Not the Hero, Not the Villain — Just the One Who Wins

I looked at Volkin. Blank eyes. No expression. No memory of the beating he gave me. He was like a dog freshly reset to factory settings.

"Dance," I said.

He danced.

"Eat."

He ate.

"Don’t poop."

He didn’t.

"Nice," I muttered, watching this silver-furred idiot wag his tail in joy. "A loyal E-rank mutt who takes orders like a robot."

But credit where it’s due—even if his brain was fried eggs now, his claws could still rip through C-rank beasts like paper. While I was still learning to aim my shadow spear properly, Volkin had already dismembered a dire bear. With grace.

We spent the next two months in intense training. Volkin hunted and trained beside me, and I used my Shadow Army skill to raise an eerie little troop—skeletons, goblins, kobolds, even a lizardman. All E-rank. All mine.

By the time two moons had passed since my exile, I was ready.