In the Shadows

A night breeze slipped into the main room through the crack in the door, causing the oil lamp flame to flicker.

Ruby sat on the bench, swinging her legs, when suddenly she exclaimed "Ah!" as if she had remembered something. She turned to Lowell, her turquoise eyes blinking in the dim light.

"Hmm... Come to think of it, you did mention that back at the academy." She tapped her chin with her finger. "That redhead you hated was defeated by this old man, right?"

Lowell, leaning against the wall, nodded upon hearing this.

"Yes, that's right."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear in the quiet room.

"Even after Frieren repeatedly reminded him and arranged for a night watch, and after Radaal repeatedly stated that he was there to assassinate him, this guy didn't even take out his weapon and was defeated at the speed of light."

"I used to admire him quite a bit. In some ways, he's a bit like Himmel, a living example of altruism, I don't deny that."

He raised his eyes and glanced at the people in the room.

"But merits and demerits cannot offset each other. One mistake can plunge the team into an abyss, and it's not a matter of strength, but rather a lack of even the most basic vigilance. Despite being members of the Night's Watch, they were arrogant and foolish in front of the enemy, not caring about the lives of their teammates, which led to Frieren's life ending up in someone else's hands."

"As for the organization Old Deng belongs to..." Lowell continued, "You should have met the members before. There 'Rain from the academy, Hawk-Eye, and that woman whose name I can't remember... anyway, she's Hawk-Eye's lover now, they were all members of 'Shadow Warriors.' They were the ones who attacked us, and they were defeated by Lupa and Solitär."

"Ah... those few..." Ruby blinked.

"'Shadow Warriors' is a special intelligence agency that has existed since the Unified Empire's era, specifically designed to assassinate mages. It consists entirely of warriors whose magical Concealment abilities have been enhanced."

He paused for a moment, as if finding it troublesome to explain, and simply waved his hand.

"Fine. I'll just show it to you directly."

He stretched out his hand, palm up, fingers gently cupped together in the air.

Ripples spread through the air in the center of the main room, and a semi-transparent, shimmering light curtain appeared, suspended in mid-air. The light and shadow flickered, gradually stabilizing to reveal a clear image.

The image shows a horse-drawn carriage in motion.

The shed was simple, and the wheels kicked up fine dust as they rolled over the dirt road. There were four people on the vehicle, one adult and three children, all dressed in ordinary coarse cloth clothes, looking like a farming family on a trip.

The four men still retained the sharp, not-yet-sharp, features characteristic of warriors. The youngest, "Radaal," sat on the outside, his back ramrod straight, his gaze calmly fixed on the fields rushing past outside the vehicle.

"We'll proceed as planned, posing as a family and infiltrating this village." The middle-aged man—codenamed "Number Eleven"—speaked, his voice clearer than before, but his tone steady. "The village is located near a mountain path; many people move here to find food, so it won't arouse suspicion."

The boy next to Radaal tugged at his coarse cloth clothes, his brows furrowing slightly.

"This outfit makes me really uncomfortable."

Radaal turned his face, the corners of his mouth curving upwards slightly, a faint smile with a touch of youthful nonchalance.

"Isn't it great to be able to wear such comfortable clothes?"

Number Eleven glanced at the two of them.

Are there any other opinions?

Radaal shook his head.

"No problem, Number Eleven."

Number Eleven's gaze fell on his face, pausing for a moment.

"No. I'm not Number Eleven now," he said, enunciating each word clearly. "Call me 'Dad.' And you're the youngest son in our family, 'Radaal.'"

Radaal smiled again, this time a deeper smile, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Indeed. I misspoke, Dad."

The images shift.

The village at night. Dotted lights shine in the darkness.

"Mom" linked arms with "Dad" as they walked along the village path, nodding and greeting the villagers they encountered with a perfectly timed, slightly shy smile on her face.

"Old Man" smiled and chatted with the old man smoking next to him about this year's harvest.

Natural, familiar.

They returned to their temporary lodging. The four of them sat around an old wooden table to eat. The meal was simple: a pot of stew and a few pieces of black bread.

The "eldest brother" took a spoon, scooped up a spoonful of stew, put it in his mouth, chewed a few times, and swallowed. He looked up at the other three people at the table, his voice carrying a subtle confusion that he himself didn't realize.

"It's a really strange feeling, eating together at the dinner table with everyone."

"Old Man" glanced at him, his expression unchanged.

"Hmm. Other Shadow Warriors will gradually infiltrate as well. Why do you say that?"

The "elder brother" was silent for a while, then unconsciously stirred the soup in his bowl with his spoon.

"... After being taken out of the orphanage, I never learned any survival skills other than fighting. Everyone else should be like that, right? 'Dad,' 'Mom,' 'Little Brother'?"

The people at the table chuckled softly. The smiles were brief, lacking warmth, like fulfilling a necessary expression.

"Old Man" looked away and lowered his head to eat.

