After successfully duping the Holy Knights, Nihil dared not linger in the open. He slipped back into the labyrinthine alleys behind the academy complex, moving like a shadow among garbage bins and crate stacks. Each breath was labored, as if the very air here rejected him. The Blessing energy saturating the city felt like thousands of tiny needles pricking his skin, a constant reminder that he was an anomaly, a blight in this sacred order.
He found a hidden nook behind a shop's refuse pile, dark enough to conceal him. His body finally gave out, and he slid to the ground, the overwhelming fatigue from the cathedral battle and the Void Shift's backlash threatening to consume him.
[SYSTEM REBOOT COMPLETE. ALL DIAGNOSTIC FUNCTIONS ONLINE.]
[CAPACITY: 5 / 25]
[EMERGENCY RECHARGE ACTIVE. REGENERATION SPEED WILL RETURN TO NORMAL AFTER 50 MINUTES.]
Five points. Enough for a weak Void Grasp if pressed. No more. He was truly helpless.
Heze's mind began to work, ignoring the protests of his exhausted body. He couldn't stay here. The alley would be cleaned at dawn. He needed three things: a secure hiding place, a food source, and a way to become invisible. No money. Hardly any power. His only weapon was his mind.
For the next hour, he didn't move from his hiding spot. He merely observed. His crimson eyes, hidden beneath the shadow of his hood, recorded every detail of the routines behind Dawnlight Academy.
He saw the guards patrolling every fifteen minutes, their synchronized steps indicating rigid discipline. He saw the servants taking out kitchen waste, their faces weary and indifferent. He saw delivery carts coming and going—one bearing fresh vegetables, another with wine barrels, and another with clean linens. Each was inspected by the service gate guards, but the checks were perfunctory. Here was his opening.
As midnight approached, his opportunity arrived. A large cart laden with flour sacks halted at the service gate. One guard was chatting with his companion, while the other merely waved the driver through after a cursory glance. The driver himself looked exhausted, eager to finish his work.
As the cart creaked into the kitchen's rear courtyard, Nihil moved. Silently, he slid from his hiding spot, staying in the driver's blind spot. With the last of his strength, he climbed onto the back of the cart, wedging himself between two large flour sacks. Flour dust filled the air, helping to conceal him.
His heart pounded. If he was discovered, he would die. There would be no fight, no dramatic escape. Just a swift execution in the courtyard.
The cart halted. He heard the driver grumbling and kitchen workers rushing out to unload the cargo. "Hurry up, get this moved! Chef Heston will skin us alive if tomorrow's breakfast bread isn't ready!" someone shouted.
This was his moment. As the workers focused on the sacks at the front, Nihil slipped from the back of the cart and quickly ducked into the shadow of the open kitchen door.
The hot air and the smells of baked bread and broth hit him. The kitchen was a world of chaotic order. Dozens of cooks and kitchen staff moved swiftly between cutting tables and bubbling giant pots. No one paid him any mind. Here, everyone was too busy with their own tasks. He had made it inside.
He slipped further in, searching for a place to hide. He found a door leading to a cold, dark storage room. He entered and closed the door behind him, finally able to breathe.
"Who are you?"
A raspy, weary voice froze him. In the corner of the storage room, an old man sat, peeling potatoes with a small knife. It was Head Chef Heston, a large man with a gruff face and an apron stained with food.
Nihil knew a complex lie would fail. He opted for a simplified truth, wrapped in desperation. He pulled down his hood, revealing his pale face, flour-dusted white hair, and crimson eyes—trying to dim them to appear less menacing. He allowed himself to look as he was: a weary, hungry boy.
"I... I'm lost," he said, his voice hoarse. "I come from a village on the northern border. My village... it was attacked by bandits. I ran... and kept running until I reached this city. I haven't eaten in three days. I just... need a place to hide."
Heston stared at him for a long moment, his experienced eyes assessing every detail. He saw the slender hands, not those of a manual laborer. He saw the remnants of quality on the boy's tattered cloak. But he also saw the genuine exhaustion in the child's eyes.
"There are many stories like yours in the capital," Heston growled. "Every refugee comes with a sad tale. Give me one reason why I shouldn't call the guards right now."
"I will work," Nihil said quickly. "Any job. Washing dishes, peeling potatoes, cleaning floors. I don't need pay. Just leftover food and a place to sleep. I'll do the work of two men. You won't regret it."
Heston snorted. He was indeed short-staffed. One of his dishwashers had just run off yesterday. And this boy, though odd-looking, seemed desperate. Desperate people worked hard.
"Alright," Heston finally said. "You can sleep here in the storage room. There's a pile of empty sacks in the corner. Your food will be whatever's left in the pots after everyone's done eating. You'll start working before sunrise and finish after everyone's asleep. One complaint, one mistake, one missing item, and I'll drag you to the Holy Knights myself."
Nihil bowed his head deeply. "Thank you, Head Chef."
"Don't thank me," Heston growled as he returned to peeling potatoes. "Tomorrow, you'll be cursing my name. Now don't bother me."
Nihil walked to the indicated corner. He lay down on the coarse sacks. Safety. For now. He closed his eyes, and exhaustion finally claimed him. In the heart of enemy territory, beneath the shadow of Dawnlight Academy, the Void manifestation began his new life as a dishwasher.
