Haru slipped through the corridors like a shadow, hugging the walls as he moved with silent urgency. Every few steps, he glanced left and right, eyes sharp, senses high.
The base was a maze of cold steel and humming machinery as he navigated it with purpose.
Occasionally, he caught glimpses of soldiers sprinting past intersections, all heading outside toward the chaos Celia was causing.
He eventually reached a narrow corridor.
"Straight up ahead should be the lab," Abel said in his head.
Haru crouched low, scanning the hallway.
Seven guards.
All stationed along the corridor, each one armed — but not with spears. These ones carried cryoknives. Close-combat specialists.
Haru exhaled slowly.
He drew his blasters from his hips and slid off his glasses, tucking them into his side pocket.
His eyes lit gold.
The Prophet's Curse activated.
He tuned his blasters to Non-Lethal Blast Shots, his vision sharpening as he sensed the flow of Manna through the corridor.
Weak points lit up like constellations.
Top left near the door.
Bottom right at the lab's edge.
Behind the closest left pillar.
He didn't have long. Once he made his move, the gap would close fast. He'd have to be precise — no mistakes.
Manna flowed into the blasters as he steadied his breath.
He hadn't used them in a real fight. Leonidas had trained him with firearms, but this… this was different.
Real danger. Real stakes.
No room for hesitation.
His hands were tense. His heart was pounding.
Could Celia hold off all those enemies? Would he be fast enough?
"Take a breath," Abel said calmly.
"It's your first mission. Feeling pressure is normal. But as an Arknight, pressure doesn't break you — it proves you."
Right.
He was an Arknight.
And Arknights moved.
Haru exhaled once.
Then he moved.
The world sharpened around him as the Prophet's Curse flared — his eyes glowing gold like sunfire. Glyphs pulsed along his vision, etching paths of movement, timing, heat. Every heartbeat echoed louder, clearer, like a war drum synced to the rhythms of fate.
The first enemy leaned into a charge.
Too fast.
Too close.
Too late.
A flash in Haru's vision — the arc of the man's shoulder angle, a twitch in the heel and it was all he needed. He ducked low, letting the cryoknife slice wind above his head. His blaster was already raised — aimed — and fired.
A golden shot pierced between the man's eyes.
Down.
No time to gloat.
Two more surged from the flanks. Haru saw their muscles coil half a second before they moved. Their eyes locked on him, and he felt it — the tunnel vision of the kill. That was their mistake.
He pivoted off his back foot and sidestepped left, firing once — a clean headshot to the right assailant — then used the momentum to spin into a crouch, sweeping his leg under the second. The moment the man stumbled forward, Haru placed the muzzle beneath the chin and fired.
He kept breathing. Clear. Controlled.
Four remained now. One barked a command — probably the leader. Two held back in a defensive stance. One rushed solo.
Idiot.
Haru slid forward on the metal ground, leaned into the man's blind spot, and jabbed his elbow into the ribs to throw him off balance. The blaster was already charging in his left hand. The Prophet's Curse highlighted the temple as if it was a video game.
Bang.
Three left.
Now they were smarter. Moving together, trying to box him in. Blades drawn, tighter formation. No more reckless lunges.
They learned.
Good.
So did he.
Haru retreated three steps, keeping his stance loose. His eyes flickered — the curse showing him where the tension shifted in their necks, how one of them kept favoring his left foot, how another's grip twitched just before an attack.
The leader moved first — feint right, then left thrust.
Haru didn't bite. He let the blade come within inches, leaned back just enough, and shot him dead center between the brows.
Two left.
They blinked. Hesitated. He could see it — the shift in posture, that break in rhythm.
He pounced.
Shot one in the shoulder to stagger him, then dashed straight toward the last. His knee drove into the chest, knocking him backward. The blaster rose. The glow in Haru's eyes narrowed to a point.
Bang. One more down.
The second tried to recover, scrambling to his feet — desperate now.
Too slow.
Haru raised his blaster, lined it with the flashing glyph over the man's skull, and pulled the trigger.