"This meal is no different from usual. Just shut up and eat."

The "elder brother" slumped his shoulders slightly and said nothing more.

The room was quiet for a few seconds, with only the faint sounds of chewing and spoons hitting bowls.

"Dad" swallowed the food in his mouth, then spoke again, his voice flat.

"If you really want to talk about something, at least choose some trivial topics."

Radaal looked up, his eyes brightening, and a slightly childlike, eager smile appeared on his face.

"He really does resemble an old man. Well then, let me tell you my fishing story from today!"

He put down the spoon, leaned forward, gestured with his arms, and raised his voice slightly.

"I saw a huge fish by the stream at the village entrance today! It was this long!" He stretched out his hands to show an exaggerated length, "It was shimmering silver, and when it flicked its tail, it splashed water really high! After I caught it..."

"Dad" interrupted him, his brow furrowing slightly.

"... Idiot. How could there be such a big fish? Besides, we're family, where's your fish? This lie is too easy to see through."

Radaal looked at him, blinked, and then laughed. It was a clean, open laugh, with a hint of nonchalance after his prank had been exposed.

"Really? Then it seems I'm not quite there yet."

The screen scrolls faster.

During the day, they lived like ordinary villagers, working in the fields, fetching water, and chatting with their neighbors. At night, when their targets appeared, they became silent shadows, carrying out precise and swift assassinations.

On average, there is only one target that needs to be addressed every two years.

Time slips away silently in the daily grind, a mix of truth and falsehood.

The scene slowed down.

"Big Brother" found "Old Man" chopping wood behind the house. He stood there, watching "Old Man" swing the axe, the wood splitting open with a crack. After watching for a long time, he finally spoke, his voice low but clear.

"Old Man" stopped chopping wood. The axe hung in mid-air.

He remained silent for a moment, then, with his back to his "elder brother," slowly put down the axe and planted it on the ground.

"... Yeah."

He uttered only those two words in the end, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Do as you please."

The "elder brother" didn't say anything more, turned around and left, his steps a little faster than usual.

After a while, Radaal came out of the house and walked to "Old Man's" side. He watched "Big Brother's" figure disappear outside the courtyard gate, then looked at "Old Man" who was standing silently.

"Dad, what did he say?"

"Old Man" turned around, his face expressionless, but there was something dark in his eyes, something that had settled beneath years of calm. He patted the sawdust off his hands.

"He's going to marry the grocer's daughter."

Radaal's eyes widened slightly.

"Huh? You said that, brother? You gave your permission?"

"Old Man" bent down, picked up the chopped firewood, and stacked the pieces neatly.

"This will also help me gain trust and integrate into the village more effectively."

His voice was steady, with no fluctuation in his tone.

The images shift.

In the simple village church, sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting dappled patterns of light on the floor.

The "elder brother" was wearing a borrowed, slightly oversized old suit, with the grocer's daughter standing beside him, her cheeks flushed, wearing a white coarse cloth dress. The priest was reciting prayers, his voice echoing in the empty chapel.

A few villagers sat on a bench, laughing and talking in hushed tones.

Radaal stood in the relatives' section, looking ahead. He had a smile on his face, a smile no different from the surrounding villagers—sincere and warm. Only his fingers, which were at his sides, unconsciously curled up for a moment, then relaxed again.

A few years later.

Beside the mill at the village entrance, Radaal was talking to a girl with braided hair. The girl was carrying a vegetable basket, smiling with her head down, her ears slightly red.

The "big brother" walked over from the side, and after the girl had gone far away, he nudged Radaal with his shoulder and winked.

That girl is interested in you.

Radaal touched his nose and looked away.

"Don't joke with me, brother."

"Big Brother" laughed and patted him on the shoulder. He looked a bit fatter than a few years ago, with sunburn marks on his face from years of hard work, and his eyes were gentle, the sharpness of his youth now covered by the dust of life.

"Time flies. My child is already running around everywhere..." he said with a smile, a hint of helplessness in his voice. "Unfortunately, he has naturally curly hair like me, which is a pity. I didn't want him to inherit that from me."

Radaal turned his head, looked at him, and a smile appeared on his lips.

"Isn't that great? It proves the child is yours."

"Big Brother" paused for a moment, then laughed and scolded, reaching out to Radaal's already somewhat unruly hair.

"You... hahaha... you can joke now..."

He laughed for a while, then lowered his voice, gazing at the children chasing and playing by the edge of the field in the distance, his eyes somewhat unfocused.

"... Sigh, never mind. Actually, isn't it fine as things are? Anyway, we don't have a hometown we can go back to."

Radaal followed his gaze and remained silent for a moment.

"... Yeah."

The final frame of the image shows a scene in a courtyard in the afternoon.

"Dad" and "Mom" are not young either. A little boy, about five or six years old, with a head full of curly hair, is chasing a butterfly, wobbling and giggling. "Dad" looks at the child, and the corners of his mouth curve upwards into a very shallow but genuine smile.

