Savior in Shadow Slave

Inside the priestess's chamber of the Ruined Cathedral, the air hung heavy with incense-rot and old silence. Amid shattered icons and faded tapestries, Murphy and Akame sat cross-legged on the cracked stone floor, the flickering light of a soul core casting shadows on the walls.

Murphy looked up from sharpening [Rengoku].

"Now that you're at least not a massive burden, we can begin the real work."

Akame glared.

"Could you stop calling me a burden?"

He didn't even look up.

"No."

Silence.

For a moment, Murphy swore he felt something shift in the air behind him. Like intent. Like murder.

He glanced over his shoulder, slow and suspicious.

Akame was still smiling.

But her hand was just a bit too close to the hilt of her blade.

Murphy blinked, then shrugged. Must be his imagination.

Still... he kept [Rengoku] just a little closer.

"Now, continuing on the subject," Murphy said, leaning against the cold stone wall of the priestess's chamber. "From today onward, we'll hunt four creatures per day. One will be taken down together. The other three—I'll handle alone."

Akame crossed her arms.

"Which one are we killing together? And what rank?"

Murphy stretched his neck with a soft crack.

"While you were training here for two weeks, I wasn't just lounging around. I was out there—collecting meat, soul cores, and water." He paused. " I was also..."

Akame narrowed her eyes.

"Correction. What you brought back wasn't water—it was monster blood. And it tasted like suffering in liquid form."

She shuddered.

"When I drank it the first time, I swear I saw a Grim Reaper. He had this massive scythe and was looking at me with pity. He said, 'Oh, poor child… what's that bastard making you drink? Come with me—I'll get you some normal water.' So, I took his hand to escape from this suffering."

Murphy stared at her, deadpan.

"You're still alive, aren't you?"

She huffed.

"Barely."

He smirked.

"Moving on," Murphy continued, brushing off her complaints like dust. "While you were here practicing your swings, I wasn't just collecting food. I also scouted out monsters with a higher probability of dropping defensive-type Memories."

Akame perked up slightly.

"Defensive-type?"

"Exactly. We're targeting those. Ten are Awakened rank, four are Fallen. We'll start with the Awakened ones. Less risk, better odds. You must land the final hits. Our goal—at least one defensive Memory for each of us."

She tilted her head. "Sounds fair… but wait. Why do I have to land the hits? Can't you get your own?"

Murphy paused, expression unreadable for a moment.

Then simply said:

"I can't."

She frowned. "What do you mean you can't?"

"I can use Memories. I just… can't procure them myself."

Akame blinked. "What? Why?"

Murphy looked down at [Rengoku], its blade quietly humming in the dim light.

"Just think of it as a Flaw. Even this blade was received through similar method."

A silence settled between them.

Then, more softly and with no small amount smugness:

"So… you're saying you're depending on me?"

Murphy rolled his eyes.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

After a while, in one of the streets of the Dark City.

The gigantic being's footsteps echoed like thunder through the crumbled avenue. A walking fortress—eight feet tall, shoulders wide as a carriage, its flesh a patchwork of jagged rock and fused rubble. Its head was a featureless boulder save for two molten slits that smoldered with faint, ancient hate.

Stone Giant.

Akame stood in front of it—alone. Sword drawn. Breath steady. Knees bent just enough.

Murphy crouched atop a nearby ledge, overlooking the battlefield, eyes sharp and arms crossed.

"You're up. I'll handle interference."

Akame said nothing. She simply stepped forward.

The Stone Giant let out a low, grinding growl. Then, it charged.

Akame ran toward it.

Her feet pounded the fractured stone, closing the distance with terrifying speed. Just before impact, she veered to the right and slashed at its knee—a shallow cut that glanced off the surface with a clang.

The giant swung its massive fist in retaliation. She ducked under it, skidding low, then slashed across the back of its ankle. A thin fracture line appeared.

She rolled back just as the other hand smashed into the street like a falling star. Debris flew everywhere.

Murphy raised a hand and calmly redirected a chunk of flying stone with a small burst of golden light.

"Focus. It's predictable. You're more nimble due to your smaller stature."

Akame gritted her teeth and kept moving. Her sword danced in quick arcs, aiming again and again at the cracked areas—wearing it down.

