Chapter 23— The Red-Eyed Player.
Chapter23—The Red-Eyed Player.
Kaelen folded the burnt scrap of paper tightly into his palm, his physical face remaining a completely unreadable mask of cold stone despite the sudden surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The single word scrawled in fresh blood—’Player’—burned in his mind like dripping acid, leaving no shadow of a doubt regarding the true nature of his observer. The student with the glowing crimson eyes was not a high-ranking noble, an undercover imperial operative, or an assassin sent by the delegation.
He was another system holder. He was a fellow contestant trapped in this brutal world, someone who had bypassed the natural laws of this reality and instantly recognized Kaelen as the central anomaly of the academy.
Beside him, the heavy silence following the massacre at Gate 3 was shattered by the sharp click of Lyra sheathing her silver rapier. Her piercing gaze remained locked on Kaelen, filled with a volatile mixture of intense curiosity, tactical respect, and growing suspicion.
She stepped over the pooling blood on the damp cobblestones, her posture rigid. She demanded an immediate answer about his lethal combat, his uncanny ability to disarm a Rank 3 specialist with his bare hands, and the horrifying efficiency with which a supposed unawakened servant had dismantled elite killers without shedding a single drop of his own blood.
Tsubaki stammered in a fit of panic, his knuckles white as he wiped cold sweat from his forehead, attempting to construct a flimsy lie about clan training.
But Tsubaki’s own trembling knees and hollowed expression betrayed him; he knew as well as Lyra that the noble guards of his house had never taught anyone to drain mana circuits or snap necks in a fraction of a second.
Ignoring the rising tension within his small group, Kaelen quietly activated his internal focus skill to process his environment.
[ SKILL ACTIVATED: Mana Perception/Trace Analysis ]
A faint, lingering thread of crimson mana hovered over the torn seam of his inner coat pocket. The residual magic was cold, dense, and unnaturally smooth, a signature totality alien to the dark corrosive mana used by the Shadow-Blades or the elemental wind magic wielded by Lyra.
The rival hadn’t merely watched the confrontation from the height of the old bell tower; he had utilized a high-tier kinetic stealth ability during the fog-drenched chaos. While Kaelen had been entirely focused on parrying the assassins and executing his counterattack, the red-eyed player had slipped past his spatial perception and snatched the leather-bound registry—their single most critical weapon containing the physical proof linking Malakor directly to the Obsidian Rose right off his chest.
Maintaining his cold, calculated composure, Kaelen turned to face Lyra with absolute stillness. He offered her a sharp, believable half-truth: he explained that his movements were born from a desperate survival instinct forged in the shadows of his past, asserting that if Malakor realized a mere servant was the true mastermind behind their resistance, the delegate would abandon his subtle games and unleash the full, destructive authority of the imperial delegation upon the entire academy.
Kaelen’s calm, hypnotic tone grounded Lyra’s rising doubts.
He expertly convinced her and Tsubaki to stage the bodies of the four fallen Shadow-Blades near the heavy iron portcullis, arranging the scene to look as though the assassins had successfully eliminated the perimeter guards before pursuing Tsubaki deep into the lower mist.
This tactical deception would buy them a crucial two-hour window in anxious anticipation for a status report that would never arrive.
Once Lyra and Tsubaki moved to secure the perimeter and drag the corpses into the shadowed alcoves of the watchpost, Kaelen slunk away alone into the suffocating fog.
He moved like a phantom toward the abandoned eastern courtyard, guided entirely by the glowing crimson mana thread displayed across his visual interface.
The mist clung to his dark coat, tasting of rust and old moisture, but his boots made no sound against the slick, ancient cobblestones. Every second that was ticked by felt heavy; in the upper corner of his peripheral vision, the glowing system timer continued its relentless, unforgiving countdown.
[ SYSTEM NOTIFICATION ]
[ QUEST STATUS UPDATED: The Mole’s Desperation.]
[Time Remaining to Expose or Eliminate Malakor: 40 Hours 52 Minutes.]
The faint crimson trail led him past the overgrown hedges and crumbling stone archways of the old campus, stopping at the base of the direct clock tower.
The massive oak doors hung crookedly off their rusted iron hinges, rotting away from decades of total neglect. Kaelen slipped through the narrow gap, his right hand resting lightly on the hilt of the standard-issue guard dagger he had kept from the battle.
