Chapter 331: The Assassin Doll

The double doors of the throne room closed behind them with a dry, echoing snap, like the sound of a verdict being sealed. The noise traveled across the cold stone walls, slipping along carved reliefs as if searching for a place to hide. When it finally faded, the silence that followed felt almost tangible: heavy, oppressive, the kind that thickened the air and made each breath shorter than the last.

Now, only two figures remained. Luke and Erza Grimhart, alone in a hall far too vast for just two people. The contrast between them was almost poetic; she stood tall and still, like a statue carved from ice, while he stayed wary, every muscle on alert.

His friends, or maybe former friends, had just sold him out to the most dangerous woman in the fortress. Or perhaps loaned him, as Erza herself had so elegantly put it.

‘Yeah, Luke… betrayed like Ned Stark.’ Artemis muttered inside his head. ‘Except this time Daenerys Targaryen’s the one who sold you to the Lannisters.’

And yet, somehow, things had turned out better than he expected. A stroke of luck, maybe. Or just the universe pausing to catch its breath before it decided to crush him again. Erza had agreed to help them finish the tutorial, a miracle considering the odds. Luke knew he’d need her for the final challenge. And she wasn’t exactly short on backup; her so-called maids were assassins, disciplined and lethally efficient.

But that wasn’t the only reason he was here. There was something else he needed to talk about, something personal, dangerous, and long overdue.

“You said you had something specific to discuss with me,” he said, breaking the silence.

Erza watched him closely. Her lips curved into a smile, but Luke recognized it for what it was, an imitation of warmth. A rehearsed gesture, more habit than sincerity. Even smiling, her eyes stayed sharp, alert, never lowering their guard. It wasn’t a welcoming smile. It was the kind an apex predator gives before it decides whether to pounce.

“I do,” she replied, stepping forward. “In fact, it’s the real reason I’m keeping you here. I only listened to your group’s plan because I felt like it. Escaping this place isn’t my priority.”

Luke studied her for a few quiet seconds, trying to read what hid behind that unnervingly calm expression.

“It’s about the outfit, isn’t it?” he finally asked.

The Acolyte Assassin’s garb, an item he’d earned indirectly from the God of Assassination himself.

He’d once wielded a weapon blessed by the God of the Forge, but that had been different. Just another artifact tossed into the chaos of the tutorial, a random prize like any other. The outfit, though, this one meant something. Gifts from gods rarely came without strings attached.

“What exactly does wearing this outfit mean?” Luke asked.

Erza brought a finger to her chin, studying him with a gaze so sharp it felt like a blade tracing his skin.

“So,” she said, her tone almost clinical, “you never had any interest in joining our Order?”

“I only received the outfit after killing Kruger,” Luke answered.

She tilted her head slightly, as if weighing his words, and he fell silent, lost in his own thoughts. Should he tell her he’d rejected the God of Assassination, twice?

The first time, when he’d failed the Orb mission, choosing to follow Samael’s task instead of completing the assassination of the Orc Lord assigned by Lakarion. It had been an indirect refusal, but a refusal all the same.

The second time had been explicit. He’d rejected the Assassin’s class advancement and chosen instead the path of the Demonic Predator.

And now he had the garb, earned after killing Kruger, but he had no intention whatsoever of joining the Order of Assassins. There were plenty of reasons for that. The first was simple: he had no interest in belonging to any order.

Then there was Azazel and that twisted bloodline of his, though he and that creature of darkness would have to sit down and have a long talk eventually.

But if he ever were to join an order, it sure as hell wouldn’t be the assassins. He didn’t want to be bound by dogmas, to bow his head and obey, or waste his time stroking the egos of those in power. At least when he met Samael, the god hadn’t demanded that he kneel or any other bullshit like that. So why should he do the same for Priestess Erza or psychopaths like Kruger, who would hold higher ranks than him within the order?

And the biggest reason of all was Allison. She was his friend, one of the few people he actually trusted in this damned place. The God of Assassination had killed her adoptive mother. If there was one thing Luke understood better than most, it was the loss of a mother figure. There was no way he’d betray that friendship by aligning himself with the same god who’d caused her so much pain or with lunatics like Kruger.