The giant stomped, roared, and swung its arm horizontally. Akame jumped, landed on its forearm, then ran up its arm with unnatural balance.

It howled, trying to shake her off—but Murphy made a tiny gesture with his finger.

Suddenly, a golden shimmer flickered at the giant's elbow.

Just enough to slow it, not restrain.

Akame reached the shoulder, pivoted, and drove her blade straight into the joint of its neck and collar—the weakened part Murphy had subtly helped target through his past fights.

A flash of sparks. A loud crack.

The giant staggered. Akame yanked her blade free, flipped off its back, and landed behind it.

It turned, slower now, its movements uneven. Legs shaking. Cracks spreading from knee to chest.

Akame charged one last time.

She went low, then lunged up with everything she had—slashing diagonally across its chest.

A deep rupture tore through the stone as if her blade had split the mountain itself.

The Stone Giant groaned—then collapsed to its knees.

Then face-first into the dirt.

Akame stood over the corpse, panting, her body trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline.

He looked at the crumbling remains.

"Not bad," Murphy said, stepping lightly over the cracked stones. "You killed it without any serious harm on yourself."

Akame turned to him, sweat tracing down her jaw. Her breath was still ragged, but her stance didn't waver.

"You barely helped."

Murphy gave a slight shrug. "I said I'd assist, not steal your kill."

"So, did you receive anything?" he asked, his tone half-curious, half-measuring.

She nodded, pride flickering across her face. "Yes. Granite Veil. A defensive-type Memory."

Murphy smiled faintly. "Bingo. Keep it for now."

He walked a few paces ahead, glancing toward the jagged skyline, where the silhouettes of Crimson Spire stood.

"We'll stick to hunting Awakened ones for now. Their patterns are simpler. And considering you're pretty much unscathed..."

He turned back, eyes gleaming.

"Let's hunt one more."

Akame wiped her sword on her sleeve, blood and dust streaking the fabric. She looked up, her voice calm, almost eager.

"Sure."

And so, time passed. And 10 days passed.

Each day, Murphy and Akame hunted two Awakened creatures—one defensive, one random. It became routine, brutal and precise. And while the first fight with the Stone Giant had ended cleanly, every battle that followed left Akame bloodied and battered.

She was learning how to wield her Aspect in real combat, and learning meant pain.

If not for Murphy's timely interventions—deflecting a blow here, guiding a strike there and healing her after battle—she would've died. Twice a day, every day.

Her only salvation was the Memory she had gained: [Granite Veil], and its enchantment—[Dispersion]. It didn't prevent wounds, but spread the impact across her body. A fatal strike became dozens of shallow cuts. A broken rib became bruises. But the pain… it was constant, all-consuming, and cruel.

And yet, every evening, covered in blood and limping from the strain, Akame returned to Murphy with a smile. A real one.

Then she would ask, "What did I do wrong?"

That smile—bloodstained, exhausted, defiant—gnawed at Murphy's heart.

She was enduring far more than she should. But he knew he couldn't stop. Not now.

Because once they ventured outside the city…There would be no sanctuary. No clean duels. No luxury of isolating targets.

Out there, swarms of corrupted beasts would fall upon them—Awakened and Dormant alike. It wouldn't be a fair fight. It would be a massacre.

And if they weren't ready…They'd be the ones getting slaughtered.

In the these days, Akame acquired three new Memories.

The first was a greatsword, nearly as tall as she was—broad, heavy, and brutal. It wasn't elegant, but it didn't need to be. It possessed two enchantments. First one allowed it to increase physical damage while the other one made the wounds worsen but sadly, it required essence to use it which both of them didn't have.

The second was a cloak, worn and frayed at the edges, but embedded with a subtle, pulsing protection. It allowed one to levitate and prevent fall damage.

The third was a shroud called [Dark Scarf]. This one decreased the presence of the user from the surroundings.

The cloak and the greatsword went to Akame.

The shroud, Murphy kept. It suited him—silent, watchful, patient.

With over twenty kills of her own, and another two dozen or more creatures slain by him, her growth had become undeniable. The essence she'd drawn from soul cores was enviable, her core saturation had reached 40%—a number most would take months to achieve, if not more.