The interior of the tower was vast, hollow, and shrouded in cold shadows, smelling heavily of damp timber, dust, and old stone. Massive iron gears suspended on heavy chains hung motionless above his head, frozen in time.
"You’re nearly four minutes slower than I calculated," a smooth, melodious voice echoed from the wooden rafters far above.
" I expected a bit more urgency from someone with a dying countdown floating in his vision."
Kaelen didn’t leap backward or draw his weapon in a panic. He subtly adjusted his center of gravity, taking in the structural points of the room before slowly raising his eyes toward the source of the voice.
Perched casually on a decaying wooden beam twenty feet in the air was the young man from the ledge. Up close, his tailored dark leather coat was pristine, entirely untouched by the humidity of the morning fog.
His wild black hair framed a pale face, but his most striking features were his eyes—two sharp, luminous crimson orbs that pulsed with a slow, rhythmic light in the dim atmosphere of the tower. Resting in his right hand, being tossed back and forth like a worthless wooden toy, was the heavy, leather-bound registry stolen from Kaelen’s coat.
" Is that how you greet a fellow constant?" the red-eyed youth asked, a faint, razor-thin smile spreading across his face as he let his legs dangle over the edge of the beam.
"I must admit, watching you drain that Rank 3 assassin’s mana circuits in the middle of the fog was quite entertaining. It’s rare to find another player who understands the value of ruthless efficiency. But relying on a dusty paper registry to bring down an Imperial delegate? Come on, brother... that’s so hopelessly primitive."
Kaelan’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, his voice dropping an octave as he stood at the center of the rotting floor.
"Give me the registry."
The red-eyed youth chuckled, catching the heavy book cleanly in his palm and leaning forward, his glowing crimson gaze locking directly onto Kaelen’s eyes.
" Come and take it, Player."
The air inside the clock tower turned instantly freezing. Kaelen didn’t waste his breath in empty arguments on noble speeches. With an explosive burst of speed powered by his newly evolved E-RANK Refined Core, he sprinted forward, his boots kicking up cloudbursts of old dust from the wooden floorboards.
He leaped onto the vertical stone pillar supporting the central gear, using his momentum to propel himself toward the upper rafters in a single fluid, vertical arc.
His guard dagger flashed under the faint light streaming through the stained-glass window, aiming for a non-lethal yet decisive strike directly at the rival’s shoulder to force a drop. But the red-eyed youth didn’t even draw a blade.
The instant Kaelen’s dagger came within inches of his coat, the youth’s body flickered like a broken projection.
[WARNING: ENEMY SKILL ACTIVATED—Phantom Phase (Rank 3)]
Kaelen’s blade passed straight through empty air and shadowy mist. The youth instantly materialized behind him on the opposite rafter, casually leaning against a massive iron chain with the registry tucked securely under his arm.
" Nice speed, but your class specialization is far too physical," the red-eyed player taunted, his grin widening as he tapped his temple.
"You’re playing a high-stakes survival game, Kaelen. Malakor is just a minor boss, a stepping stone provided by the world’s narrative. But if you give this registry to the academy council, you resolve the quest through politics. Where is the fun in that? Where is the experience point yield?"
Kaelen landed gracefully on a tick support beam, pivoting immediately to face his adversary. His mind worked at blinding speed, analyzing the opponent’s movement pattern, skill cooldowns, and psychological profile.
This rival wasn’t working for Malakor, nor was he trying to save the academy.
He viewed this entire world as a sandbox, an interactive game where lives were merely variables and narrative quests were meant to be milked for maximum power.
" You don’t care about Malakor, "Kaelen stated flatly, his posture relaxing slightly as he adopted a baiting stance.
" You took the registry because you want to force a direct clash between me and the delegation. You want to see how much blood gets spilled when I’m backed into a corner."
" Bingo," the red-eyed youth murmured, clapping his hands together softly in genuine delight.
"Finally, someone who gets it! The names are irrelevant, Kaelen. The world is full of NPCS dancing to pre-written scripts. But you and! We are the authors now. If you want this registry back to secure your little victory, you’re going to have to prove that your system build is superior to mine."
The youth tossed the registry high into the air toward the apex of the tower, where it landed squarely on top of the massive central clock gear. In the same motion, his crimson eyes flared with intense, blinding light as a dark, ethereal scythe materialized directly into his grip, swirling with black fire.
"Let’s see if you can survive a real PvP encounter," the rival whispered, dropping from the beam like a failing...