Dromos 15 – Dromos 18, Imperial Year 1644
The Free City of Velathri – The Records Office
Kellan had worked in the records office for three years, ever since the city watch dismissed him. He sat at a wooden desk, surrounded by dusty scrolls and ledgers, his wire‑rimmed spectacles perched on his nose. The work was tedious – copying tax records, filing complaints, organizing birth certificates – but it paid enough for bread and a rented room.
He did not notice the figure in the gray cloak until it was standing directly before his desk.
"Kellan," the figure said.
Kellan looked up. The man was tall, pale, with sharp features and red eyes that seemed to glow in the lamplight. His cloak was plain, but his posture was that of a soldier or a hunter.
"The office is closed to the public," Kellan said.
"I am not the public."
Kellan's hand moved toward a drawer where he kept a small knife. The man did not react.
"I know about the corruption case," the man said. "Twelve years ago. You uncovered evidence that the watch captain was taking bribes from a smuggling ring. You presented your findings to the council. They dismissed you and buried the report."
Kellan's hand stopped. "Who are you?"
"Someone who values evidence. Someone who needs an analyst."
The man placed a leather folder on the desk. Kellan opened it. Inside were detailed case files – murders, assassinations, each with witness statements, financial records, and a final judgment. The handwriting was precise, almost mechanical.
"These are… private records."
"They are my records. Every target I have eliminated."
Kellan looked up, his face pale. "You are the Raven. The one they call Alucard."
"I am Zero now. The Raven was a mask I no longer need." The man – Vlad – extended a folded parchment. "Read this. It is a code of conduct. If it speaks to you, meet me at the old lighthouse in three days. Come alone."
He turned and walked away, leaving the folder and the parchment on the desk.
Kellan read the tenets. He read them twice. Then he began to read the case files.
Dromos 18, Imperial Year 1644
The Old Lighthouse – Dawn
Kellan stood at the base of the lighthouse, his satchel heavy with notes. The morning fog rolled off the sea, and the wind carried the smell of salt and rust.
Zero emerged from the mist. The armor was black, the cape black, the mask a featureless visage with a single glowing lens over the left eye. On the shoulder, a crest – a stylized bird with outstretched wings.
"You came," Zero said.
"I read the tenets. They are idealistic."
"So I have been told."
"But they are also honest. No glory. No false promises." Kellan adjusted his spectacles. "You want me to build cases. To find targets."
"Yes. You will not fight. You will not kill. You will investigate, analyze, and present your findings. The others will handle the field work."
"Others?"
Zero gestured. Two figures emerged from the fog – a broad‑shouldered man with a scarred face, and a lean woman with a bow slung across her back.
"The Hound," Zero said, indicating the man. "Former guard captain. The Sparrow," indicating the woman. "Former mercenary archer."
The Hound nodded at Kellan. Sparrow studied him with cool green eyes.
"You are the analyst?" Sparrow asked.
"I am."
"Good. We have been doing our own research. It is not our strength."
Zero extended a gauntleted hand. "Will you join us?"
Kellan took the hand. "Call me Rook."
"Rook it is."
Dromos 19, Imperial Year 1644
The Secondary Workshop – Briefing
The workshop was small but well‑organized – a workbench, a map table, a cabinet of weapons. Rook stood at the map table, spreading out his notes. Hound and Sparrow sat on benches, watching.
"A new target," Zero said. "Gregor Volker. Mine owner. He uses child labor. Children as young as six work twelve‑hour shifts. Those who refuse are beaten. Those who try to escape are killed."
Rook slid a folder across the table. "I have confirmed the evidence. Three witnesses – former miners who escaped. Two are willing to testify. The third is dead – murdered by Volker's men. The local guards are bribed. The crown has not responded to petitions."
Sparrow studied the folder. "Why not?"
"Volker funds half the nobles in the region." Rook's voice was flat. "Justice will not come from the law."
Hound looked at Zero. "What is the plan?"
"You will watch. This is my kill. I will demonstrate the weight of the act."
Zero walked to a cabinet and opened it. Inside lay a weapon none of them had seen before – a compact block of dark metal, no larger than a thick book.
"A new prototype," Zero said. "10mm caliber. Foldable."
He picked it up. With a flick of his wrist, the weapon unfolded – a barrel snapped into place, a grip extended, a magazine seated. The mechanism was smooth, almost silent.
Sparrow's eyes went wide. "It folds into a block? That is… incredible."
Rook leaned forward, his analytical mind already racing. "The hinges must be precise to a fraction of a millimeter. How did you achieve that without a workshop full of specialized tools?"
Zero held the unfolded pistol out for them to see. "Patience. And a lathe of my own design. The hinge points are reinforced with steel pins. The frame is aluminum – a light metal, difficult to produce. I have only enough for a few weapons."
Hound reached out, his scarred face showing genuine wonder. "May I?"
Zero handed him the unfolded pistol. Hound turned it over, feeling the balance, the weight. He pressed the release and folded it, then unfolded it again, watching the mechanism engage.
"It is lighter than any crossbow. And it fits in a pocket." He looked at Zero. "You built this yourself? In this workshop?"
"Over several years. The folding mechanism was the challenge. The rest I have built before."
Sparrow shook her head slowly. "I have seen master craftsmen in the Free Cities. They could not make something like this. The metal alone…" She looked at Zero with a mixture of awe and suspicion. "Where did you learn this?"
