novelraw Chapter 394: The Shadow of the Ghost Dagger
Chapter 394: The Shadow of the Ghost Dagger
He turned his murderous gaze toward the Deacon, who was still panting from his tantrum. In his mind, the Oasis Leader was cursing every one of the Deacon’s ancestors to the deepest pits of hell. The Union’s "brilliant plan" to overextend Ethan had instead decapitated the Union’s influence and gutted the Oasis’s holdings.
"You said he would fold," the Oasis Leader hissed at the Deacon. "You said the administrative weight would crush him. Instead, you’ve given him a continental empire and a private army of ten thousand battle-hardened traitors."
The Deacon straightened his robes, trying to regain his composure, though his eyes remained bloodshot. "He has the land, yes. But he also has the Rifts. Let us see how ’sovereign’ he feels when the first Wave hits his unprotected docks. He has no Union satellites, no joint-defense protocols, and no reinforcements. He bought a kingdom, but he paid for it with a death sentence."
"I hope you’re right, Deacon," the Scavenger Ancestor growled, standing up to leave. "Because if he survives the first Wave, none of us will survive him."
His fear wasn’t born of cowardice; it was born of a survivor’s instinct. He had fought the titans of the old world, and he knew a predator when he saw one.
"You’re shaking, Ancestor," the Celestial Leader remarked, his voice steady but his eyes darting toward the old man’s trembling hands.
"I am calculating the cost of our stupidity," the Ancestor growled, turning back to the room. "I’ve seen the reports from the Olympus incident. Boris wasn’t just some Russian guard dog. He was a Council-level Elder, second only to the President of the Russian Federation. A man with the ’Mist Body’ ability—a phantom who cannot be touched by steel or lead. And yet, Ethan broke him. He sent him back to Moscow in pieces."
The Leader of the Desert Oasis scoffed, though his own face was pale. "A fluke. A lucky strike with a specialized artifact."
"A lucky strike?" the Ancestor roared, his voice echoing like a landslide. "And what about the five ’insects’ who intercepted me earlier? I could have crushed them in a fair fight, yes, but they moved with the precision of a hive mind. If those are just the hounds he keeps on a leash, what is the Master capable of?"
The Deacon, finally quieting his rage, adjusted his silk collar. "We sent Black Skull to handle him in Massachusetts. The Ghost Dagger himself."
The room went deathly silent. Even the Celestial Leader felt a chill. Ghost Dagger. A legend of the underworld whose success rate was a perfect 100%. He was a whisper in the dark, a blade that moved between heartbeats. Everyone in the Obsidian tier knew that while the Union publicly condemned the Black Skull syndicate, they were secretly the Union’s private executioners—the blood-stained hand that kept the "peace."
"And where is the Ghost Dagger now?" the Ancestor asked, leaning over the table until his face was inches from the Deacon’s. "He’s a corpse. Ethan didn’t just survive the world’s most efficient assassin; he annihilated him. He took the Union’s best weapon and snapped it like a dry twig."
"It’s madness," the Oasis Leader muttered, rubbing his temples. "If the Ghost Dagger couldn’t kill him, then the boy is more than a mechanical engineer. He’s a biological anomaly. A monster we’ve invited to sit at our table."
The Celestial Leader paced the length of the room, his silver aura flickering unevenly. "We’ve made him the King of the East. We thought the Rifts would be his cage, but what if he uses them? What if he harvests the Outsiders the way he harvested our territories?"
"Then we are all dead," the Ancestor said, his voice dropping to a somber whisper. "The Union tried to play a game of chess with a man who plays with nuclear fire. We’ve given him the land, we’ve given him the people, and now... we’ve given him a reason to hate us."
The Ancestor said, heading for the door. "You’re gambling with the entire continent. I just hope Royal’s pikes are big enough for all of our heads."
"I know what you are all thinking," the Deacon said, his voice dropping to a silken, predatory whisper. "You think we have unleashed a wolf we cannot leash. You think Royal is an anomaly that will swallow us all."
The Scavenger Ancestor snorted, crossing his massive arms. "He’s already swallowed twenty percent of the Oasis and half the East Coast trade routes, Deacon. He isn’t just an anomaly; he’s a plague."
"Then you underestimate the depth of the Union’s foundations," the Deacon countered, a cold, sharp light glinting in his eyes. "Do you truly believe we have spent these years sitting idle while the world burned? Truth Seeker does more than just find facts—he unearths the inevitable. I obtained a ’Gift’ from him specifically for an occasion such as this. A trump card that is far stronger than any individual soldier or mercenary group."
The name Truth Seeker caused even the Patriarch, who was halfway to the door, to pause for a fraction of a second. He was the Union’s most guarded asset, a seer-class entity whose predictions had never failed to manifest.
"The Appalachian Breach isn’t just a Rift," the Deacon continued, a jagged smile spreading across his face. "It is a gateway to something that even an ’Obsidian-rank’ brat cannot fathom. Truth Seeker has confirmed it: if Ethan enters that zone to claim his precious resources, he won’t be fighting an army. He will be fighting a God-tier entity that has been waiting for a host of his caliber."
He picked up his silver-capped cane and began to walk toward the private exit. "So, you may all rest easy for tonight. I shall depart immediately to finalize the activation of this... catalyst. Prepare yourselves for the aftermath. When Royal falls, there will be a vacuum, and I expect you all to be ready to reclaim what was lost."
The leaders relaxed slightly, the tension in the room exhaling like a dying beast. But as the Deacon vanished into the shadows of the hallway, the Scavenger Ancestor looked at the cracked obsidian table and felt a cold pit in his stomach.
"He says we should rest easy," the Ancestor muttered to the Celestial Leader. "But if Ethan doesn’t die... if he actually breaks whatever ’God’ the Union is throwing at him... then the price of this ’card’ won’t be paid by Royal. It will be paid by our heads."
The Celestial Leader didn’t respond. He simply stared at the empty seat where Ethan had sat—the seat that now seemed to cast a shadow longer than the Capitol itself. The Union was gambling with the soul of the continent, and for the first time in his long life, the Leader felt that the house might finally lose.