Murphy's own tally had grown far quieter, but no less deadly.

[174 Souls] now pulsed within him—each one a reminder of the choices he'd made, the enemies he'd carved down, and the price of survival.

They were both changing and growing.

And with each day, the Sea beyond the city walls grew a little closer.

***

And today was the day.

Their first Fallen beast. Together, atleast.

A new threshold of teamwork. A new kind of terror.

A Ghost Wolf.

Murphy stood silently, eyes narrowed, body half-concealed in the jagged shadow of a collapsed steeple. The air was cold—not in temperature, but in sensation. Still. Heavy. As if the city itself was holding its breath.

Akame crouched nearby, her greatsword grounded but ready. The shimmer of her cloak barely rippled.

Their target hadn't arrived yet.

But they knew it was coming.

"It's a ghost," Murphy muttered under his breath. "Great."

He hated ghost-type creatures.

Unlike most monsters of flesh and bone, these things weren't bound to physical laws. You couldn't track them by scent or sound. They slipped through walls, ignored terrain, whispered poison into the back of your mind.

Last time, he'd nearly died.

Then suddenly, the air shimmered with a strange, icy tension. From the edge of the crumbling street, a pale mist slithered in like breath from a frozen corpse.

Murphy's hand tightened around [Rengoku]'s hilt.

"Get ready. It's not just fast—it phases."

Akame stood a few paces behind him, her greatsword strapped to her back, the frayed cloak fluttering around her legs. Her eyes scanned the street, trying to pierce the creeping fog.

Then, it came.

From the mist, the Ghost Wolf lunged—a blur of silver fur and spectral limbs, eyes glowing with ethereal fire. Its body seemed to flicker in and out of reality, like a half-remembered nightmare refusing to die.

Murphy moved as his blade as he struck upward. His sword hummed with the power of his [Karma] ability. The wolf passed through the swing like smoke—untouched—and reappeared behind him.

Without hesitation, Akame activated her cloak's enchantment and leapt to higher ground, vanishing partially into the shadows of the ruins. From there, she became Murphy's eyes.

"Left flank—building wall!"

Murphy didn't wait. He lunged just as the wolf phased again, its claws aiming straight for his heart. This time, the air around him shimmered with golden light.

One minute.

The wolf's strike wavered at the last second.

It had been induced with fear. At the start, he didn't swing his sword without any damage for no reason. He had used that strike to create a small fear for light in the monster.

And then he activated [Terror] in full force.

Murphy's sword connected—not fully, but enough to draw a silver trail of ethereal blood.

This clash of sword and claw repeated dozens of times. But it's strike did not do much to Murphy as they kept on getting weaker.

This caused a total domination by Murphy. Making the body of wolf a map of shallow scratches.

The creature howled and staggered back, half-flickering, trying to reset the engagement.

"Don't let it recover!" Akame shouted. "Its pattern resets every ten seconds!"

Murphy sprinted, slashing twice more—each attack faster, sharper, coldly. The second landed squarely on the beast's flank, and its form grew more solid with every wound.

That was the trick.

"Its phasing is tied to confidence," Murphy muttered. "Good."

Akame threw her old sword toward it, drawing its attention for a split second—just enough for Murphy to close in.

He ducked under its lunging bite and carved through its chest, embedding [Rengoku] deep into the creature's core.

One week.

A pulse of divine light exploded outward.

The Ghost Wolf screamed—its voice warped and echoing like the last cry of a dying god—and collapsed into ash.

[You have slain a Fallen Beast: Ghost Wolf.]

[You have gained 1 soul.]

[175 souls.]

Murphy breathed out slowly, his muscles finally relaxing.

Akame dropped down beside him, looking at the pile of fading ash. "So... you weren't exaggerating when you said you could kill Fallen Beasts in head on combat."

"I never do. And where do you think all those soul shards came from, huh?"

"You really enjoy the drama, don't you?"

He shrugged, then handed her the Soul Shard.

"Here. From now on we will both hunt the Fallen ones together. It will also help in your training."

Akame caught it, eyes softening.

"Thanks."

Murphy looked out over the city once more, blade still glowing faintly.

"Let's go."