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SLW Chapter 34 : A Change of Plans
🕑 Added 2025-02-24 21:50:15 +0000 UTCAeron stood still, his violet eyes scanning the battlefield.
All around him, the last remnants of the faceless assassins lay motionless, their twisted forms littering the sand like discarded rags. The echoes of battle had long faded, leaving only the whispering wind of the Red Waste as his companion.
His shadow soldiers stood at attention, their dark, ethereal presence blending seamlessly with the eerie silence. One by one, they retreated into the darkness under his feet, vanishing into the void from which they came.
Aeron tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "How odd..."
He knew that magic in this world exists, fire-wielding priests, faceless killers, dragons that soared the skies. Westeros and Essos were both drenched in the unnatural, but these men... these creatures... they felt different.
They did not feel human at all.
Before he could ponder further, his vision suddenly blurred, and an all-too-familiar sound rang in his head.
Ding!
A message from the system.
[Quest Completed: Unknown forces seek your death. They will soon cross your path.]
[You have leveled up.]
[You have leveled up.]
[You have leveled up.]
[You have leveled up.]
[New Item Acquired:
Silverfangs
A pair of poison daggers, forged from dark Valyrian steel.
Legends say that when wielded together, they strike with the swiftness of a direwolf and the cunning of a shadowcat.
Can inflict bleed and poison effect
]
Aeron furrowed his brows as dark mist coiled in front of him, taking shape, two slender daggers.
They gleamed with a dull, sinister luster, their edges sharp enough to part the air itself. Black Valyrian steel, yet kissed with an eerie silver glow.
A smirk curled his lips. "Now this… is interesting."
Aeron let out a slow, controlled sigh. "Well as long as it’s over, so this quest.. it was all about them..."
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, collecting his thoughts. If they were the ones the system had warned him about, then this meant..
Ding!
His eyes snapped open. Another notification appeared before him. But this time, as he read the words, his breath caught.
The message felt... different.
Colder.
Heavier.
As if it carried something far greater than a mere warning.
[The higher beings of this world have taken notice of you.]
[You have been recognized as a threat.]
[Their Eight Apostles now seek your death.]
Aeron felt his body tense, his fingers unconsciously tightening around Direfang’s hilt.
“Eight Apostels ? Higher beings...?”
The phrase echoed in his mind, repeating over and over.
A sharp chuckle escaped his lips, though it carried no humor. "Higher beings? You mean the gods?"
He shook his head, but there was something new in his gaze—something caught between intrigue and unease.
"They actually exist here?"
A part of him wanted to laugh. Another part of him wanted to curse. But mostly?
He felt something new.
Not fear.
Not hesitation.
Excitement.
His eyes flicked back to the message, and before he could even begin to process the implications, another set of words materialized before him.
[New Quest: The Eight Apostles]
[Eliminate the Eight Apostles and claim the Black Heart.]
Aeron exhaled, his mind racing. "...The Black Heart !?"
His fingers twitched. He could already tell that meant unlocking the full reach of his Shadow Monarch powers.
Something far greater was at play here.
Aeron exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he stared at the The faceless men were gone, their bodies reduced to lifeless husks beneath the crimson-stained sand.
The revelation still weighed on his mind. The higher beings of this world have taken notice of you.
"Well… this changes everything."
He crouched down, dragging the tip of Direfang across the sand. A map began to take shape.
The blade moved with precision, carving out the rough outlines of Westeros and Essos. He marked key locations—places where his influence had already begun to take root.
“I have a shadow soldier in King’s Landing…” He tapped the capital with the tip of his sword. “One in the Riverlands… One in Winterfell…”
A pause. His violet eyes flickered for a brief moment a pulse of energy surging through his mind.
“And one… is getting closer to Storm’s End.”
A small smirk formed on his lips. Everything in Westeros was falling into place. His shadows were embedded in crucial locations, ready to feed him information the moment anything significant happened.
But here? In Essos?
He let out a short breath. "It’s just me… aside from the one with Daenerys."
