Chapter 11: The Knight of Darkness

Night came quietly.

Leon sat on the edge of her bed in the new room, her back straight despite trying to relax.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

No matter how she tried to steady her breathing, Hector’s words kept tangling in her thoughts.

She wanted to brush them off. Really, she did. But she wasn’t foolish enough to pretend they meant nothing.

In the game, the start of the war was never clearly explained.

The event only covered the aftermath—which factions fought, the ruin left behind, who rose, and who vanished.

As for how it began, the characters treated it like a sudden storm, something that broke without warning. There were no signs, no hints, just the idea that one day, everything changed.

At first, Leon tried to convince herself it would be the same this time. Maybe the protagonist would act early, spot something she’d missed, and stop the worst from happening.

But even that thought rang hollow. Her being here had already changed things. A butterfly’s wingbeat, slight but final.

Her original plan had been simple: finish this job, take the money, and leave before the war ever started. That path was gone now.

Only one option remained.

And it was the one she least wanted to take.

Leon stood up from the bed and changed into plain clothes.

Once ready, she lifted a hand and began constructing a barrier—one of her own design.

A clone barrier.

Ever since she’d learned barrier structure and realized she could push past the limits shown in the game, she’d started experimenting.

This was the result. The copy that formed in front of her was perfect, down to the subtle flux of its magic.

It would do.

More than enough to fool anyone who came looking.

Next came the harder part.

A space-hole barrier.

Barriers that touched higher concepts demanded more than raw power; they needed more understanding.

The version she could manage now was limited, but it worked. It let her open a “door” by linking two distant barriers together.

She retrieved the shard she’d placed outside earlier for emergencies like this.

At her command, the hexagonal fragment widened, stretching to her height, then taller. The space inside it twisted, folding inward.

Leon stepped forward and passed through.

When she emerged on the other side, the door collapsed behind her without a sound.

Now outside, she steadied herself.

If she was going to face what was coming, she needed information—real information—before it was too late.

—

She moved again, heading deeper into the city’s underworld.

The thought of using what she knew about Avesta crossed her mind, but that was too valuable a card to play for something like this.

The truth was, she was inexperienced.

She had no real connections, no way of knowing which information broker was reliable or which one might sell her fake information the quickest.

But first, she needed to properly conceal herself.

She took a short detour to a certain armory shop—a narrow, shadowed place tucked between two leaning buildings.

Without stepping inside, she phased through the outer wall. In the gloom, her eyes settled on a stand of display armor.

A jet-black suit of fashion armor, sleek and unadorned, without a single house emblem or insignia along a hooded cape.

It would do.

Coupled with an observation-distortion barrier she could maintain around herself, it would be enough to blur her outline; with a hood on top, she could hide her face.

She felt no particular worry on that front.

As she finished fastening the last strap, an idea surfaced, clear and sudden.

She didn’t actually need a broker.

She just needed to find where they kept their secrets.

—

Contrary to common knowledge, the Empire wasn’t the only power capable of managing information on a large scale.

In the past, information brokers had operated independently, each peddling rumors and snippets they picked up.

The higher the source, the better the price.

But their main problem was credibility—most of what they sold was unverified gossip, hearsay wrapped as fact.

Over time, that lack of reliability eroded their value. Clients grew wary, then indifferent.

Eventually, almost no one of consequence relied on them anymore.

Left with no choice, the scattered brokers banded together.

They pooled resources and built a central hub—a vault of sorts.

They even used their collective funds to collaborate with various assassin branches, paying for precise, verified intelligence gathered through means beyond rumor.

The expansion was immediate. Crime families across the underworld began receiving well-sourced, neatly arranged reports.

Assassins, in turn, gained detailed dossiers on their targets, with the brokers’ payment compounded into their contracts—a cost they were willing to bear for reliable results.

A near-perfect ecosystem formed.

While the Empire’s records were more accurate, the brokers had one clear advantage: their network stretched beyond imperial borders, into Kaleos and other territories.

At the heart of it all stood the Record Room.

Every piece of information—verified reports, unconfirmed whispers, profiles on individuals, movements of goods—was catalogued here.

Shelves stretched into the gloom without a visible end.

The interior had been magically enhanced to hold near-infinite material, and an auto-recording enchantment eliminated the need for a live librarian.

Access was severely restricted. Only a select few brokers were ever permitted inside.

---

Deep within that silent, dark expanse, a single point of light glowed softly in a small side aisle.

A floating candle hovered near a young man.

He had short, glossy hair and wore thin-rimmed glasses. A ledger lay open before him, its pages filled with neat, cramped script.

His name was Evan. He was one of the newly promoted brokers who, after years of meticulous service, had finally earned the privilege of entering the Record Room.

The truth was, Evan was a spy for Kaleos.

He had been raised and trained from childhood to pass as a citizen of Vanafra, all for a single long-term objective: to infiltrate this very room.

His task tonight was straightforward.

Modify identity records for fellow agents whose cover stories showed gaps, and gather any compromising information on Vanafra’s delegates—anything Kaleos could use in the coming political offensive.

He worked quietly, pen scratching softly in the immense stillness.

Then he felt it—a strange sensation, like a pressure at the back of his neck. He was being watched.

He looked up sharply toward the darkened hallway beyond his candle’s reach. Nothing moved. Only shadows upon deeper shadows.

Shaking off the chill, he returned to his work.

A moment later, he heard footsteps.

He froze, then looked up again in disbelief. Who else could be here at this hour? No other access had been scheduled.

The steps drew closer. Steady, unhurried.

Evan pushed his chair back, rising slowly. His heart began to drum against his ribs.

Then the light of his candle finally reached the approaching figure.

A being clad in jet-black armour, a hooded cape draping its shoulders.

But what made Evan’s breath seize was what stood above the armored collar.

Where a head should have been, there was only empty space.