While Nihil started his new life in silence, the echoes of his chaotic departure spread through the underworld, forcing other players to move.
Velka Nocturne took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The air of The Undercroft felt suffocating, a mix of smoke, unfamiliar spices, and poverty. She had traded her silk gown for simple traveler's clothes, her beautiful hair hidden beneath a hood. But she knew every movement, every glance, screamed that she did not belong here.
She was searching for The Whispering Flagon. Her goal was simple, but the journey was dangerous.
"Seems like you're lost, pretty girl," a oily voice called from a dark alley. Three thugs with grimy faces stepped out, blocking her path. Their smiles revealed rotten teeth. "Maybe we can help you find your way? Of course, there's a price."
Velka stopped. A cold fear tried to creep in, but she suppressed it. She recalled her father and brother—their cold, calculated cruelty. She would not show weakness.
"Get out of my way," she said, her voice colder than she expected.
The thugs laughed. "Oh, this one's got some nerve!" said their leader, stepping forward. "Listen, girl. Hand over your purse and those pretty jewels, and we'll let you go."
Velka stared directly into the man's eyes. "Do you know who Jax is?" she asked, casually mentioning the name of the kingpin she had heard from the servants' gossip.
The man paused. "What's it to you?"
"He won't be pleased to hear that his latest delivery to The Weaver... is being delayed," Velka continued, her lie flowing smoothly. "Unless you want to explain the delay to him personally?"
The mention of two powerful names—Jax and The Weaver—in one sentence made the thugs hesitate. They exchanged glances. Maybe this girl was more than she seemed. Messing with one of them was suicide.
"Fine," the leader growled. "This time you're lucky." They spat on the ground and retreated into the alley.
Velka didn't wait. She walked quickly, and a few minutes later, she found the weathered sign of The Whispering Flagon. She entered. The noisy, smoke-filled interior made her slightly dizzy, but she walked straight to the bar.
"I'm looking for The Weaver," she said to the one-eared bartender.
The bartender scrutinized her for a long moment. "Many seek him. He doesn't meet just anyone."
Velka placed three gold coins on the sticky wooden table. In the upper world, it was enough to buy a horse. Here, she hoped it was enough to open a door. "I don't come empty-handed. Tell him a 'raven' wants to trade a secret for a lead." 'Raven' was the symbol of House Nocturne. A risk, but also a sign that she was serious.
The bartender looked at the coins, then into Velka's determined eyes. He nodded subtly and disappeared through a back door.
In a much darker location, a secret meeting was underway. Tarek Mornhall stood before a cloaked figure whose face was hidden—the intermediary from The Silencer.
"Your message has been delivered," the figure said, voice muffled.
"And?" Tarek hissed.
"Your Lord Valerius Nocturne rejects your threat. He says your contract is to capture an asset, not to make demands. If you expose his name, he will ensure Umbra Venari is wiped from the face of the earth."
Tarek laughed, a cold, humorless sound. "He thinks I'm bluffing." He stepped forward. "If that's the case, relay a new message. Tell him I know about the 'Raven's Exit'. I know about the rituals they conduct in their basement. And tell him... I know the name Archon Zarthus Nocturne."
The intermediary flinched slightly. That name was ancient history.
"Tell him," Tarek continued, his eyes blazing in the darkness. "He has twenty-four hours to hand over all family archives regarding the curse. If not, copies of my findings will reach Grand Inquisitor Richter Von Braum's desk before dawn the next day. Let's see whose family reputation burns first."
The intermediary nodded stiffly and vanished into the shadows. Tarek had thrown the dice. He had declared war not only on Nihil but also on one of the most powerful families in the Imperium.
A few days later, in the kitchen of Dawnlight Academy. Nihil worked in silence. His hands moved with almost mechanical efficiency—peeling, cutting, washing. He had regained most of his Capacity. [Capacity: 21 / 25]. He was a ghost in the machine, unseen, unimportant.
And that gave him the perfect opportunity to observe.
He learned. He memorized patrol schedules, warehouse locations, the names of professors who frequently visited the kitchen for coffee. He also overheard conversations between students coming in for snacks.
That evening, while cleaning a corridor near the staff dining hall, he overheard two senior students speaking arrogantly. It was Darius val-Luminar and his companion.
"...Tomorrow's Arcanum Resonance Theory exam will be easy," Darius said. "It's all about how mana vibration frequencies can be amplified or canceled by opposing frequencies. Basic concept."
Heze's mind froze. Frequencies. Resonance. Cancellation. This wasn't magic. It was physics. Wave physics. A concept he had mastered in his old world.
He realized something extremely important. Magic in this world, though seemingly mystical, operated under a set of logical and predictable laws. Laws he could learn. Analyze. And exploit.
All that knowledge was stored in one place.
He stopped sweeping and stared out the window at a towering ivory spire in the heart of the academy complex, its peak glinting in the afternoon sun. The Great Academy Library.
His new objective now took clear shape. He had to get in there. Not just to survive. But to understand the greatest weapons of his enemies and forge his own. The hunt for knowledge was about to begin.