"Mom" sat beside her, sewing shoe soles. Occasionally, she would look up at the child, then at "Dad," her eyes filled with a calm and gentle warmth that had settled over the years.

Radaal and "Big Brother" stood under the eaves, watching this scene unfold.

The "eldest brother" crossed his arms over his chest, his shoulders relaxed.

Time flies...

Radaal hummed in agreement, his gaze falling on the old man and the child, without saying a word.

The time is several decades later.

The elderly "Old Man" and Radaal stood side by side on the hillside at the entrance of the village, looking down at the winding dirt road and scattered houses below.

"Old Man" was a little hunched over, but his eyes were still bright. He touched his shiny bald head, glanced at Radaal's neatly trimmed beard, and curled his lips downwards.

"Radaal, you still have that kind of beard. It doesn't suit you at all."

Radaal stroked his beard and laughed.

"Dad, this has nothing to do with you. My wife says it's more fashionable this way! Haha."

"Old Man" looked at him and smiled, stared for a few seconds, then turned back and looked into the distance. The wind blew through his graying temples.

"Really? I see."

His voice was lowered, carried away by the wind.

"A main road will be built through this village. Few people will pass through here anymore. I suppose we... will receive notification that the mission is complete soon."

Radaal's smile faded slightly. He gazed in the same direction and remained silent for a long time.

"... provided they haven't forgotten us. We haven't received any contact for over thirty years."

"Dad" didn't reply immediately. He gazed at the setting sun slowly sinking into the mountains, its orange-red light painting his wrinkled face.

After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice soft and tinged with self-deprecation.

Is this what you want?

Radaal did not answer.

"Old Man" turned his head and looked at him, a very faint trace of nostalgia flashing in his weathered eyes.

"How shameful. Decades ago, you were hailed as a 'Warrior Who Fears Not Death'..."

He shook his head; his smile was brief and indistinct.

"Heh... Give up that title, let me use it. If you don't want that..."

Radaal turned his head and met his gaze. The two stared at each other for a long time.

Then, Radaal shook his head very, very slowly.

"Dad, you used to be, as far as I know, the most ruthless and loyal soldier who carried out missions."

"Old Man" listened quietly, his face expressionless. The light of the setting sun Burning in his eyes, then faded.

"... and it is the same now," he said.

Radaal's lips curved upwards slightly; the smile was brief, but it carried a heavy weight.

"At least before, you wouldn't joke like that, nor would you laugh like that."

"Old Man" paused for a moment. He raised his hand and touched his cheek, as if to confirm something. Then, he smiled, a smile that spread from the corners of his mouth to the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, appearing somewhat gentle in the dimming light.

"Really? I just laughed. Hehe..."

He lowered his hand and looked down at the land and houses they had lived on for decades, a place they knew by heart.

"... But do you have the right to call me a 'Warrior Who Fears Not Death'? Isn't it you who's afraid to leave all of this now?"

Radaal followed his gaze without speaking. After a moment, he laughed too. The laughter was soft, mingling with the sound of the wind.

The two stood side by side, gazing down the mountain, neither speaking. Only the wind rustled across the hillside, the grass bending low, creating a long, drawn-out sound.

In the distance, wisps of smoke rise from the village chimneys, blending into the twilight.

At the end of the scene, there is the voice of "Old Man," calm and deep, carried by the wind and drifting further away.

"... Perhaps it's because this boring game of make-believe isn't actually that bad."

The light screen went dark.

The scene then shifts to three years ago.

In a dimly lit room, filled with the smells of herbs and decay, the man who had once been "Big Brother" lay on the bed, emaciated and with sunken eyes. He struggled to raise his hand, and Radaal, sitting on the edge of the bed, grasped that withered hand.

"Big Brother's" hands were cold and trembling. He looked at Radaal, his cloudy eyes trying to focus a little light, his lips moving, his voice weak, but every word was clear.

"Finally... I'm so glad to see you..."

As the last syllable faded, the light in his eyes dimmed, and his hand fell limply to his side.

Radaal held his hand and sat motionless on the edge of the bed. The room was quiet, with only the whistling of the wind through the treetops outside the window.

He sat there for a long time.

Then, he slowly leaned down, his forehead gently resting on their clasped hands, his back arching in a heavy curve.

The light curtain went completely dark, turning into specks of light that dissipated into the air of the main room.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered.

The main room was completely silent.

The night wind slipped in through the crack in the door, carrying the chill of the distant mountains. A few distant barks could be faintly heard, but they quickly subsided.

Lowell lowered his hand, the light dust flickering for the last time at his fingertips before fading into nothingness. He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, his dark eyes devoid of emotion in the dim light.

"That's all."

He spoke, his voice steady.

"A forgotten intelligence organization, a group of forgotten warriors, and a decades-long game of make-believe that eventually became real."