A Novel Concept - He Who Eludes Death-Chapter 314: The Arkana Research Center for Shadows and Darkness

Guided by his enhanced perception, Priam followed Jasmine down the corridor toward the Assassins’ Guild. The closer they got, the denser the shadows became, until activating [Dark Vision] was no longer a choice but a necessity. When even infrared and ultraviolet light faded away, Priam knew they had arrived. Ahead, the path ended abruptly in a wall of impenetrable darkness.

“A dead end? How original. I’m sure the cops would take one look and decide to turn back.”

“Were you expecting a sign that says, ‘Shadows’ Guild, welcome’?” Jasmine smirked before flexing her Concept. The dark obstacle dissolved into a swirling black mist.

“At least a sign would confuse the enemy.”

Stepping forward, Priam found himself in what could have been mistaken for the lobby of a high-end bank. White walls gleamed under soft lighting, screens displayed video feeds of the city, green plants added a touch of life, and an unassuming reception desk stood at the center. Seated behind it was a young woman, engrossed in a book while faint background music played. If not for the jagged scar tracing from her chin, splitting her lips and blinding one eye, she might have passed for perfectly ordinary.

She hadn’t noticed the arrival of two Champions.

Priam’s body tensed, his hand twitching toward Promesse. Should they strike first? Potentially kill someone who might simply be in the wrong place at the wrong time. A part of his mind questioned his justification. Was working as a secretary for an assassins’ guild a sin worthy of death?

Jasmine broke the silence, stepping forward with casual confidence.

“Hey!”

“Good evening—” The secretary looked up, freezing mid-sentence. Her eyes widened. “Twilight Jasmine?!”

Raising an eyebrow, Jasmine shook her head. “Didn’t realize I was that famous... I need information. Specifically, the latest on the Council of Barons’ leader.”

“Right away!”

The young woman snapped into action, her hands flying across an unseen interface. Meanwhile, Jasmine’s shadows extended behind her, deftly plucking a keycard from a board on the wall. Priam quirked an eyebrow.

“Access to the training room,” Jasmine explained without looking back.

“Mmh.” Priam turned his attention to the secretary, who worked with unnerving zeal. “She seems scared of you.”

“I’ve noticed. She also recognizes me and I wasn’t that famous. Think they’ve figured out I’m a Champion now?”

Before Priam could respond, the secretary spoke again. “Here. I’ll transfer the files to—”

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“No need,” Jasmine interrupted, circling the desk to skim the documents herself. A quick glance later, she nodded. “Perfect. Have a good night.”

“Thank you. And, uh...”

“Yes?”

“The extraordinary meeting room has moved. It’s in the old vault, in seventy-six minutes.”

Jasmine exchanged a glance with Priam before nodding. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

With that, she approached a wall to the east and pressed a button. Priam followed her near the elevator.

“No stairs?”

“You’re claustrophobic?”

“Nope, but I got stuck in one once. Ever since, I’ve preferred stairs.”

Jasmine grimaced and pointed to a thin black, almost hidden line running along the walls of the room. As it approached the elevator, the line split—one half disappearing into the ceiling, the other into the floor.

“See that?”

Priam leaned in, scanning the anomaly. His Domain revealed a narrow hollow carved into the concrete, filled with shadows.

“An umbra path, right? For quick travel using your Concept.”

“We call it the ‘highway’. The best assassins use it while weaklings take the elevator. It keeps them from accessing restricted areas. There are no stairs, so if an enemy breaches this place, they’d have to demolish walls, floors, and ceilings just to move forward.”

“I want one in Oasis,” Priam declared, flooding the hollow with his mist. He grunted when it was repelled by the shadows, which felt almost liquid. Breaking through would require brute force—and it wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“If this elevator breaks down, I’m blowing this building to hell,” he muttered as the doors slid shut.

Fate must have decided explosions could wait for the end of the heist as the descent was uneventful. When the doors reopened dozens of meters below ground, Priam checked the underground guild hideout off the cliché list.

They stepped into a long corridor lined with doors every fifty meters on one side.

“Still no one around,” Priam remarked.

“This part of the complex is usually closed when people are asleep.”

“Assassins sleep? How... mundane.”

“Most maintain multiple real-world identities. Gotta keep up appearances. Plus, a lot of them probably died during their Tutorial or Tribulations, so it’s not surprising we haven’t run into anyone.”

“Fair enough, if a little disappointing.”

“Not enough action for you?” Jasmine’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Well, stealing candy from my mom was harder than sneaking in here. She used to weigh the bags to make sure I hadn’t taken any.”

“Maybe that’s because your guide—me—grew up here and is deactivating every trap before you even see them? And your mom sounds... odd.”

“You have no idea. Lead the way.”

As Jasmine strode ahead, Priam trailed behind, turning his head occasionally to survey their surroundings. The first door bore a plaque that read Midnight. Fifty meters down, the next door was labeled Zenith. Passing Sunset, Jasmine finally stopped at the corridor’s end.