The final one fell.
The corridor was littered with unconscious bodies. Every breath steamed in the cold air, but Haru's was steady now. Not from lack of fear — but from ownership of it. He could feel the pulse of Manna in his veins, could still sense faint echoes of movement long after it had passed.
His hands were trembling slightly. Not from weakness but from momentum.
"I actually did it…" Haru whispered, chest rising and falling with quiet disbelief.
He looked down at the hallway scattered with bodies — not dead, just down for the count — and let the moment sink in. This wasn't a training room. This wasn't a simulation. This was the real world. And somehow… he had won.
His hands were still trembling, not from fear, but from the leftover charge of adrenaline. His blasters hummed low, cooling down from the last shot. The golden light in his eyes had dimmed, but the memory of every move still echoed in his brain like an imprint. His first real fight as an Arknight — and he came out the other side.
"No way," he muttered with a slight laugh, breath fogging the cold air. "Guess I had it in me after all."
He leaned against the wall for a second, letting his heartbeat slow. It had tired him a little — mentally more than physically. The Prophet's Curse took focus, and one misstep could've cost him everything. But he hadn't needed to channel Manna through his whole body, not this time. That would've made him too mentally fatigued for what's next, and against the final boss of this level, energy and concentration was everything.
Still… he felt good.
He couldn't help but imagine telling Leonidas about it, his uncle probably wouldn't be that impressed but to Haru, this meant something. A small victory. A step closer to being the hero he dreamed of becoming.
His gaze dropped to the leader's body — slumped near the door, the cryoknives still in his hands. Haru bent down and pried the twin blades free. They pulsed with a faint blue glow, the edge humming with latent energy.
"Not bad," he said, spinning one lightly in his hand before slipping both into the side pocket of his coat — the same side where his glasses were tucked away. "Bet Akari could turn these into something wild."
Knowing the mad genius, he'd probably strap bombs to them and make Haru pay an incredibly high fee.
The thought made him smile.
Still glowing faintly, his eyes scanned the door ahead. No visible panel. Just a blank metallic slab sealed tight.
"What do I do now, Abel?" Haru asked aloud, eyes narrowing.
"You see that little face scanner on the wall to your left?" Abel's voice buzzed in over the comm, calm and direct.
Haru looked — and sure enough, there it was. A small, square sensor, barely above knee height. Strangely low for a security scanner, but then again, alien planets, alien logic.
"Yep, I see it," he replied.
"Drag one of the guards over and use his face to scan you in."
"Got it."
It felt a bit… morally questionable, dragging an unconscious body to use its face like a ticket. But Haru had already accepted that this job wasn't always going to be clean.
"A job's a job," he muttered, hauling the nearest guard by the arms and starting the awkward shuffle across the floor.
This guy was absurdly heavy.
Haru grunted as he dragged the alien guard by both arms, boots slipping against the polished floor. After a few meters, he gave up trying to act heroic about it and just grabbed one arm, crouching like a stubborn mule and heaving forward inch by inch.
"Why are you built like a vending machine…" Haru muttered under his breath.
These alien guys were stacked — not just tall, but dense. Like someone had crammed extra muscle and regret into their bones. But eventually, after a back-breaking struggle and a few choice internal curses, Haru managed to drag the guy to the scanner.
That's when he heard it.
A low groan.
The guard was waking up.
"Oh come on," Haru hissed, mild panic flaring in his chest.
Without hesitation, he whipped out his blaster, flipped the setting, and—
Bang.
A single non-lethal shot to the back of the head. The guy slumped again like a sack of alien potatoes.
"Stay down, vending machine."
Haru grabbed the guard's head with both hands, lined him up with the tiny scanner, and smashed his face against it — not too hard, but enough to make sure the thing read it properly.
"Permission granted," a smooth, robotic female voice chimed sweetly.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, white light spilling out like a spotlight on a stage. It was so bright it almost made Haru squint.
He exhaled, shaking out his arms.
"Alright then," he said to no one in particular.
"Boss time."