do you think he's planning something?"

Elara's fingers tightened slightly. "I think he's trying to carry everything alone. Again."

A moment passed.

Lena exhaled sharply, breaking the tension. "When he comes back, we're talking to him. No more waiting. No more pretending this is fine."

Footsteps echoed on the stairs.

Both turned as Renji descended, cloak draped over his shoulders, expression unreadable as ever. He paused at the bottom, eyes sweeping the room, then meeting theirs.

Lena gestured to the empty seat. "You planning to sit, or keep brooding in the corner?"

Renji didn't smile, but he crossed the room and sat opposite them without a word.

Elara didn't wait. "We need to talk."

He didn't flinch. "So talk."

Their eyes locked — and the tension hung heavy between them.

But the letter remained unspoken, still hidden beneath the bedroll, a quiet secret neither dared bring up.

Valkris by night was a city of shadows and whispers. Lanterns glowed dimly in the windows of shuttered shops, and the stone-paved streets echoed with the occasional clatter of a cart or the distant bark of laughter from taverns that never quite closed.

Reina moved like a wraith through the quieter outskirts, her dark cloak blending seamlessly into the night, boots making no sound on the worn stone. She knew these streets well by now — the alleys, the blind corners, the rooftops perfect for watching without being seen.

But tonight wasn't for watching.

She crossed into a narrow passage behind the eastern wall of the guildhall, stopping beneath an archway carved with weathered sigils of Valkris' founding families. Time and wind had worn them nearly smooth, but she traced them absently with her gloved fingers.

A place forgotten. Fitting.

Footsteps echoed softly ahead — precise, controlled.

She turned, already knowing the figure that would emerge from the dark.

The man was tall, armored beneath a cloak marked with the royal crest of Lysoria — a silver sun over a black field. His face was sharp, clean-shaven, with eyes that held no patience for delays.

"Reina." His tone held authority, sharpened by annoyance. "You're late."

She didn't blink. "You're early."

The man approached, stopping two paces away. "No reports. No updates. His Majesty expects efficiency, not silence."

"There's nothing worth reporting," Reina replied evenly, arms crossed.

The man's gaze narrowed. "He returned from a collapsed dungeon. Alive. That alone demands explanation."

"I'm watching him. Closely." Her voice stayed flat, but inside her chest, tension tightened like a wire. "He's... changed, but not unstable."

The agent frowned, adjusting the clasp of his cloak. "That's not your call. You're to observe and deliver actionable details. If he falters —"

"I'll act." The words came sharp, harder than she intended.

Silence stretched between them, the distant hum of the city the only sound.

Finally, the agent produced a sealed scroll, wax stamped with the king's crest. "You'll deliver your assessment in person. Two days. The king will hear from you directly."

Reina didn't reach for the scroll immediately. "Two days?"

"Enough time to confirm what needs to be known — whether he's an asset... or a liability."

She took the scroll, slipping it into her satchel without breaking eye contact.

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The agent's eyes lingered on her face a moment longer, searching for cracks in her mask, then turned sharply, disappearing into the darkness without another word.

The silence that followed felt heavier.

Reina leaned back against the stone wall, eyes closed, breath steadying.

Two days.

She looked skyward, the moon caught between wisps of cloud, and then toward the inn where Renji slept, oblivious to the storm circling around him.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the scroll.

Family or mission.

Soon, she'd have to decide which mattered more.