His smirk faded. This new quest wasn’t something he could ignore. The Apostles were unlike any enemy he had faced before. What were they? Beings of divine power? Wretched, ancient forces? He didn’t know, and that uncertainty irritated him.
"I need a change of plans."
For a moment, Aeron remained silent, his fingers tracing over the sand. Then, his blade marked a distant land far beyond Asshai, his original destination.
A decision was made.
"I will not head to Qarth first."
His grip tightened around his sword. His course had changed..he would send a soldier to venture into the Shadowlands directly instead,
With a low whistle, the air trembled as Garm materialized beside him. The monstrous direwolf, a shadow of living darkness, towered over him, its eyes glowing.
Aeron placed a hand on the beast’s thick mane, turning toward the east. He pointed toward the farthest reaches of the map. "Garm, head to the Shadowlands. As fast as you can."
Without hesitation, the direwolf snarled and launched forward, its colossal frame vanishing into the horizon like a streak of black lightning.
“Next.”
Aeron raised his hand once more, calling forth Fang, his shadowcat. The creature emerged from his shadow, sleek and silent, its eyes gleaming with intelligence.
He knelt, carving another mark on the sand. "Fang, you go to Asshai."
The cat flicked its tail, understanding the command instantly. In the next heartbeat, it blurred into the distance, its speed almost unnatural as it raced toward its destination.
Aeron straightened, brushing the sand off his gloves. The pieces were in motion.
“Once they arrive, I’ll exchange with them.”
Now, there was only one more thing to do.
His violet eyes burned with power as he gazed upon Westeros, his mind reaching out across the vast distances where his shadows lurked.
"There’s an opportunity I need to take."
"Exchange."
And in an instant, Aeron vanished.
****
Stormlands – Bronzegate
The cold wind carried the scent of the stormlands, a mixture of damp earth and the salt of the distant sea. Aeron stood at the gates of Bronzegate Keep, the ancestral seat of House Buckler.
Two guards stationed at the entrance clutched their spears tighter, their expressions turning wary at the sight of a lone figure approaching a hooded man draped in black, with an air of unnatural calm. His presence felt wrong in the most inexplicable way, as if the very shadows bent around him, whispering in silence.
“Oi, halt!” one of the guards barked, stepping forward with his spear raised. “Who in the seven hells are you?”
Aeron stopped just a few feet away, his violet eyes glinting beneath his hood. There was no need for theatrics.
“The Shadow Monarch.” His voice was calm, deep, and absolute. Then, after a pause, he added, “Your monarch.”
Silence fell.
The guards exchanged uneasy glances, shifting uncomfortably under their armor. His presence his very existence felt unnatural to them. One of the men, clearly more seasoned, tightened his grip on his spear and scoffed.
“Shadow what? Monarch?” He sneered. “Never heard of you, and I doubt Lord Buckler has either. If you’re looking to beg for a place at his table, best turn around before we run you through.”
Aeron chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “Run me through?”
The mere suggestion was almost amusing.
The guard’s sneer faltered. Something about the way Aeron spoke, that quiet amusement felt like a predator humoring prey.
“Enough talk,” the other guard snapped, frustrated by the unease creeping up his spine. He leveled his spear. “You’re not getting through these gates. Now piss off.”
Aeron sighed as if he found this whole exchange tedious.
Then, he moved.
A blur of black. A gust of wind.
Before either man could react, Aeron appeared behind them, standing mere inches from the great doors of Bronzegate.
The guards staggered forward, their breath caught in their throats. They hadn’t even seen him move.
One of them turned sharply, panic flickering in his eyes. “Wh—what—?!”
Aeron did not answer.
A soft whistle of wind.
The guards remained standing for a heartbeat. Then another.
Then, suddenly, their heads slid from their shoulders, severed so cleanly that they didn’t even register their own deaths.
Two heavy thuds. Their bodies crumpled, the bronze of their helmets clanking against the stone.
Aeron sheathed his blade. He had cut them down without even sparing them a glance.
His violet eyes, still impassive, lifted toward the looming gates of Bronzegate Keep.
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