Shadow Slave: The Four Horseman of Deviants

"So, how have you been this past month? Managing well for an amnesiac, I assume?"

Professor Seamore asked as he poured tea into two delicate cups, the aroma of herbs filling the room.

Lee sat at the table, absentmindedly circling his fingers against the wood. His expression was contemplative, a clear sign of inner turmoil.

"Well… I can't really say I'm doing well, Professor Seamore," Lee admitted, his voice tinged with hesitation.

"But I'm managing… somehow." He shrugged playfully. The professor observed him closely, sensing the weight of his unspoken thoughts. Deciding to probe gently, he spoke with a reassuring tone.

"It seems you have something troubling you, my boy. Perhaps sharing it will ease your burden."

Lee's posture softened, the professor's words disarming his defenses.

"How can I put this… It's not a huge deal, but Niro and I had an argument recently."

Professor Seamore placed a cup of tea in front of Lee and gestured for him to continue.

"Go on, tell me what happened," he encouraged.

Lee hesitated but then relented.

"It was about my memories—or the ones I've lost. I told him I wanted things to be normal between us, for him to act like he always has. He seemed fine with it at first… but that wasn't the real issue."

The professor leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "If that wasn't the issue, then what led to the disagreement?"

Lee sighed, frustration flickering in his eyes.

"I think Niro's hiding something from me. He wasn't being completely honest, and I could tell. So, I confronted him about it. I told him that if he wouldn't tell me the whole truth, then I wouldn't talk to him anymore."

Professor Seamore took a slow sip of tea, the porcelain cup clinking softly as he set it back on the saucer. His voice was gentle but firm when he spoke.

"I think you should talk it out again. Make amends. You two have always been close, sticking together through thick and thin. Don't let one argument ruin that bond."

Lee frowned. "But I'm not sure if he even wants to talk to me right now, Professor."

"Give him time," Seamore advised with a kind smile. "He'll come around when he's ready. But let's put that aside for now—I have something for you."

Curious, Lee watched as the professor moved toward a neatly organized shelf filled with various antiques and curiosities, each piece seemingly worthy of a museum display. Seamore picked up a small black box tied with a slim ribbon.

"What's that, Professor?"

Seamore untied the ribbon carefully and removed the lid, revealing a sleek pair of glasses inside.

"It's a gift," he said, placing the box in front of Lee. "But not just any glasses. Try them on."

Without hesitation, Lee slipped on the glasses. At first, they seemed ordinary—until a sudden surge of information appeared before his eyes. A holographic book materialized in his vision, highlighting key details within its pages.

Lee's jaw dropped, his amazement evident.

"What is this, Professor? How does it work?"

Seamore chuckled. "That, my boy, is a prototype. It contains detailed information about various plants—herbs, medicinal ingredients, even rare edible flora. I had some help from Awakeneds specializing in Sorcery to bring it to life. It's quite the piece of technology, wouldn't you agree?"

"This is incredible…" Lee said, still in awe.

"Are you really giving this to me? It feels too expensive."

"I'm certain," Seamore replied with a warm smile. "I have plenty of inventions, some far more advanced than this prototype. Consider it a gift for my special student."

Lee bowed his head slightly, overwhelmed with gratitude. "Thank you, Professor. I promise to take good care of it."

"You're welcome, Mason. Just make sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

Lee spent a moment flipping through the holographic book, marveling at the advanced technology. Though smartphones from his time were undoubtedly superior, the blend of magic and innovation from this steampunk-like era was astonishing.

After a while, the professor broke the silence.

"So, Mason, what do you plan to do next?"

"Huh?" Lee blinked, snapping out of his daze.

"I asked, what are your plans now?" the professor repeated, clearing his throat.

Lee thought for a moment before replying.

"I'm going to report back to my dad and update him about my situation. After that… I'll find Niro and talk to him again."

Seamore nodded approvingly. "I see. Well, I wish you the best of luck. I hope you two can reconcile."

