Chapter 204: The Ghosts of Vanguard Academy

Chapter 204: Chapter 204: The Ghosts of Vanguard Academy

Chapter 204: The Ghosts of Vanguard Academy

The cool morning breeze drifted through the glowing emerald leaves of the World Tree.

Draven stood in the sunlit courtyard of his new villa. He was holding a sleek, unbranded black metal card in his leather-gloved hand.

Lord Commander Helion Goldmane stood across from him.

"You are entirely serious about this," Helion said, his golden eyes carefully studying Draven.

"You are going to let your families and the entire Academy believe you were slaughtered in the Dead Zone."

"It is the ultimate tactical advantage," Draven replied flatly.

"The enemies within the walls are dead. But the Cult of the Eternal Eclipse is still out there. If they think Strike Team Zero is ashes, they will not be looking for us."

Helion nodded slowly. He understood the brutal logic of war better than anyone.

"The account linked to that black-card is completely untraceable," Helion explained.

"It routes through a dozen dummy corporations outside the Vanguard grid. There are ten million Vanguard Credits loaded onto it."

Draven slipped the heavy black-card into his coat pocket.

Ten million credits. It was enough wealth to buy a small district. It was more than enough to fully fund the Syndicate’s weapon forging, alchemical supplies, and shadow operations for years.

"The memorial service begins at noon," Helion stated, turning toward the elevator.

"Keep your monsters contained, Draven. If anyone senses a Level 100 aura in the city today, the cover is blown."

"We will be ghosts," Draven promised.

---

Two hours later, the newly formed Syndicate stood on the high rooftop of a towering administrative building overlooking the Vanguard Academy’s central plaza.

They did not wear Vanguard uniforms. They wore their custom, dark civilian clothing.

"Hide us, Nyx," Draven ordered quietly.

Nyx Vespera stepped forward to the edge of the roof. She closed her eyes.

FWOOSH.

Her new [Phantom Queen] aura activated. She did not just bend the light; she commanded the abyss.

Pitch-black shadows bled out from the soles of her boots. The shadows slithered up the legs of the squad, wrapping around their bodies like physical, weightless cloaks.

The cloaks completely masked their faces, muffled their heartbeats, and perfectly suppressed their massive Level 100 mana signatures.

To anyone looking up at the roof, there was nothing there but the natural shade of the building.

They looked down at the central plaza.

The sight was absolutely heart-wrenching.

Nearly ten thousand students and instructors stood in the massive courtyard. Every single person was wearing a formal black mourning uniform.

The massive Vanguard banners hanging from the Academy walls were lowered to half-mast.

In the center of the plaza stood ten empty marble pedestals. Resting on each pedestal was a neatly folded Vanguard jacket and a silver dog tag.

The families were seated in the front row.

Aegon gripped the stone edge of the rooftop. His knuckles turned white under his gauntlets.

Down in the plaza, Lady Elara Logcheville was completely broken. The usually strict, aristocratic noblewoman was hunched over in her wooden chair.

She was openly weeping, burying her face in her hands. Her elegant posture was completely shattered by the absolute agony of losing her only son.

"Mother," Aegon whispered, his voice cracking with immense guilt.

Beside Lady Logcheville sat Seraphina Vance. The top-tier Healer was clutching a light blue, frost-woven scarf to her chest.

It was a scarf Reina had left behind in her dorm room. Seraphina was sobbing silently, tears streaming down her pale face as she rocked back and forth.

Reina turned her head away from the edge of the roof. She pressed her hand over her mouth to muffle a sharp, painful sob.

Draven watched his squad carefully. He knew this was psychological torture. But it was the price of the shadows.

"Endure it," Draven commanded softly, his voice a steady, grounding anchor in their earpieces.

"We are dead today so that they can live tomorrow."

Instructor Garrick Stonehelm stepped up to the heavy wooden podium in the center of the plaza.

The massive, heavily scarred Earth Mage looked ten years older. His broad shoulders were slumped. He looked down at the seven empty marble pedestals.

"I have trained Vanguard recruits for twenty years," Garrick’s deep voice boomed through the runic amplifiers.

CRACK.

Garrick gripped the edges of the wooden podium so hard the timber splintered under his massive hands.

"I am supposed to teach them how to survive," Garrick continued, his voice trembling with raw, unfiltered sorrow.

"But I could not protect them. Strike Team Zero did not just follow orders. They led from the front. They walked into the dark so that the rest of this Bastion could sleep in the light."

A heavy, collective sniffle echoed through the massive crowd of students. Estella wiped a tear from beneath her shadow-veil.

"They were just kids," Garrick’s voice finally broke. A single tear rolled down his scarred cheek.

"They were the absolute best of us. And the world is darker today without them."

The plaza fell into a heavy, agonizing silence. The only sound was the quiet weeping of the mothers in the front row.

Draven did not look at the crying families. He did not look at Garrick.

His cold, gray eyes were scanning the VIP section sitting to the right of the podium. He was looking for anomalies. He was looking for enemies.

He found one.

Sitting in the front row of the VIP section was a man draped in pristine white and gold robes.

The fabric was vastly different from the dark, utilitarian clothing of Bastion Seven. It was the opulent, arrogant fashion of Bastion One, the Capital.

The man was a Peace Envoy. He had been sent from the Capital to negotiate new trade borders after the recent political purges in Bastion Seven.

While the rest of the plaza mourned the tragic loss of the teenage heroes, the Envoy was not crying.

The Envoy was looking at the seven empty marble pedestals.

And he was smiling.

It was a subtle, microscopic twitch of the lips. But Draven caught it. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated relief. It was the smile of a man who had just watched a massive obstacle get removed from his path.

’The Capital Envoy is relieved that Strike Team Zero is dead,’ Draven analyzed coldly.

Draven instantly connected the dots. They had wiped out the corrupt nobles and the Cult operations inside Bastion Seven. But the Cult of the Eternal Eclipse was a global organization.

If the Capital Envoy was smiling at their deaths, the Envoy was either working for the Cult or working for a corrupt faction in Bastion One that wanted Bastion Seven weakened.

"Nyx," Draven whispered into the comms.

"Yes, Draven," Nyx replied smoothly, her voice completely devoid of emotion.

"Look at the VIP section. Front row. White and gold robes."

Nyx shifted her pitch-black eyes. She spotted the smiling Envoy immediately.

"I see him," Nyx confirmed.

"We need a statement piece to announce our presence to the shadows," Draven said. His voice was freezing cold and they were ready to move forward.