Zero did not answer directly. "I have had time to study. And practice."
Rook picked up the folded block, turning it over. "The tolerances are impossible. I used to inspect weapons for the city watch. The finest dwarven crossbows do not have this precision." He looked at Zero. "You are holding back. You could teach others to make these."
"I could. But I will not."
Hound frowned. "Why not? If we had weapons like this, we could—"
"You would become dependent on them. And if you lost one, the technology would spread." Zero's voice was flat. "I have seen what happens when advanced weapons fall into the wrong hands. Entire cities burn. The knowledge I carry is a curse as much as a gift. I will not share it."
Sparrow's jaw tightened. "So we fight with swords and bows while you carry thunder?"
"For now. But I am not without generosity." Zero walked to the cabinet and pulled out a smaller box. He opened it. Inside were three items: a spring‑loaded dart launcher, small enough to hide in a sleeve; a compact repeating crossbow, no larger than a forearm; and a set of throwing knives with weighted handles.
"These are prototypes I designed for field use. They are not firearms. They do not require advanced metallurgy. But they are effective, and they can be reproduced with local materials." Zero gestured. "Each of you will receive one, once you have proven yourselves further."
Hound picked up the dart launcher. "Silent?"
"Nearly. The dart is poisoned – a fast‑acting paralytic. It will not kill, but it will incapacitate."
Sparrow examined the repeating crossbow. "How many shots?"
"Three. The mechanism is spring‑loaded. It takes ten seconds to reload."
Rook took the throwing knives. They were balanced, the handles wrapped in leather. "These are simpler."
"You are an analyst. You will not be on the front lines. But you should have something to defend yourself."
Rook nodded, his earlier awe settling into respect. "Thank you."
"Do not thank me yet. You have not completed your training." Zero turned back to the foldable pistol, unfolded it once more, and holstered it under his coat. "Tonight, you will see it in action."
Dromos 19, Imperial Year 1644
The Volker Mine – Night
The mine was a scar in the mountainside, lit by torches and guarded by a dozen armed men. Zero led Hound, Sparrow, and Rook to a rocky outcropping overlooking the compound. He handed each a small spyglass.
"Watch," he said. "Learn."
He vanished into the darkness.
Volker's office was a wooden building at the center of the compound. The mine owner was a fat man with a red face and small, cruel eyes. He sat at his desk, drinking wine, counting coins.
Zero entered through the window. No magic. No invisibility. Just patience and shadows.
Volker looked up. His mouth opened to shout.
Zero raised the foldable pistol. The 10mm round struck Volker in the center of the forehead. The bullet entered cleanly, then fragmented inside the skull. The back of the man's head exploded outward, spraying blood and bone across the wall behind him. The sound was a sharp crack – loud but muffled by the wooden walls.
Volker's body slumped forward, face‑down on the desk. The wine glass shattered beneath his weight.
Zero holstered the pistol. He placed a folder of evidence – Rook's compiled case – beside the body. Then he left through the window.
Dromos 19, Imperial Year 1644 (continued)
The Rocky Outcropping – Aftermath
Zero rejoined the three knights. They had watched through the spyglasses. Hound's face was pale. Sparrow's hands gripped her bow so tightly her knuckles were white. Rook had removed his spectacles and was wiping them, a nervous habit.
"You saw," Zero said. "The kill was clean. Quick. He did not suffer."
Rook replaced his spectacles. "His head… the way it… I have seen corpses before. Never like that."
"The bullet fragments. Designed to stop a threat instantly. There is no cruelty in it – only finality."
Sparrow let out a slow breath. "You did not hesitate."
"No. Hesitation kills the innocent. I was certain of his guilt. The evidence was irrefutable."
Hound looked at the holster where the pistol was hidden. "The weapon folded into a block. You unfolded it before entering?"
"Yes. The mechanism takes two seconds. In close quarters, two seconds can be fatal. Preparation is key."
"And the sound?" Rook asked. "It was not as loud as your rifle."
"The shorter barrel reduces the report. Indoors, it echoes – but by the time anyone pinpoints the source, I am gone."
Sparrow shook her head slowly. "It is still… a lot. A man's head exploding from a small piece of metal. And you carry that in your coat like a purse."
"That is the purpose of the folding design. Concealability."
Hound spoke again, his voice low. "You said you would not give us weapons like that. I understand the risk. But watching it… I cannot help but wonder what we could do with such tools."
"You would become reliant on them. And then you would lose the skills that keep you alive when the weapons fail." Zero's tone was firm but not unkind. "The jam at Gray Rock – my rifle malfunctioned. I fell back on my pistols. If I had only the rifle, I would be dead. Do not put all your faith in a single tool."
Rook nodded slowly. "But you said we might receive something like the dart launcher. That is a start."
"It is. And when you are ready, I may teach you to build your own. But not the firearms. Never the firearms."
The three exchanged glances. Then Hound nodded.
"Understood."
"Good." Zero turned to descend the mountain. "Rook – you will build the next case. Hound and Sparrow – you will prepare for your own field mission. I will not always be the one to pull the trigger."
They followed in silence.
Behind them, the mine compound erupted in shouts and alarm. But the Black Knights were already gone.
End of Chapter Twenty-Eight