CHAPTER 207: REST STOP

Chapter 204: Rest Stop

My calculated insult in the Rest Stop hung in the air long after the teleport sequence initiated.

The digital shimmer of the Tower’s system washed over us, deleting the serene, crystalline hall of Floor 5.

The tension was so thick I could have cut it with Draken. Magnus Daven’s face, contorted in a mask of humiliated rage, was the last thing I saw. Leon’s, a picture of profound confusion and newfound, sharp-edged rivalry, was a close second.

We were the victors. The undisputed, impossible, #1-ranked squad. And now, every other team in the Tower, from the noble elites to the commoner factions, had a single, unifying target: us. Specifically, me.

The world re-materialized with a lurch, the smell of clean mana and artificial grass replaced by the stench of ozone, damp concrete, and old refuse.

I opened my eyes. We were in a city.

Not a real city. This was a "Basic Training City," a classic simulation map from countless first-person tactical games I had played in my past life.

It was a sprawling urban block under a perpetually grey, overcast sky. Crumbling four-story apartment buildings, connected by sagging fire escapes, formed a labyrinth of narrow, garbage-strewn alleys.

Burned-out husks of cars provided cover on the cracked pavement. It was a perfect, multi-layered kill-box.

"Where... are we?" Kaelen Vance whispered, his voice trembling. The serene confidence he’d gained from solving the puzzle on Floor 4 had evaporated. This place felt oppressive, dangerous.

"Floor 6," I stated, my eyes already scanning, my mind processing. ’Map: Urban Combat. Objective: Clear Hostiles. In the game, this floor was a test of CQC—Close Quarters Combat—and spatial awareness.’

"Looks like a warzone," Alex muttered, planting his reinforced shield. The [F-Grade Runic Steel] I’d given him had been applied by the Rest Stop’s NPC blacksmith, and his shield now sported a dark, metallic sheen, its cracks sealed. He looked more solid, more confident.

"A different kind of war," I corrected. I turned to the team. Alex and Kaelen, my reliable core. Gideon, a silent shadow. Seraphina...

Seraphina was the problem. She stood apart, her bow held in a white-knuckled grip. She was still reeling from the Ranking Pylon.

She, a scion of House Croft, was part of the #1 team. But she had achieved it by shooting goblin knees and following the "flawed" logic of a "Cursed King" commoner.

Her pride was shattered, but my results were undeniable. She was a volatile cocktail of resentment and grudging, terrified respect.

Then there were the twins. Finn and Freya. They had already vanished, their forms melting into the shadow of a nearby burned-out bus. They were my "shadow-rats," as Seraphina had so disdainfully called them.

And they were the entire point of this floor.

"Hostiles detected," Seraphina suddenly announced, her archer’s eyes catching movement on a rooftop three blocks down. "Goblins. F-Rank. Patrolling."

Alex immediately moved to my side. "Chief? Orders? Same formation as the Hounds?"

"No," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet. "The objective of this floor is different. This is a drill. My drill."

I turned my gaze toward the alley where the twins were hiding. "Finn. Freya. Out."

The air shimmered, and the two of them reappeared, their expressions as impassive as ever. They were C-Rank in the Academy, but their F-Rank mana signatures made them seem weak, which was why they’d been classed as "misfits."

"You two," I said, "have been adequate. But adequacy isn’t enough for this team. Your stealth is sloppy."

A flicker of... something... passed over their faces. Surprise? Indignation? They were so used to being overlooked that direct, harsh critique was new to them.

"Sloppy?" Finn, the male twin, echoed, his voice a dry rasp.

"You’re relying on your natural affinity," I said, stepping closer. "You’re relying on the dark. You’re not managing your sound. You’re not managing your presence.

You just ’turn invisible’ and walk. Your footfalls are heavy. You’re breathing too loudly. You’re amateurs who happen to have a very good skill."

’In my past life, I had played Thief: The Dark Project for 300 hours. I had completed Splinter Cell on ’Realistic’ difficulty, no kills. I knew stealth. These two were just kids with an ’Invisibility’ buff.’

"This floor," I announced, "is your new classroom. The rest of you—we’re on overwatch. Alex, Kaelen, secure this building. Middle floor, main stairwell. Create a defensible fallback position. No one gets in."

Alex nodded, his expression grim. "Understood, Chief."

"Seraphina, Gideon." I pointed to the flat roof of the four-story building across the street. "High ground. Gideon, you are on pure debuff duty. If I call for it, you cast [Miasma] on a target. That’s it. Seraphina... you’re our eye in the sky. You will call out patrol routes. You will watch our backs. But you will not fire a single arrow unless I give the express command."

Seraphina’s face, which had been slowly regaining its color, went white with fury. "You’re benching me?" she hissed. "I am the highest-damage dealer on this team! You’re taking your two weakest members to fight, and you’re telling me—an archer—to just... watch?"

