Chapter 10: Duskmoor the New City and The Offer
Duskmoor didnât smell like rot.
That alone made Leon suspicious.
It was bigger than Grayridge by farâwide stone streets, watchtowers with banners that didnât look like theyâd been dipped in regret, and people who walked like they werenât constantly scanning for alley stabbings.
He rode behind Seraphine, hands loosely gripping the saddle, eyes darting everywhere. Guards at the gate had saluted the moment she came into view. No hesitation. No questioning the kid clinging to her back. Just respect. Deference.
Even the common folk paused to bow or step aside.
Yeah. She wasnât just some commander.
She was âtheâ commander.
Leon leaned slightly. "You get this treatment everywhere, or is this just a Duskmoor âplease donât kill usâ thing?"
Seraphine didnât answer. She didnât have to.
The city spoke for her.
They passed through a gate flanked by stone lionsâactual lions, carved with such precision Leon half-expected them to blink. The buildings here were cleaner. Older. Prideful without shouting. And then came the mansion.
Or maybe fortress.
The Commanderâs estate sat against the northern cliff wall, part manor, part military outpost. Thick iron gates, a stone path lined with trimmed hedges, and archers positioned discreetly on the second level.
âSubtle,â Leon thought. âNothing says "welcome" like rooftop snipers.â
They dismounted in the courtyard. Seraphine handed the reins off without a word. Leon hopped down, landing lightly on his boots.
A pair of maids approached. Clean uniforms. Nervous smiles.
"Sir," one said, bowing slightly to Leon. "The Commander has instructed us to prepare a bath and clothing."
He raised an eyebrow. "Wow. First soup, now spa day. Iâm living the dream."
They didnât get the joke, but they bowed again and led him inside.
---
The bath was large enough to drown a conspiracy in.
Steam curled like ghosts over the surface, and the scentâlavender and something expensiveâhit Leon like a luxurious ambush. He took his time scrubbing off blood, dirt, and goblin remnants. It felt less like cleaning and more like deleting a save file.
When he finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, the maids were waiting with a folded set of clothesâsoft fabric, finely made, nothing flashy.
He changed quickly. The fabric hugged his frame without suffocating it, and the mirrorâ
Oh.
One of the maids gasped.
Another actually dropped the towel sheâd been holding.
"His hair is so white..."
"Look at those eyes! Like... moonlight."
"Heâs adorable. Like a doll."
Leon blinked. He hadnât even styled it.
He looked at himself. Pale white hair, silver eyes, fresh skin.
He looked like an angel.
Or at least a really judgmental elf child.
âGreat,â he thought. âFrom goblin slayer to walking portrait. At this rate, Iâll be getting kidnapped by nobles in no time.â
A polite knock on the wooden frame interrupted the chaos.
"Youâve been summoned to the Commanderâs chamber," one maid said.
Leon sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Time to find out whether Iâm getting thanked, arrested, or drafted."
He followed the maid through the stone halls of the mansion, the clicks of his soft shoes barely echoing as he was led to the room of the woman who might very well change everything.
The Knight-Commanderâs chamber wasnât extravagantâbut it wasnât lacking, either. Everything about it was purpose-driven.
A large window overlooked the northern wall, casting golden light across shelves lined with books and scrolls. Maps were pinned to the walls, some marked with pins and scribbled notes. A rack of weapons stood in one corner, pristine and untouched. A wide desk dominated the center of the room, papers stacked in controlled chaos.
Seraphine stood behind it, still in partial armor, her sword leaning against the wall beside her.
Leon stepped in, and the door clicked shut behind him.
She didnât waste time.
"Youâre talented," she said, tone sharp as steel. "I wonât pretend youâre not. Which is why I canât let you walk away."
Leon raised an eyebrow. "What happened to âthanks for saving your border town, kidâ and a fruit basket?"
She didnât smile.
"I want you to join Duskmoorâs standing army."
He blinked.
"Straight to recruitment, huh? No dinner first?"