"Thank you, Professor. I hope so too."

...

On the other side of Markarth, a place notorious for its delinquents, the area was infested with vermin and bugs. But what made it worse were the people who lived there—a harsh reflection of its decay.

In a secluded alleyway, two ruggedly dressed men were mercilessly beating a young child.

The boy, covered in snot and spit, huddled on the ground, his small arms shielding his head as he endured their relentless kicks. Though it was futile, he refused to cry out, gritting his teeth against the pain.

Then, a young man appeared at the mouth of the alley. He had stark white hair and wore well-tailored clothes, a sharp contrast to his surroundings.

Without hesitation, the young man approached the scene, his steps calm and deliberate.

The thugs barely noticed him before he lunged, striking with such force that both men staggered backward.

Furious at the intrusion, the pair charged at him like wild animals, roaring in anger. But their efforts were in vain—the young man dispatched them effortlessly, leaving them unconscious in the dirt.

The boy remained where he was, trembling. He tried to speak, but his voice was reduced to a garbled whimper.

The young man knelt beside him, gently patting him down to check for injuries. Then, with ease, he hoisted the boy onto his back.

"Sorry you had to go through that," the young man said softly. "But don't worry—you're safe now."

The boy sniffled. "...Thank you, mister."

"No problem."

The boy clung tightly to him, burying his face in the man's back as if seeking comfort.

"What's your name, mister?" he asked, his voice muffled.

"My name is Niro," the man replied with a small smile. "But you can keep calling me mister if you want."

"That's a weird name, mister," the boy said with a soft chuckle.

"Hey, don't make fun of my name! My mother gave it to me. She said it's the name of a flower."

The boy rubbed his face against Niro's back, squirming playfully.

"Hey! Are you wiping your face on me?" Niro protested.

"Hehe."

Niro sighed, a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Alright, what about you? What's your name?"

"Woody!" the boy declared proudly.

"Woody, huh? That's a weird name too!" Niro teased.

"Yes, but Woody is better!" the boy shot back, grinning.

"Alright, alright," Niro chuckled. "You win. Your name is better."

Shifting the conversation, Niro asked, "Woody, can you tell me why those bad men were after you?"

"They… they wanted to know where Papa is," Woody said hesitantly.

Niro frowned. 'Why would thugs be after his father?'

He glanced at the boy. From his disheveled appearance, it was clear Woody lived somewhere nearby.

"Hey, Woody, do you know where you live?"

"I… I don't know, mister. Can you help me?"

"Of course I'll help you," Niro said reassuringly.

Woody's face lit up. "Thank you, mister!"

Carrying Woody, Niro walked around the area, asking anyone who would listen if they recognized the boy or knew where his parents lived. Unfortunately, no one had any information.

"Sorry, Woody," Niro said after hours of fruitless searching. "This might take a while."

The boy nodded silently, his small hand gripping Niro's tightly.

As dusk settled over the streets, Niro, now exhausted, trudged along with Woody by his side. His haggard expression betrayed his weariness, but he pressed on.

"Sorry, Woody," he said finally. "I don't think we'll find your home tonight."

Tears welled up in Woody's eyes. "But… I want to go home. I want to see Mommy!" he sobbed.

"I know, Woody," Niro said gently. "But we need help. Let's head to the patrol station. The guards might be able to find your family."

Woody sniffled but nodded reluctantly.

.....

At the patrol station, Niro approached one of the guards. "Sir, could you take care of this boy? He's lost, and I haven't been able to find his family."

"What? Why do you want to leave me here, mister?" Woody cried, clinging to Niro's leg.

"I'm sorry, Woody, but I have something important to do tonight," Niro said, crouching down to pat the boy's head. "The guards will help you find your parents, I promise."

Woody's tears streamed down his face. "But I need your help, mister! Please don't leave me!"

Niro forced a reassuring smile. "I'll check on you tomorrow, alright? I promise."

Woody sniffed, his voice trembling. "You better promise, mister!"