“Twilight. The hour when shadows rule the world,” Jasmine murmured.

Priam sensed it wasn’t the time to point out that they shouldn’t be speaking aloud.

“So, these are the four levels of your guild?”

“Mmh. Every assassin is ranked based on these poetic classifications. If you ask me, it’s just an excuse for one of our founders to wax lyrical.”

“Explain anyway.”

Priam had developed a fondness for poetry after watching Dead Poets Society.

“Beginners are Midnight rank—they rely on the darkness of night to remain unseen. They must endure basic assassin training: stealth, infiltration, killing. Then comes Zenith—nothing to do with Tier 10. Shadows are at their sharpest when the sun is at its peak. That’s when we develop an affinity for the Shadow Concept and use it. Those who fail remain pawns for life.”

“No one awakens Darkness or some similar Concept?” Priam asked. Environment, dreams, personality, and experiences were all key factors in shaping a person’s affinity for a Concept. Raised by the assassins’ guild, youths had a high chance of awakening the desired Concept. Yet, Shadow had cousins that innate talent might prefer and it was likely that a few guild members deviated from the desired path.

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“It happens. They’re accepted but rarely rise further.” Jasmine shrugged, indifferent to the unfairness. “Sunset—the hour when light fades but shadows linger—is equivalent to Symphony. Mastery of shadows is required, akin to a politician wielding fear, a swordmaster commanding their blade, or a virtuoso playing their instrument. Only one in ten thousand reach this level.” She turned to the final door. “That was my rank when I entered the Tutorial. I was the only Sunset at Tier 0.”

“You want to see your guild’s final secrets,” Priam guessed, eyeing the door marked Twilight. Whatever happened today, Jasmine wouldn’t return to the guild that had raised her. This might be her last chance to exploit their centuries of knowledge.

“Think it’s foolish?”

“I think it’s brilliant.” Priam’s grin turned feral. “Take everything not nailed to the wall.”

Beyond the door lay a chamber decorated in shining gold and dark obsidian. A faint flame danced, casting shifting shadows across the room. While Jasmine attempted to access a computer isolated from the central system—likely an effort by the guild masters to prevent hacking—Priam approached the second door.

“If it’s like the other ranks, there’s a training room behind this door,” Jasmine said distractedly.

Priam pushed it open and leapt back as a shadow javelin struck his abdomen with the force of a sniper shot.

Lvl Up: [Shadow Resistance] lvl 2

META (Endurance) +2

META (Authority) +1

The attack quickly lost its substance, and he got up, shooting a dark look at Jasmine.

“What? It’s an assassin guild; of course one of the doors could be trapped.”

“...” Priam merely sighed, glancing at the state of his outfit. The attack had shredded his vest and the shirt underneath before striking his skin. Naturally, he was unharmed—it would take more than a sniper shot to pierce his dermis.

Removing the top of his outfit, Priam turned back to the now-open door and stepped into an enormous cube, each side as long as a football field.

A colossal hologram dominated the center, displaying names paired with numbers. A leaderboard.

“Unrecognized user,” said a voice. A very close voice, from below him.

Priam glanced down at his shadow. “I... am the new master of the guild.”

“Scanning in progress…”

Priam winced as flames erupted over his hands. He was ready to fight.

“Trace of an aetheric signature detected. Moderator Priam Azura, welcome to the Arkana Research Center for Shadows and Darkness.” The shadow’s voice carried the polished cadence of a British butler. “Would you like to initiate a test sequence, review previous candidates’ runs, access the options, or shut down this facility?”

Priam blinked. “I’d like to know why I’m being recognized as a moderator.”

Despite what Jasmine had said, the assassin guild’s security was pathetic. However, he refused to believe it was so incompetent as to grant moderator rights to any fool with a convincing lie.

“An Administrator’s aetheric signature has been detected on you. Moderator rights are automatically granted to anyone approved by an Administrator.”

Priam’s eyes narrowed. “Which Administrator are we talking about?”

“Sector Hope Administrator Thaal, the Immortal Gambler,” the shadow replied.

Priam could have sworn his boxers twitched.

Knightmare lunged forward, ignoring twin laser beams that scored across the reinforced steel of its chest plate. Pilot and mech moved as one, the symbiosis seamless as the operator twisted the frame at the last second. A missile screamed past, narrowly missing as the machine landed directly in front of the Var Elegis commander. Raising Dory, his lance, the hoplite Champion thrust forward. The homunculus barely avoided being skewered.

Weird.

Kazuki’s eyes narrowed at his miss. With practiced fluidity, he shifted the thrust into a sweeping strike, careful not to overextend, but the enemy had already dived to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, Kazuki advanced, attempting to crush his foe beneath Knightmare’s massive foot. The resulting impact shattered concrete and glass, sending debris flying in every direction.

