Sword of Fate

Chapter 8: TWO DECISIONS

That night, Kael couldn’t sleep.

This was rare — seven years of discipline had taught his body to sleep and wake at will. Even when the mind made noise, the body would rest. But tonight the mind wasn’t making noise; it was conducting systematic analysis, and systematic analysis was the kind that woke you rather than put you to sleep.

Lying in bed, he studied the ceiling. The others in the dormitory were asleep — Torven’s deep, steady breathing; Eiran’s strange silence, as though he was still listening even while he slept; the occasional sound of Davan turning over. From Lira’s bed came no sound at all. Either she was sleeping deeply, or lying awake like Kael.

The latter seemed more likely.

He opened the System:

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DUNGEON HUNTER PROGRAM — BASIC INFORMATION]

Status: Little-Known / Academy-Internal Secret

History: Elite program activated once every 10 years

Mission: Research, map, and seal the Grand Dungeon Gates

Risk Level: HIGH

Gain: Accelerated power growth / Access to restricted knowledge / Imperial-level recognition

Expected Duration: 2–4 years

[WARNING: Participation is non-reversible.]

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Non-reversible.

Kael turned this word over. In narrative terms — and that framework still held — non-reversible decisions were almost always one of two things: either the story’s greatest opportunity, or its greatest trap. The way to tell them apart was information. And information was insufficient.

Analyze Aldris.

The man was powerful — even the System couldn’t measure him. That in itself was significant. He worked at the Academy but wore no badge, displayed no title. He preferred the shadows. Why? Two answers: either he was genuinely humble — possible, but unlikely — or he didn’t want to be visible. Reasons for avoiding visibility: danger, power, or both.

What he had said was consistent. Kael could now read the micro-tension created by a person who was lying — a skill Kayvan had imparted without being aware of it. That tension was absent in Aldris. But being truthful and telling the whole truth were different things.

What is he hiding?

No answer. Not yet.

But with the information he had, Kael ran the risk-reward analysis:

Gain column: accelerated power growth — real, the System confirmed it. Special access to knowledge — highly valuable; learning this world’s secrets was critical for long-term planning. And Aldris’s network — he didn’t know how extensive this man’s connections were, but the networks of fifth-floor shadow architects were never small.

Risk column: a non-reversible obligation. Unknown dangers. And most importantly — a decision his father would likely not be pleased with. What would Destan Ardenvast’s reaction be? That question required its own analysis.

But, thought Kael, to remain a spectator is always to lose.

As Park Jiwoo he had lived thirty-two years, and his greatest regret — the real kind, the kind that worked into your bones — was passivity. He had seen opportunities and not taken them. He had calculated risks and not taken the step. He had watched from the surface without going deep.

In this life, he would not be a spectator.

Decision made.

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[DECISION RECORDED: Join the Dungeon Hunter Program]

[MAIN QUEST UPDATE: Prepare to Pass the Program’s First Phase]

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He rose at five in the morning and went down to the courtyard.

He initiated the First Form — Still Water. Sword in the air. The morning cold tightened the skin. The smell of damp rising from the courtyard’s stone floor — he had been taking in this scent every morning for six weeks; it had reached the point where he noticed the smell’s absence, not the smell itself.

As he moved, his mind cleared. Park Jiwoo had never known this function of sword practice — he had known neither meditation nor the unity of mind and body. But seven years had changed everything.

Why am I joining the program?

Asking himself the question even after deciding was not wrong. Even after making a decision, it was necessary to ask — because clearly knowing the reason would create an anchor point to return to in difficult moments ahead.

The reason was this: to become genuinely powerful in this world, remaining on the surface wasn’t enough. The Academy offered a standard path. Standard paths produced standard results. Aldris’s program was not standard.

And "things history has buried" — why had Aldris used that phrase? As Park Jiwoo it would have been a fictional cliché. But as Kael Ardenvast, someone who had read Dungeon expedition reports — the phrase carried concrete meaning.

Onward.

— ◆ —

When the others arrived for morning training, Kael had already been working for half an hour. Torven noticed — he raised an eyebrow, said nothing. Eiran lay down on the ground, closed his eyes, pretending to sleep but not sleeping. Davan began his program, silent and methodical.

When Lira arrived she moved alongside Kael.

As the exercise began she whispered: "You couldn’t sleep either."

Not a question. A statement.

"I didn’t sleep," said Kael. "I made a decision."

"So did I." Lira looked forward, began moving. "I’m joining."

Kael looked at her. He saw her profile — straight nose, firm lips, eyes holding neither excitement nor anxiety. Only that measuring, calculating, decided look.

"Why?" Kael asked.

"Because what Aldris is hiding is important. And being inside important things is always better than remaining outside unimportant ones."

Kael thought for a moment. "Logical," he said.

"Your reason?"