The real question was: should he tell Erza any of that now? That, in fact, was exactly why he’d wanted to talk to her.

“First of all,” Erza said, her tone sharp but even, “I don’t care that you killed Kruger. Or any of those other assassin wannabes.”

She began to circle him slowly, eyes tracing the fabric of his outfit from every angle.

She continued, her tone sharp and measured. “He and his little troupe of amateurs were not under my command. I represent the Order of Assassins and House Grimhart. Here in this tutorial, I am both the Order and my family. Those idiots were nothing but children who clicked on a few shiny options in a menu and got free samples of our power. Anyone can do that across the multiverse. But me? I am noble born, one of the true assassins, and the official representative of the Order in this universe.”

Her gaze hardened as she spoke. “No one on Earth is recognized as a genuine member unless I or someone from my house approves it. Accepting just anyone would stain the honor of our god. Candidates must prove themselves, ascend, evolve. Then and only then do we reach out to them. Never the other way around.”

For the first time, a few of Luke’s questions started to make sense.

“But,” he began, only for her to lift a finger, silencing him.

“Your case is different,” she said, stopping in front of him.

Her gloved hand brushed over the edge of his garb, almost reverently. “The one who offered you a place in the Order wasn’t some recruiter or servant. It was the God of Assassination himself. Do you have any idea what that means? Across the entire multiverse, you were personally invited by the Sovereign, Lakarion. You’re only the second person on Earth to ever receive such a direct offer, after the woman who founded the Grimhart clan.”

Luke’s mind raced. Things were getting too complicated for him to simply refuse outright. Not here, not yet. But he needed answers.

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“I’ll need a long talk with you,” Erza said. “But this isn’t the time.”

She turned and began walking away.

“So that’s it? I’m just… stuck here now?” he asked.

“For now, yes,” she replied without looking back. “Until everything is settled, I forbid you from leaving this fortress.”

He let out a short, dry laugh. “You do realize I could just escape, right? I’ve already snuck in and out of this place once without you noticing.”

She stopped at the door, still facing away from him. The massive double doors creaked open as the maids outside pulled them aside.

Her voice was low but steady. “That day, my duty was to protect the fortress, and to deal with whoever meant it harm. Lucy, do you really think it was a coincidence we crossed paths on the stairs?”

Her tone carried a faint, teasing laugh as she stepped out. “Get some rest. Your mana is nearly gone, and your HP is dangerously low. You’re weak enough to be killed by some low level idiot. And if the God of Murder personally invested in you, then as his priestess, I’m not about to let anything happen to you. If you’re going to die, at least make it a death worth remembering.”

She was halfway through the doorway when she added, “And I’ve taken precautions so you don’t think you can trick me the same way you did during your little negotiation with Ronan.”

Luke stayed silent, the realization sinking in that maybe every time he’d thought he was outsmarting her, it was actually the other way around.

“Precautions? What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, but the doors had already shut behind her.

Was she seriously planning to lock him in here?

“Let’s go,” said a voice behind him, soft, careful, almost delicate.

Luke spun around, startled, instinctively stepping back. “What?”

A woman stood there, wearing a maid’s uniform. He hadn’t sensed her presence at all, not even through his perception field. That alone made his skin prickle.

She moved closer, and for a moment he couldn’t process what he was seeing. She looked exactly like Erza Grimhart. But something was off. Her eyes lacked the sharp, predatory gleam, her posture wasn’t threatening. Instead, she carried a quiet grace, calm, gentle, almost fragile. Like a flower in a field of stone.

Then the differences became clearer. Her hair was shorter. Her skin, pale and flawless, had an odd texture, smooth, almost too smooth. Not quite human. It reminded him of porcelain.

“Let’s go to your room,” she whispered, her voice so soft and slow he had to focus to catch the words.

“Erza?” Luke asked cautiously.

“No… not Erza,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly. “Sister.”

Sister? She’s Erza’s sister?