"Your arrows," I said, my voice flat and cold, "make a thwip sound. They announce our position from three blocks away. This is a stealth-kill drill. You are, at this moment, a liability to the mission parameters. You are overwatch. That is your role. Follow your orders, Croft."

Her entire body trembled, her noble pride clashing violently with the undeniable, cold logic of my command.

She was an archer. I was running a silent insertion. She was loud. She knew it. And she hated me for being right.

With a choked, furious sound, she spun, her bow slung over her shoulder. "Fine. Don’t come crying to me when your ’shadow-rats’ get themselves impaled."

She scaled the fire escape with angry, jerky movements, Gideon drifting up behind her like a phantom.

’Good,’ I thought. ’Her anger will keep her focused. She’ll watch every move, desperate to find a flaw.’

I turned back to the twins, who had been watching this entire exchange with a kind of blank awe.

"You two, with me," I said. "We’re going hunting. And you’re going to learn how to do it properly."

I didn’t use the street. I vaulted a rusted chain-link fence, landing on the balls of my feet in the garbage-filled alley beyond.

Silence.

The twins followed, landing with a soft thud, thud.

I stopped. "Pathetic. I heard you both. You landed on your heels. All that ’shadow’ affinity, and you can’t even manage a simple sound-dampened landing? Do it again. Over the fence."

They looked at each other.

"Now."

They climbed back over and vaulted again. Thud. Thud. Louder this time, their frustration making them clumsy.

"Again."

They did it again. Thud.

"Again. Until I can’t hear you."

For five minutes, I drilled them on one simple vault, right there in the starting area. Their faces, usually so impassive, were now slick with sweat, their expressions darkening with frustration.

"Bend your knees," I criticized, my voice a low, merciless whisper. "Roll with the impact. You’re landing like sacks of potatoes. You’re assassins, not tanks. Behave like it."

Shh. Shh.

Finally, they landed. The sound was barely a rustle of cloth.

"Adequate," I conceded. "Now, follow me. And walk on the balls of your feet. I don’t want to hear a single pebble skitter."

I led them into the labyrinth of alleys, my own movements utterly silent. I moved in a low crouch, sticking to the deepest shadows, my head on a swivel.

"[Seraphina. Status,]" I subvocalized into the team comms.

Her voice came back, clipped and annoyed. "[Target one is two blocks east. A Goblin Captain. It’s... it’s just standing on a street corner, picking its nose. F-Rank.]"

"Patrol route?"

"[It’s not moving. It’s a static guard.]"

"Perfect. We’re moving in. Maintain overwatch."

I led the twins on a flanking route, through a ruined apartment, down a collapsed stairwell, and into the alley behind the target. I peeked around the corner.

There he was. A slightly-larger-than-average Goblin, wearing a dented leather helmet. He was, as Seraphina reported, just standing there, looking bored. An easy kill.

"Your target," I whispered to the twins. "Take him. Silently."

Finn and Freya looked at each other. This was their specialty. They nodded, their forms dissolving into shadow as they activated their stealth skills.

They flowed from my position, splitting up. Finn took the left shadow, Freya took the right. They moved fast. Too fast.

Finn, in his haste, kicked a loose tin can.

CLANG-skitter-skitter...

The Goblin Captain spun, its head snapping towards the sound. "HRAK?!"

It was the only sound it made.

Before it could draw its sword, Freya was on it from the other side, her blade a dark blur that separated its head from its shoulders.

The Goblin dissolved into data particles.

The twins reappeared, looking satisfied.

"Target eliminated, Chief," Finn reported.

I stepped out of the alley, my face a mask of cold disappointment.

"You failed," I said.

They froze. "What? He’s dead," Freya protested.

"He shouted," I corrected, my voice sharp. "He was alerted. You were clumsy. You kicked a can, Finn. "

"You relied on your speed to kill him before he ould alert his allies. What if that wasn’t a Goblin? What if that was an E-Rank Hobgoblin, with a horn? He would have seen you, he would have sounded the alarm, and this entire city block would be converging on us. That was loud, sloppy, and pathetic."

Finn’s face flushed. Freya’s eyes narrowed.

"This isn’t just about killing the target. It’s about killing the target and leaving no trace. It’s about ensuring that no one even knows you were here. Assassination is an art. You two are just brawlers with an invisibility cloak."

"Then teach us," Freya challenged, her voice a low hiss.

"I thought you’d never ask," I said. "You have a Dual Art, correct? From your shared affinity. I’ve read the file. [Umbral Duet]."

They looked surprised. "How did you—"

"I read the rosters," I lied. "Show me."

Finn nodded. He looked at a rusted-out car down the street. "[Shadow Mark]."

He thrust his hand out. A wisp of shadow, invisible to anyone but our team, shot out and latched onto the car.

(To be Continued)