"The same." He paused. "And I’m tired of being a spectator."

Lira’s eyebrow rose by a millimeter. This prompted a question, but she didn’t ask it. She could ask later.

— ◆ —

That afternoon the two of them went up to Aldris’s room together.

They knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Aldris was at his desk. When he saw them, his face didn’t change — he had been expecting them. This readiness was deliberate: he had known both would come, or he had expected them to come. Either was possible.

"We’re joining," said Kael.

Aldris nodded. He opened the desk drawer. Drew out two sheets of paper — prepared, already written out, awaiting signatures.

"For formality’s sake." He extended the papers. "Read them."

Kael read. Three clauses:

First: Declaration of voluntary enrollment in the Dungeon Hunter Program.

Second: Obligation to maintain confidentiality of knowledge gained through the Program — indefinitely.

Third — Kael paused.

"Third clause," he said. "The right to withdraw from the Program is not granted."

"Correct," said Aldris.

"Why?"

Aldris placed his hands on the desk. "Because once you know what you know about the Dungeons, you cannot unknow it. And certain powers in this world view individuals who carry Dungeon knowledge but remain outside the Program as a security risk." He paused. "Official enrollment provides a certain safeguard. Remaining outside means being deprived of that safeguard."

Kael read the paper once more. The unstated message was this: if you leave the program, I cannot protect you. It wasn’t a threat — it was realistic.

"I understand," he said.

He signed.

Lira read hers. Asked nothing. Signed.

Aldris took the papers. Folded them. Set them aside.

"Good," he said. "Now we can have the real conversation."

He sat. Folded his hands.

"There is something I didn’t tell you," he said. "I didn’t want you to sign without knowing — but I also didn’t want to tell you before the signing. I’ll say it now."

Kael waited.

"You said there are twelve Dungeon Gates," said Kael. "But in my analysis of ten years’ worth of Dungeon expedition reports in the Ardenvast library, only nine gates appeared. Three gates were never reported."

Aldris stopped. His eyes narrowed — very slightly, but Kael saw it.

"Where did you find this?"

"The library. Comparative analysis across ten-year periods. Three gates never appear. Either they were sealed — but if so, it would have been recorded as a major event. Or they’re not being reported." Kael paused. "And I hadn’t told anyone. Because asking a question without knowing the answer means handing over the one card you have left."

A long silence followed.

Aldris looked at Kael. This time it was not that evaluating gaze — something deeper, more careful.

"You are twelve years old," he said. Flat, informational.

"Yes."

Aldris looked at him for a moment. Then — unexpected, brief, genuine — he laughed. The corners of his eyes creased. His eyebrows rose. It lasted half a second, then passed.

"Three Dungeons," he said. "What you know is correct. Not unsealable — more accurately, there are those who do not want them sealed. The question of who does not want it is too early for now. But by the time you reach the end of the program — if you reach it — you will have found the answer."

Kael gave a slight nod. Sufficient. For now.

— ◆ —

Lira turned in the doorway.

"I have a question," she said to Aldris.

"Ask."

"The students who went missing twenty years ago. The Aldris Project."

The room went silent. Truly silent — as though sound itself had stopped.

Aldris looked at Lira. For a long time.

"Where did you find that?"

"The Dawnkeep archives."

Another silence. Longer.

"Those students didn’t go missing," said Aldris at last. His voice had dropped by a degree — noticeably. "They were sent. And they couldn’t return. Because there was no way out of the Dungeon they sealed." He paused. "This time is different. This time an exit has been found."

"How can we be certain?" said Lira.

Aldris did not answer.

And that silence, to Kael, was the answer itself: You cannot be certain. But you have no other choice.

On the staircase, neither spoke.

When they returned to the fourth floor, they stopped in front of the dormitory door. They could hear Torven’s voice from inside — he was telling Eiran something, and Eiran was responding with "mm."

Lira, looking at the door, turned to Kael.

"Are you sorry?" she asked.

Kael thought. Really thought — not for show.

"No," he said. "But I need to be careful. Always."

"I think the same." Lira opened the door. "And Kael."

"What?"

"Don’t tell Torven, Davan, or Eiran about any of this." Her eyes were sharp. "Not yet."

She went inside.

Kael stood in the doorway for a second.

Not yet. An interesting word choice. Had Lira used it to indicate a timeframe, or as a condition? Condition: when they can be trusted. Or: when they are needed.

Both were possible.

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[MAIN QUEST UPDATE]

Official Enrollment in Dungeon Hunter Program Complete.

New Quest Tree Unlocked: Dungeon Path

[LOCK OPENED: System Sword Ability — First Level Active]

New Skill: Still Water Form — Advanced Version

Effect: Read opponent movements 15% earlier

[TITLE EARNED: Dungeon Hunter Candidate]

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— ◆ —

— End of Chapter 8 —