The Midnight King's gaze hardened.

"I'm offering you the best deal you'll ever get. You'll be free to return to your universe without further interference. However, out of the seven of you, one will serve as my host. After that, I and the remaining six will cross over together, along with those waiting outside the castle, of course. Unless…" His voice deepened, the hint of amusement vanishing. "You'd rather not include them in the agreement. Personally, I don't care."

Seven again.

The word rang in Luke's mind like a warped bell. Seven. What the hell was going on? Why wasn't he part of that count? For a moment, he thought maybe the king had already chosen him as the host. But then it clicked, uncomfortably so. That wasn't it. The Midnight King simply didn't see him. It was as if Luke didn't exist.

A chill ran down his spine. The cold didn't fade; it sank deeper, curling inside his chest like a living thing. His breathing grew louder inside the mask, muffled by the oppressive stillness of the hall. The air tasted of ancient dust and burnt magic. He moved without realizing it, eyes locked on the creature atop the throne. The archangel, or whatever it had once been, seemed too vast for any body to contain. The broken wings, shivered faintly with each word, their sound echoing against the stone.

Luke clenched his fists. He had to be sure. Every instinct screamed at him to stay still, yet his curiosity clawed harder.

Opening the suit's interface, lines of glowing text unfolded before his eyes.

[Acolyte Assassin's Garb (Epic)

Description: Crafted by the most skilled artisans of the Assassin Order and finished by the hands of Lakarion himself, the God of Assassination, this garb is a rare and special gift, granted only to those in whom the god sees true potential. It is more than clothing; it is a symbol of recognition, a mark that you have been chosen to walk a path beyond ordinary shadow. A step toward the true art of assassination.

"My invitation still stands, Luke, ever since I gave you the mission to kill the Orc Lord. My hand remains extended. This item would have been your reward. Come to me, child… and I will make you what you were born to be. I will give you power." - Lakarion.

Enchantments:

[Basic Shadow Camouflage (Rare)]: While the user remains still in low-light areas, the garb adapts to the surroundings, distorting their silhouette and dimming their presence.

[Crowd Shadow (Ultra-Rare)]: When near a crowd, the garb can alter its pattern and texture to create the illusion of different clothing, allowing the wearer to blend seamlessly with others and disappear even under watchful eyes.

[Iron Shadow Fabric (Ultra-Rare)]: Though extremely lightweight, this enchanted fabric offers protection comparable to iron armor. It preserves full mobility and flexibility without sacrificing defense. The name "Iron Shadow" reflects its nature: it is not solid iron but magically reinforced fabric that shields silently like an invisible iron shadow, blending strength and stealth in perfect harmony.

[Shadow of Ignorance (Epic)]: As long as the assassin is not directly seen, their presence remains hidden from perception fields or magical detection. While not absolute against beings of great power or extreme sensitivity, it is a powerful tool for silent assassinations and deadly infiltrations.

Requirement: Soulbound.]

The bluish glow reflected in his pupils, and for a moment the world seemed to tighten around that hovering screen.

Is that it? he thought. Could it be the garb's enchantments all activating at once? Especially together with my Stealth skill?

The idea flashed through his mind like an electric current. If he was right, the Midnight King couldn't see him directly. He had to stay hidden, dissolved in the darkness, one with the shadow stretching across the hall.

[Advanced Stealth (Rare)]: You've refined your natural stealth instincts, tuning your movement, breath, and posture until they operate on instinct alone. Your steps adapt to the terrain, your presence fades into the background, and your body instinctively avoids making noise, emitting scent, or producing detectable signals. Blending into your surroundings becomes second nature, allowing you to observe or approach targets with greater consistency and control.

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By instinct, he stepped left, slow and measured, until the pillar and the darkness spilling from the ceiling swallowed him completely. His muscles locked, heart beating in a forced, unnatural silence. But there was a problem. If he kept the arrow trained on the monster and it noticed him, one glance would be enough to end them all.