"Seven years old or not, you fought like someone whoâs already survived war. And survived well."
She walked around the desk and stood in front of him, arms crossed.
"You wouldnât just join the rank directly, you would be trained for a few years before that as your body was weak as a twig, Youâd start with a basic rank, but be given fast-track access to training, gear, and most importantlyâresources. Ten silver coins per week. Personal quarters. Training partners. Food. Protection. And when youâre ready..."
She motioned to a scroll on her deskâan intricate seal stamped at the top.
"Youâll be guided into your Class Awakening."
Leonâs brow furrowed.
Seraphine explained, calm and methodical.
"There are dungeons across this continentâAwakening Dungeons. Each person, when they come of age or prove capable, is permitted to enter one. If you clear it, your soul respondsâyou gain a Class. Not just a title. A path. Power. Mana. Skills. The ability to grow."
He stayed quiet.
"Itâs the only way to use mana," she continued. "Without it, youâll remain mundane. Clever, yes. But limited. And in this world, the limited die first."
Leon leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"Thatâs a hell of a sales pitch. You rehearse that?"
She didnât answer.
He let the silence hang for a beat, then said plainly, "I appreciate the offer. Sincerely."
"But?" she prompted.
"But Iâm not interested in pledging loyalty. Or swearing oaths. Or stamping my forehead with âproperty of Duskmoor.â"
She raised an eyebrow, just slightly.
Leon smiled, sharp and unapologetic.
"Iâll join as a mercenary. Contracted, not conscripted. You call, I answerâwhen it benefits us both."
"You want the perks without the chain," she said.
"I want freedom," Leon replied. "And options."
The tension in the room shifted.
Not anger.
Just reassessment.
She studied him again. This boy. This child. White hair. Silver eyes. More experience in his posture than someone twice his age.
Seraphine didnât push back.
Not yet.
Instead, she returned to her desk, fingers tapping the wood lightly.
"Mercenary," she repeated. "That has complications."
"So does conscripting a child who just wants to survive," Leon replied.
Her eyes met his again.
No heat.
Just understanding layered in steel.
"Iâll consider it," she said.
"Good," he said, turning toward the door. "Let me know before you put my name on any uniforms."
Three days passed.
Three entire days of what Leon could only describe as "royal treatment"âor at least, what âheâ imagined it to be. Warm meals three times a day. Fresh clothes. A soft bed that didnât smell like mildew and desperation.
Most people wouldâve considered it heaven.
Leon? He considered it suspicious.
He wasnât stupid. Generosity like this always came with strings. If not ropes.
Still... he wasnât above enjoying it.
Especially the food.
On the second day, heâd actually paused mid-bite and murmured, "Is this... truffle oil?" before immediately slapping himself for knowing what truffle oil was.
But he didnât let the comfort lull him. Not completely.
He trained.
Every morning, before breakfast, he woke early and drilled. Lunges, dagger drills, footwork routines across the narrow confines of his room. He pushed himself harder than everânot just for technique this time, but for strength.
Speed and agility had saved his life during the goblin attack. But strength?
That was the difference between surviving and winning.
No hourglass this time. He didnât dare risk it.
He didnât know how closely they were watching. Seraphine mightâve given him space, but she wasnât the type to let a potential threat go âunobserved.â
And the Dimensional Hourglass glowed like a cursed artifact begging to be snitched on.
So he kept things simple.
Grit. Sweat. Muscle ache.
Progress.
By the fourth morning, his legs no longer shook during lunges. His grip had calloused. His arms no longer trembled after long routines.
He was still small. Still seven.
But he didnât âfeelâ fragile anymore.
---
It was just after dawn on the fourth day when the knock came.
Leon opened the door to find the same stiff-backed soldier from before.
"The Commander will see you," he said.
Leon rolled his shoulders, adjusted the daggers at his waist, and nodded.
Back to the lioness in silver.
Time to see what she wanted âthisâ time.