"I do," Niro said firmly, standing up. He handed the boy over to the guard, who nodded and led Woody inside.

As Niro turned to leave, he glanced back once more, his heart heavy. I'll make it up to you, kid. I promise.

….

In his apartment, Niro sat at a modest dining table, eating dinner under the dim glow of a single candle. The quiet was almost oppressive, but it didn't bother him. He preferred the stillness—solitude was something he had long grown accustomed to.

Taking a bite of his meal, he chewed slowly, savoring every flavor.

"You know, I prefer my food rare," he remarked idly. "Not too raw, not too cooked. Just enough to keep its essence intact."

"Is that so…"

A shadowy figure lingered in the corner of the room, their tall, lean frame partially obscured by the dim light. They toyed with a dagger, running their fingers along its edge with practiced ease.

"Why are you just standing there? Sit down and join me for a meal," Niro said, his tone calm but firm.

The figure hesitated for a moment, then complied, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite him.

"Do you have the item I requested?" the figure asked in a low, gravelly voice.

"Of course," Niro replied, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief. He rose from his seat and walked to the window, adjusting the curtain. His movements were deliberate, his eyes scanning the surroundings outside with quiet vigilance.

"Did anyone see you come in here?"

The figure's voice was steady. "I wouldn't be here if they had."

"Good," Niro said, nodding. "I'm glad to know I'm working with someone competent."

As he finished fixing the curtain, Niro reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object. He held it up, letting the dim candlelight illuminate the amulet in his hand.

It was a beautiful yet sinister piece, adorned with a purple gemstone at its center, glowing faintly like a smoldering ember.

Grinning, Niro turned the amulet over in his fingers. "Like taking candy from a child. The thugs I dealt with were carrying this. Funny thing is, the boy didn't even know what it was—a relic this deadly, in the hands of a child. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

The figure scoffed, their expression indifferent. "I couldn't care less about the specifics. What matters is that we have it. Now let's head back to the ruins."

"That's not a wise move," Niro said, his grin fading. "A friend of mine recently came back from the dead. In exchange, he lost his memories. Because of that incident, the Awakeneds have started poking around the area. Heading to the ruins now would be reckless."

The figure clicked their tongue in frustration. "Damn it. What do you suggest we do, then?"

Niro placed the amulet on the table, its faint glow casting eerie shadows across their faces. "I have an idea," he said, his tone measured. "But it'll take some convincing with the others. And let's not forget, there's still a child we need to pry answers from."

The figure leaned back in their chair, their grip on the dagger tightening. "This better work, Niro."

"It will," Niro replied, his voice steady but edged with confidence. "Patience, my friend. We're playing the long game now."

….

Riding in a carriage, Lee couldn't shake the feeling of anxiety that weighed on him. He was about to meet Mason's father—or perhaps, in this life, his own.

He wasn't sure how to approach this. What was he supposed to say? "Hey, Dad, sorry for the long trip. Took me a while, but I'm back now. How've you been?"

The thought made him cringe. It wasn't like he was meeting a strict parent, but something about nobles always set him on edge. In his mind, they were dignified, egotistical, and impossible to please.

'Get a grip', he told himself. 'These are just stereotypes. No point freaking out over imaginary scenarios.'

He gave himself a quick pep talk under his breath: "Alright, Mason, you've got this. Just talk to him like you're his son. This isn't some strict aristocratic parent from a Webtoon or anime. This is real life. Be open-minded. Worst-case scenario, he won't exile you or anything… right?"

With a jolt, the carriage came to a stop.

Outside, a grand mansion came into view. The estate was ornate, its trimmed hedges and carefully crafted pathway leading elegantly to the main entrance. A fountain stood proudly in the center of the courtyard, its waters dancing gracefully in the sunlight, and a small, quaint cottage rested near the mansion's edge.

The coachman stepped down, opening the carriage door for Lee.

"Welcome home, sir," a butler said with a polite bow.