Evangeline, cast the damn spell when it steps away from the throne!

The thought hammered through his skull with desperate clarity. Luke willed, with everything in him, that his intent might somehow pierce the silence, that Evangeline and the others might sense what he couldn't say aloud. That they'd realize what he already had: the monster hadn't counted him as someone it saw in the throne room.

They need to see it, he thought. They have to realize the number doesn't add up. That he got the count wrong.

At least that much. Uncertainty pressed on his chest. The chamber seemed to breathe with the creature, the air throbbing in uneven rhythm. The faint drag of chains was the only reminder that time still moved.

Erza stepped forward. Her heel struck stone, sharp and deliberate. The sound cut through the silence like a spark in dry air, and every head turned toward her. Her face hardened, not like a hesitant soldier but like Erza Grimhart herself. In her eyes burned something old and familiar, the defiance that always came before danger.

"If you're so powerful, so special," she said, "why don't you just take one of our bodies by force?"

Her voice cut through the air like a blade. The monster moved, slowly, deliberately. Shadows slithered across the floor as it tilted its head, the chain binding it groaning like something alive writhing inside metal.

Luke felt the air thin. Her tone was reckless, bold to the point of suicide. But maybe that was exactly what they needed. The creature's eyes narrowed. Silence fell heavy enough that even a breath might have sounded like a scream. Still, it was the right move. The provocation made him move.

From the shadows, Luke watched the plan unfold. With every step the creature took, Evangeline adjusted her stance, hands, posture, breath. Magic began to stir, unseen but tangible. Her shadow shifted on the stone floor. First a smudge, then a circle, dark and pulsing, spreading beneath her feet. It was beginning. The spell was waking.

Come on, just a little closer, bastard.

Luke held his breath, watching the archangel advance. Each step sent a low vibration through the floor, a muffled echo blending with the rattle of chains.

"Clever, very clever." The archangel stepped closer, his voice threaded with irritation and a thin edge of irony.

Erza pretended to hesitate. The fear on her face was measured, almost too convincing. She took a step back, then another, letting him believe the performance. She was leading the monster away from the throne, exactly as Luke needed.

"I cannot lie about my condition, not because I want to, but because of the agreement," the archangel said, his tone sliding into something like a lesson from an old teacher. "The soul transfer is delicate, exceedingly delicate. That is precisely why I offer a bargain."

He lifted his hands, claws splayed as if drawing shapes in the air. A pallid light washed the hall, like the glow of a dead moon.

"The system will act as mediator," he went on. "It will protect me, and naturally, it will protect you. You will not be able to strike while I take my new body."

The silence that followed swallowed every other sound. Even the torch flames dimmed, as if recoiling from his presence. Hidden in the shadows, Luke felt the pressure tighten—the precise moment when one wrong move would cost every life in the chamber.

He smiled. It was not a human smile. It was an imitation, a reminder of how fragile they all were.

"But of course, you are correct. I could simply seize a body. If I immobilize one of you, that will suffice."

His voice carried a calm amusement, the kind of ease a victor feels. "Then I will kill the other six and go outside... and kill them as well. The chain is not long, but I have ways."

His gaze swept the group, cold and calculating, as if timing each death. "In the end, I get what I want. But let us be honest," the smile widened, revealing teeth like shards of bone, "time is not on any of our sides."

He tilted his head slightly, and for a heartbeat the shadows around him seemed to breathe. "This is my offer: give me a host, or I will kill you."

Boredom and pleasure tangled in his tone, as though he were proposing a game rather than a slaughter. "Do not imagine you can resist me. Or imagine it. It will be entertaining to see you try."

His low, drawn-out laugh threaded through the columns, a cold wind that made the air feel heavier. Luke kept his bow steady, but sweat slid beneath his gloves. The creature was not bluffing, and worse, Luke knew it.

Erza met his eyes.

"I accept the terms."

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