The boy's name was Kerin.
Nine years old. Missing two fingers. Fast hands, sharper eyes. A pickpocket by trade. He followed Jorik after the slaver raid.
"You ain't normal," Kerin had said. "You ain't scared neither."
"I'm worse," Jorik replied.
Now, the boy sat by his side, eating burnt rabbit.
"I can get you names," Kerin said. "People who hate nobles. People who don't ask why."
Jorik gave him a bone knife. "Then start."
---
Two days later, he had three more.
Lina: A mute alchemist's apprentice with a knack for poisons.
Trog: A half-orc ex-gladiator missing an eye.
Felka: A runaway priestess who cursed the gods.
> [New Followers Acquired: 4]
[Vassal Slots Used: 4/5]
[System Perk Gained: Minor Loyalty Boost]
They called him Shade Prince in the streets now.
A myth. A blade in the dark.
But myths grow fast in places soaked in blood.
And nobles began to notice.
---
On the rooftop of the noble district, a man watched from a redstone balcony.
Long robes. Gold rings. Snake eyes.
"Send the Fangbloods," he whispered.
"A bastard dares wear a crown."