The morning tide rolled in like always, but the docks felt different. A small navy sloop, white sails stamped with the World Government crest, rested at anchor. Six marines in fresh blue coats unloaded crates while an officer wearing almond‑shaped glasses took notes on a clipboard. Villagers watched from a careful distance. O'Hara rarely saw uniformed guests, and never this many.
Ash stood in an alley near the bakery, peeking around a wooden post. The Codex floated at the edge of his sight with crisp facts:
New group detected – World Government research audit team.
Strength estimate – 1 Lieutenant (low), 1 Cipher Pol agent (medium), 10 regular marines (low).
Advice – remain ordinary; hide Haki use.
He tugged his white cap lower and stepped onto the main street, acting like any seven‑year‑old on an errand. He even carried a bread basket for cover.
Inside the Tree of Knowledge, tension filled every aisle. Scholars whispered in small clusters. Robin looked up from her scroll when Ash entered. "They want to inspect the restricted floors," she said.
Professor Clover called an emergency meeting. His voice stayed calm but his hands trembled on the lectern. "They claim this is a routine safety check," he explained, "yet they ask for documents we've never released."
Ash felt his stomach drop. The restricted floor was where the Wraith Sigil should be—somewhere behind locked cabinets. If the marines found it first, everything could collapse.
The Codex read the room: Group morale: uneasy. Risk of forced search: moderate.
Robin and Ash ducked into their little corner between dusty herbals. He spoke in a hushed voice.
"I need into the restricted stacks," he said.
"Why?" Robin blinked, suspicion and worry mixing in her eyes.
"Let's call it personal research," Ash replied. He hated hiding things, but telling her about the Sigil felt reckless. "Can you cover me if someone asks?"
Her brow knitted, but she finally nodded. "Be careful."
"Aren't I always?" he grinned.
"No."
On cue, a tall woman in a black coat stepped into the hall, flanked by two marines. Her coat bore the slim red armband of CP‑4. She carried no visible gun, but her eyes noticed everything. When her gaze swept past Ash, a small shiver crawled up his neck.
Name tag: Agent Veyla.
"Routine audit," she announced. "Scholars may continue their work. Just don't leave the building."
Her tone was polite, but every letter felt sharp.
Ash waited until the agent moved to the east wing. He slipped down a servant stair, then crawled through a half‑lit ventilation tunnel that connected to the restricted floor. Cobwebs clung to his hair. Echoes of marines' boots thudded somewhere below.
He dropped into a narrow corridor lined with cabinets secured by simple padlocks. The Codex pinged: Wraith Sigil likely inside Row C, drawer 12.
He found the drawer, picked the lock with a thin chisel, and slid it open. Inside lay a black stone disk, smooth and cold. It matched the rubbing Clover had shown him—crescent moon, twin scythes.
Ash lifted it carefully. The runes tingled like carbonated water on his palms. The Codex flashed:
Wraith Sigil obtained.
Compatible with Vault door.
Caution: emits faint will signature; avoid detection.
Footsteps! He stuffed the disk inside his shirt and ducked behind a shelf. Agent Veyla entered, eyes scanning like a hawk. She paused, frowned, and sniffed the air—almost as if she could sense the Sigil.
Ash slowed his breathing. Pulse Breath, but whisper quiet. A bead of sweat trickled down his neck.
Veyla inspected the open drawer. The missing disk was obvious. Her lips thinned. Without turning, she said, "I know someone's here. Return the artifact, and I might overlook your mistake."
Ash weighed options. Iron Vein could knock her back, but the hallways were crawling with marines. Instead he slid a wrapped book forward—an old bestiary, not the Sigil—then crept the other way between shelves and climbed back into the vent.
Behind him, Veyla cursed softly.
Back in his loft, Ash unwrapped the disk. The moon symbol glowed faintly in the dim light. He wrapped it in cloth, then placed it inside a hollow behind a loose floorboard. The Codex agreed: Hide location secure.
His pulse slowed. Step one complete.
Downstairs, he found Robin cornered by two marines taking notes.
"What is your relation to the restricted texts?" one asked.
"I help copy them," Robin said evenly.
"And the symbols?"
"I only read them."
Her calm voice carried strain. Ash stepped forward, cheerful. "Robin, there you are! They need that rubbing copy upstairs."
The marines grunted but let her go. Robin whispered, "Thanks," and leaned toward him. "They asked about you too."
"Let them ask," he replied with a shrug he did not feel.
Late afternoon, Ash slipped to an empty storage cellar. Here he could practise without watchful eyes.
He coated both arms fully with Iron Vein. Each activation drained will, but his control had grown. Five seconds became seven, then ten. He started light sparring, shadow‑boxing toward a cracked stone wall. Punch—punch—elbow. On the fourth strike the wall chipped.
The Codex updated:
Iron Vein base time: 3 sec → 8 sec.
Armament EXP +60.
WRP 33 / 100.
He dropped to do push‑ups, the coating on his wrists preventing scrapes. Sweat pooled under him. He grinned; nothing felt better than solid progress.
When all lights in the library dimmed, Ash carried the Sigil to the undercroft. He bypassed the alarm plates with a short blink. The door still glowed at the rune slot.
He pressed the disk into place. Moon and scythes aligned; light flared. The metal let out a low groan.
Vault progress: 35 % → 48 %.
Then a deeper hum shook the hall. A voice—not the dream voice, but metallic and cold—whispered from the door, "Blood of the Veil, present your Will."
Ash swallowed. He pushed Iron Vein into both arms and placed his palms on the metal. Pain flowered like fire, but he held it.
WRP drains. 48 % → 56 %.
Skin tearing risk: high.
His vision blurred. At 56 % he ripped his hands free and fell to one knee. Blood dotted his fingers. But the door had changed; new panels slid aside, revealing gear‑like locks.
"Step by step," he panted.
As he limped through a side hall, Robin appeared, candle in hand.
"Ash, why are you bleeding?"
He stilled. "Training accident."
She frowned. "Why is there a navy woman searching the basement?"
Ash's heart skipped. "She's here? Now?"
Robin nodded. "I heard her boots in the wall vents."
No time to hide the proof. He grabbed Robin's hand and led her up two flights, into a dusty reading loft.
"Listen," he said. "Things beneath this library are dangerous. I'm trying to keep them locked or at least under our control."
"Your control," Robin corrected.
"Fine. Mine," he admitted. Then he told her a little—just that a sealed weapon linked to his family waited below, and that the marines would misuse it.
She stared, weighing truth and lie. Finally she squeezed his hand. "I won't tell them. But if you get hurt, I will drag you to a doctor myself."
"Deal."
By sunrise, marines filed through the main hall. Agent Veyla stopped Ash at the door.
"Strange to see you about so early," she said, eyes narrow.
"I like dawn air," Ash replied with a polite smile.
Her gaze flicked to his bandaged fingers. "I also like truth."
He bowed. "Perhaps next time we both get what we want."
She let him pass, but her eyes burned into his back.
That night Ash cleaned his wounds and studied the Codex summary:
Vault progress: 56 %.
Iron Vein duration: up to 10 sec (wrist to elbow).
Marines still on island (Day 2).
Risk of discovery rising.
The side note from Skeyth's quest flashed: Body and will: 2 / 3.
Almost there.
He closed his notebook, lay back, and whispered, "Tomorrow I reach sixty percent or die trying." The dream voice answered within the Codex log only he could see:
Echo note: "Stand firm, little Reaper. Storms break upon iron hearts."
Ash let sleep take him, hoping storms waited one more day.