No silicon blood stained the mechanical armor.

Slithering like a snake, the homunculus had managed to retreat. He wasn’t weak, certainly capable of dispatching a Tier 1, but Kazuki should have been able to defeat him without breaking a sweat. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.

His personal AI offered a few hypotheses:

[The target’s movements (Var Elegis commander) account for the user’s actions (Kazuki Arashi) with a tenth of a second’s foresight.

Three probable explanations:

The target possesses a Concept related to precognition.The target has a technique to read the user’s thoughts or Knightmare’s processes.The target analyzes the user’s skill set in real-time via an AGI.]Without hesitation, Kazuki removed his helmet, locking eyes with his adversary before declaring, “This sentence is a lie.”

The Var Elegis commander tilted his head with alien grace before responding in hoplite tongue. “A basic program might enter an infinite loop trying to parse a paradox, but our AGIs are not so feeble.”

The enemy’s flawless pronunciation and impeccable sentence structure irritated Kazuki. How many of his kin had fallen for the enemy to understand their language?

“I wasn’t addressing the AGI,” Kazuki retorted, slipping his helmet back on. The commander’s momentary confusion had told Kazuki everything he needed and his response had only further invalidated the first two hypotheses.

The fort’s AGI was using video feeds from nearby cameras to track and predict Kazuki’s movements. Outplaying a machine with his mental attributes was impossible, but he didn’t need to. The spearmaster just needed to exploit the weak link in the pair: the commander.

“...I shouldn’t have answered.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Overclocking his muscles and Knightmare’s systems, Kazuki surged forward, breaking the sound barrier.

The Var Elegis commander tried to evade. The angle of his limbs and the tilt of his body was perfect. It wasn’t enough.

Leveraging his superior attributes, Kazuki severed a tendon, robbing the homunculus of mobility, then decapitated him with a clean backhand slash.

The head hit the ground as the Champion’s third-in-command arrived.

“We’ve located the prison.”

“Lead the way.”

Kazuki followed the colonel as the rest of his forces stormed the fortress. Supported by Hyshana and Elysium-trained elites, the assault against the Var Elegis had quickly borne fruit. This was the third stronghold they had captured and the first on what was once the three-way front between the Hoplites, the Var Elegis, and the Duatians.

Several minutes later, at the complex’s lowest level, the two Hoplites arrived at a reinforced door with a hole carved into it by a light blade. Hyshana, the Hoplite responsible for the breach, was inside, interrogating a frail-looking prisoner. The captive wasn’t a Hoplite but a Duatian.

“...you won’t heal me. My soul is too weak for my body to recover,” the old man rasped.

Kazuki recalled the connection between body and soul for the Duatians. Their racial Talent made cultivating a Domain easy, but it came with a weakness—wounds to the soul mirrored in the body, and vice versa. Still, it was worth a try.

“You would give up when your people need you most?” Hyshana pressed.

“My people—” A fit of coughing interrupted the Duatian. It took him several seconds to recover. “My people need to flee this cursed continent.”

“The Var Elegis are powerful, but their Champion won’t help them. We can win,” Kazuki interjected as he approached.

The Duatian burst into laughter, only to be seized by another coughing fit. He cleared his lungs like someone recovering from a bad flu, then wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. The ruby-red color of his blood stood out against his pallid skin. “The Var Elegis aren’t united. In the clash between the Empire and the Revolutionaries, the wise can find a way.”

Kazuki’s suspicions were confirmed. For totalitarian homunculi serving a dystopian empire, the Var Elegis were less cohesive than expected.

“Then why give up? Afraid of death?”

The Duatian’s milky-white eyes turned to Kazuki. His gaze pierced beyond the physical, probing Kazuki’s soul.

“What you call death is merely the end of the body, not the soul. No Duatian fears leaving their flesh behind. But we all, myself included, tremble at the thought of our essence being enslaved by the enemy.”

Kazuki stood silent for a moment before his eyes widened.

“It wasn’t the Var Elegis that struck the fatal blow against your people.”

If they had, the Duatian leader’s death would have summoned a Var Elegis army to Proxima. The hoplites had seen no such event.

The old man’s gaze turned sorrowful. “It was one of our own. One of our sons killed the First Priest. Through his betrayal, he-who-was-once-called-Seth brought ruin to Proxima.”

The reward for assassinating a crowned leader was the acquisition or understanding of a racial Talent, plus the summoning of a percentage of their faction, up to a million. If Seth was no longer recognized as Duatian by the System, then what had he summoned?

Hearing their commander curse, the hoplites exchanged uneasy glances. Hyshana explained.

“The Necromoon has found Proxima,” Hyshana clarified.

One of the elite hoplites asked the fateful question, “But then, where are the dead?”

[He Who Eludes Death] charge: OFF. Reloaded in 3 hours 28 minutes 18 seconds.

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