The air in the subterranean vault didn't just vibrate; it curdled. As the Void-Seal ring disintegrated into silver dust, the artificial suppression that had kept Chase's soul in a cage vanished.
His white hair flared, catching a spectral wind that shouldn't exist underground, and his golden eyes burned with the intensity of dying stars.
The black glass cage housing the relic didn't shatter; it dissolved, the shards turning into a liquid shadow that flowed toward Chase's waist. The [Scabbard of Broken Oaths] strapped itself to him, feeling less like an object and more like a missing limb being reattached.
[Relic Synchronized: 5%]
[True Status partially revealed: Level 1 -> Level 12]
[New Skill: 'Abyssal Step']
Effect: Briefly merge with the shadows to move undetected by light-based sensors.
The Whispers' New Tone
The whispers were no longer a chaotic swarm. Now, they were a disciplined chant, a dark choir that recognized its conductor.
"The Inquisitor is coming..." they hissed. "The silver dog has caught the scent. Kill him. Reclaim the throne."
"Not yet," Chase gritted out. His small body was trembling under the sudden influx of mana. He was Level 12 now, but his physical frame was still that of a seven-year-old. Pushing his power further would cause his muscles to tear.
The Calculated Risk
Above him, the mountain groaned. He could feel the heavy, rhythmic thuds of High Inquisitor Vane's boots hitting the stone stairs. The man was moving fast, his "Cold White" aura preceding him like a frostbite-inducing fog.
Chase had three minutes before the chamber was breached. He looked at the [Ledger of the Usurper] in his hand.
"System," Chase whispered, his voice echoing with an unnatural resonance. "Show me the price for a Temporary False-Signature."
[Calculated Risk: 'The Mirage of the Weak']
Cost: 90% of Current MP and a 'Soul Hangover' for 24 hours.
Effect: Projects a fake mana trail leading away from this location while suppressing your current presence to near-zero.
"Do it," Chase commanded.
The Narrow Escape
The violet light in the room was suddenly sucked back into the scabbard. Chase felt a sickening hollow sensation in his chest—the feeling of his very essence being drained to fuel the illusion.
A shimmering, ghostly image of Chase—or rather, a version of him radiating pure, unadulterated Calamity energy—manifested and bolted through the stone wall toward the Academy's outer sewers.
Vane burst into the chamber a second later.
The High Inquisitor's sword was unsheathed, glowing with a holy radiance that turned the shadows into ash. He looked at the empty glass cage, then at the lingering violet dust.
"There!" Vane roared, sensing the fake signature moving rapidly toward the west. "The heretic is fleeing through the lower tunnels! All units, intercept!"
The Shadow in the Corner
Chase was still there.
He was pressed into a narrow crevice behind a fallen statue of a faceless king. His heart was barely beating; his mana was so low he felt like he was drifting into a coma. Under the effect of the [Mirage], he looked like nothing more than a discarded pile of rags.
Vane ran past him, his cape billowing like a silver wing. The Inquisitor didn't even glance at the "pile of rags." His eyes were fixed on the false light he thought was his prize.
Once the sound of Vane's boots faded, Chase crawled out. He was pale, his white hair dull and matted with sweat. He clutched the scabbard, which was now hidden beneath his oversized tunic.
"First fragment... secured," he wheezed.
He began the grueling climb back up to the library. He had fooled a High Inquisitor, but he had also marked himself. Vane would eventually realize the trail was a fake, and when he did, the search would turn inward. The Academy was no longer a school—it was a cage that was slowly shrinking.
Chase is back in the upper halls, but his MP is at zero and he's physically exhausted.