I Woke Up Inside My Friend's Video Game

[Arc 2] Chapter 35. A Dagger in the Fog

Arc 2. Face Your Death with Courage

The scent of parchment and ink mingled with the cold mountain air as I stood in the dim glow of my chamber's candlelight, reading over the report once more. The words, written in crisp, unyielding Altmeri script, did not change no matter how many times my eyes flickered over them.

Massacre at Northwatch Keep.

My fingers tightened around the edges of the document. It wasn't the loss of soldiers that enraged me—those were replaceable. What infuriated me was the blatant humiliation of it all. Dozens of my Justiciars, cut down like cattle. Northwatch Keep, a symbol of our authority, defiled. And worst of all, the bodies of our captives gone.

Rescued.

A soft knock at my door.

"Enter," I commanded.

The heavy oaken door creaked open, revealing Ondolemar. He stepped in, his golden armor polished to perfection, his face hard with the mask of discipline, though his jaw twitched as he lowered himself to one knee.

"First Emissary." His voice was controlled, but I could hear the barely contained frustration beneath it. "The latest scouts confirm what we suspected. The captives are gone. The infiltrator left no survivors."

I inhaled sharply, forcing my expression to remain unreadable.

"No survivors?"

He hesitated before nodding. "None of our own, that is."

The candle beside me flickered, its wax dripping onto the pristine surface of my desk. I let the silence stretch, studying him, watching the way his hands curled into fists at his sides. This failure stung him, as it should. Northwatch Keep had been under his jurisdiction. But I would not waste breath on berating him now.

"And the culprit?" I pressed my voice even.

"We are certain it was a single man. His methods were... precise. He cut down every Thalmor in his path—no signs of disarray, no wasted movement." His lips pursed in distaste. "Like a madman, yet armed with knowledge beyond ordinary skill."A lone assassin.

"And the prisoners?"

"Scattered. Some have fled into hiding. Others are seeking refuge among the Stormcloaks."

Disgust coiled in my chest. "They will be found. And they will be made to regret it."

"Yes, First Emissary."

I turned from him, my gaze settling on the large map spread across the table. Skyrim was an ugly, untamed land, one we had sought to control for far too long. And yet, no matter how many steps we took forward, there was always resistance, always a thorn embedding itself deeper into our grasp.

"And the bounty?"

Ondolemar straightened. "Posted in every major hold. A fortune for his head—dead or alive. We made sure to twist the narrative. To the public, he is no hero. He is a murderer, a butcher of innocent captives."

A slow smile curled at my lips. "Good. Skyrim thrives on sentiment. Let them believe they hunt a monster."

The door creaked open once more, and another Justiciar entered, his features drawn tight with urgency. He held a fresh missive, sealed with the emblem of our agents in Solitude.

I took the parchment, breaking the wax with my thumb. My eyes skimmed over the words—and then, I stilled.

Ondolemar noticed immediately. "Emissary?"

My fingers traced over the name written there. A name I had overlooked. A name I had not considered until now.

Jayson.