A group of servants gathered at the entrance, bowing as one to greet their young master.

Lee nodded in acknowledgment, stepping out as the coachman rode off, leaving him in the care of the waiting staff. They silently guided him up the stone pathway, their movements precise and practiced.

Inside, the mansion exuded an air of regality. The entry hall was adorned with an array of European swords mounted on the walls, their craftsmanship impeccable. Heavy suits of armor stood on display, each forged from a variety of rare and lustrous metals.

The sight left Lee in awe. He couldn't resist the urge to run his fingers over the polished surface of one of the swords. But he quickly pulled back, reminding himself to stay composed.

'Touching things randomly might not end well', he thought, shaking off the intrusive impulse.

As they reached a large set of double doors, one of the servants stepped forward, gesturing to it.

"Young sir, your father is expecting you."

Taking a deep breath, Lee straightened his posture and pushed open the doors. A flood of light greeted him as he stepped inside.

Behind a desk, a middle-aged man sat, pen in hand, scribbling notes on a piece of parchment. He glanced up as Lee approached.

Lee stopped a few steps away, bowing respectfully. "It's good to see you again, Father. I apologize for the lack of notice. I've been traveling for quite some time… and I seem to have lost my memories." Lee spoke, speaking in a formal tone. 

His voice wavered slightly, and his polite smile faltered.

The man set his pen down, his sharp gaze locking onto Lee.

"I heard you were under house arrest," he said, his tone even.

"Yes…" Lee hesitated, forcing a weak chuckle. "I honestly thought I'd be thrown in a dungeon with criminals."

His father leaned back, folding his arms. "And are you wondering why I didn't set you free?"

Lee swallowed. "I… I suppose so."

"I told you before, you need to understand how the real world works," his father said firmly. "You cannot rely solely on money and aristocratic privilege. I refuse to let you become one of those spoiled brats. That's why I sent you to a commoner's school—to teach you humility and compassion. But I admit…" His voice softened. "Perhaps I was too harsh. When I heard from the Borough about your memory loss, I regretted not being there for you sooner."

"I understand, Father," Lee said quietly. "Are you angry with me?"

"Angry?" His father's voice rose slightly. "Of course I'm angry! You joined a forbidden cult! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

Lee flinched but nodded solemnly. "Yes, and I deeply regret my actions. I'm truly sorry."

His father sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fortunately, the Borough managed to cover it up before it became public knowledge." He paused, studying his son. "Have you found something to focus on? Something to help you recover?"

Lee nodded eagerly. "Yes, Father. I've been studying botany."

"Botany?" His father raised an eyebrow.

"What exactly is that?"

"It's the study of plants," Lee explained. "I've been learning about their properties and uses."

His father let out a weary sigh but nodded approvingly. "I'm glad to see you broadening your horizons. It's good to pursue knowledge."

Encouraged, Lee decided to ask something that had been on his mind. "Father, may I ask you a question?"

"Go on," his father said, leaning forward slightly.

"We're a family of weavers, correct? Our specialty lies in bending metals and forging them into weapons?"

"That's right," his father replied, his tone steady. "It's the foundation of our business. Why do you ask? Are you finally ready to learn the craft of a weaver?"

"Am I capable of learning it?" Lee asked hesitantly.

His father shook his head, his expression firm.

"You're far from capable at the moment. After all… you haven't awakened yet or formed a soul core. I'm sorry, but this is something you must face alone. One must discover the path to forming a soul core themselves. No one can teach you how—it's a journey unique to each individual. Somehow, ours manifested as they are now, and so did those of many others."

Lee clenched his fists, the weight of his father's words sinking in.

'Right,' he thought. 'I almost forgot—I'm still inside the Nightmare Spell. To progress, I need to overcome it and claim its power.'

"Thank you, Father," Lee said, bowing respectfully. "I'll take my leave now."

As he turned to leave, his father's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait," he called out.

Lee glanced back, startled.

"Stay for dinner," his father continued. "You and I still have much to discuss."