Reawakening: I Can Absorb Infinite Skills - Chapter 101: Shadows Brewing

Chapter 101: Chapter 101: Shadows Brewing

Far from Greyhold, inside a stone chamber where torches burned low and silence was heavy, the air was thick with anger.

Figures sat in a half-circle, their cloaks draped across the cold floor.

“He promised us,” one of them spat, slamming his hand on the armrest. “The elder said he had control of the town. Claimed the hybrid’s rage would choke Greyhold in smoke and ash. And what happened? He threw away our years of preparation and died like a fool.”

“He always was too eager,” another replied, his voice sharp. “We told him Greyhold was not to be rushed. That city has merchants, influence, roots we nurtured for years. Yet he made a spectacle and failed. His blood and his beast wasted.”

The chamber stirred with murmurs.

“And now this boy, this Arden,” someone said bitterly. “A pest. No, more than a pest. He has a nose for our members. If he keeps at it, Greyhold will be barren ground before the season ends. Years of planting gone in days because of a child with secrets.”

Another sneered. “He’s no ordinary child. The reports from the elder said enough. He fights like a man grown, but there’s something off about him. Something hidden. We should tear him open to find it.”

“He has help,” another voice cut in. “That cursed lord of Greyhold fought at his side. They made a show of it. And now the people chant both their names. The lord is dangerous enough alone, but together? They’ve given the city a taste of hope. Hope is harder to kill than men.”

“Then let me take care of it,” one of them snapped. His tone was hot with arrogance. “I’ll silence that lord and his little stray. All it will take is my hand.”

The room erupted again, voices colliding, arguments bouncing against the stone walls.

Then a deeper voice broke through, calm yet sharp enough to cut their noise. “Enough.”

Silence fell immediately.

The most senior of them leaned forward, his face hidden in shadow, but his authority pressed down on them like weight.

His words came slow, controlled, though his displeasure was clear. “You waste your breath over spilled tea. One elder’s failure means nothing in the scope of our work. Yes, I am displeased. Yes, Arden has become a thorn. But thorns are plucked, not feared.”

He paused, the faintest curl of amusement tugging his lips. “Our mission continues. Greyhold is not lost. The experiment has not ended. We will make use of what remains, and we will grow stronger. The boy and the lord will be dealt with, in time. For now… focus.”

The chamber bowed their heads. No one argued further.

Back in Greyhold, Arden stretched his arms high as the sun warmed his face.

The streets were alive again, livelier than the day before. Music drifted faintly from a corner, merchants called prices, and children darted with wooden toys, pretending to fight hybrids in the alleys.

Rael walked at his side, chewing on a skewer of grilled meat. “Feels like the whole city’s moving on already. You wouldn’t think a battle happened two days ago.”

“That’s what hope does,” Arden replied, watching a group of merchants haggle fiercely over spices. “It keeps people from looking back too long.”

Nyra was less convinced. “Or maybe they’re just pretending nothing happened. Sometimes that’s the easiest way to keep living.”

Zephyra’s low growl carried, feathers bristling as her golden eyes scanned the crowd. “Not all is clean. I smell deceit, faint but there. Some among them still carry the scent of the creed.”

Arden rubbed her neck absentmindedly as he bought roasted chestnuts from a stall. “Then we’ll keep sniffing them out. No rush. We’re in their home now, and they don’t even know it.”

The day carried on in rhythm.

They walked the city slowly, not just as hunters but as part of the life pulsing through Greyhold.

Arden tossed nuts to children who squealed his name. Rael traded stories with smiths about swords and ore. Nyra lingered by jewelry stalls, pretending to scoff at trinkets though her eyes lingered too long on a silver chain. Zephyra padded silently beside them, a reminder that they weren’t just heroes to the people, but something more.

And always, in the crowd, they spotted shadows.

Near the market square, Arden caught the eyes of a man too quick to look away. He didn’t break stride, only murmured to his group. “Three o’clock. Grey cloak. He’s been pacing the stalls but hasn’t bought a thing.”

Rael shifted, pretending to adjust his sword. “You want me on him?”

“Not yet,” Arden said. He smiled and waved at a group of children pretending to be him. “Let him stew a bit. Patience makes rats sloppy.”

Later, by the river dock, it was Nyra who pointed out a woman whose hands trembled too much for a merchant.

Arden didn’t move against her immediately either. Instead he bought a loaf of bread, sat by the river, and let the woman circle once, twice, before Zephyra’s sudden growl had her stumbling away.

“Another one,” Nyra muttered.

“Slow and steady,” Arden repeated, biting into the bread. “We’re pulling weeds, not swinging an axe. Enjoy the walk while it lasts.”

They carried on like that through the afternoon, half celebration, half hunt.

Sometimes they caught whispers, sometimes they cornered strays who cracked under pressure, sometimes they simply marked faces for later.

By evening, the city settled into its nightly rhythm.

Taverns opened their doors, music spilled into the streets, and the smell of cooked meat filled the air. The group wove through the crowd with ease, names and praises following them like echoes.

Rael stretched his arms. “We’ve done enough for today. What now? Rest?”

Arden shook his head, his grin lopsided. “No rest yet. We’ve played long enough. Now it’s time to think about strength.”

Nyra narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“An old friend,” Arden replied, already turning toward a familiar street. “He owes us a few things… and we’ve got herbs from the last hunt he’ll want to see.”

Zephyra’s feathers ruffled. “The drunk old one. Boro.”

Rael blinked. “We’re going to Three Mugs?”

“Of course we are,” Arden said, smirking as lantern light washed over the cobblestones. “This party deserves a drink. And besides… we need his help.”

They walked on, laughter from taverns rising around them, until the faded sign of Three Mugs Bar swung into view.

Inside, Arden knew, waited a man with knowledge they needed for the battles to come.

The games of Greyhold had lasted long enough. It was time to prepare.

And with that thought, Arden pushed open the tavern door.

A/N:

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