Ex rank talent Awakening: 100% Dodge rate

"First off, we will be raising the head of the Sword Family," Daniel said calmly.

Without another word, everyone vanished in a coordinated flash of light, teleporting straight to Arthur's tomb.

The tomb was a work of reverence and art—an intricately carved chamber enshrined in cold stone, its walls lined with sword motifs, its corners adorned with silver lanterns glowing faintly. In the center, upon a marble dais, rested a coffin of polished obsidian veined with gold, clearly untouched by time.

Daniel stepped forward, his expression unreadable. The head of the Sword Family walked beside him, while the others remained where they were. None dared approach further—they all knew better than to risk triggering any dormant defense mechanisms woven into the tomb's very stone.

Standing before the coffin, Daniel took a deep breath. "This is it," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

He pricked his thumb with a tiny flick of his nail, letting his blood drip onto the coffin. The Sword Family head did the same, their blood glowing faintly as it touched the lid.

A low hum filled the air. The coffin began to glow with a pristine white aura, soft at first, then growing in intensity. The sound of clashing swords echoed all around them—not physically, but in spirit, a resonance of the concept sealed within.

Then, the lid slowly slid open.

Inside was the face of a young man—Arthur—seemingly in his late thirties, though untouched by age. His features were regal, calm even in slumber.

"Wake up already, Arthur," Daniel said with a dry voice, though there was steel underneath. "Or I might smash that pretty face of yours."

It sounded like a joke, but the flatness in Daniel's tone suggested he wasn't entirely kidding.

"Urgh… that was refreshing," the man in the coffin muttered. He stretched an arm upward, bones cracking with sharp pops as his joints realigned. Then, with a fluid motion, he stepped out of the coffin, standing tall before them.

"Welcome back, Ancestor," the Sword Family head said at once, falling to his knees with reverence.

Arthur turned to Daniel, grinning. "Hmm… Daniel. It's good to see your face again. Though not the stoic one—that one gives me nightmares. And you must be my descendant. We've much to talk about, but first…"

The tomb shivered. The cloth draped over Arthur shimmered and transformed, shifting as several swords embedded in the surrounding stone flew toward him. They reformed mid-air, weaving together in a cascade of light and steel into a flowing robe of white silk. He caught a beautiful sword as it hovered before him, fastening it to his waist.

"Let's go," Arthur said, ready and regal.

Daniel nodded, his face as composed as ever, and the trio walked back to rejoin the other family heads.

Merlin, eyes closed and fingers glowing with ethereal runes, cast his spell once more. With a surge of spatial energy, the entire party vanished, reappearing before another tomb—this one belonging to Iris, the Beholder of Fate.

Just like before, Daniel and the Fate Family head stepped forward. They pricked their thumbs and let their blood fall upon the lid. The aura shimmered to life.

But this time… something was wrong.

The lid opened slowly, revealing a pale woman with serene features. But she did not stir. A dark, gaping hole marked her chest—where her heart once resided.

Iris was dead.

"Who did this?!" Arthur and Daniel roared in unison, their rage exploding outward in a violent wave of pressure. The sheer force of their fury sent every family head flying backward, crashing against the tomb walls.

They stood frozen, the sight of Iris's lifeless body sending a chill deeper than fear.

"Only an absolute concept wielder can kill another absolute," Arthur said darkly, his voice trembling with suppressed wrath. The sound of unseen blades clashing echoed from his aura, warning of a fury yet to be fully released.

Daniel remained silent, but the deadly gleam in his eyes said everything.

The head of the Fate Family fell to her knees beside the tomb, her disbelief painted across her face. Her spiritual pressure surged in grief and confusion, but it was dwarfed entirely by the oppressive weight of the two absolute concept wielders.

Eventually, the storm of their emotions subsided. Quietly, solemnly, they held Iris's hand one last time. Then, with heavy hearts and pained expressions, they slid the lid back over the coffin.

They let her sleep forever.

And so, the process continued, tomb after tomb—each one unveiling a different fate. Some ancestors rose like Arthur. Others, like Iris, remained still in eternal silence, their hearts torn away by a yet unknown enemy.

---

*******

"We're down to twelve now," Arthur said bitterly, his arms crossed, eyes burning with restrained anger. "We are the only ones left. Whoever's responsible… I swear I'll cut them to pieces."

They had visited twenty-two tombs in total. Of the fifty friends who once wielded absolute concepts, only thirteen survived—twelve revived from slumber, and Daniel, the sole survivor among the living.

Each of the dead had the same wound: a hole through the heart. Their assassin had left no ambiguity.

Those who now stood among the living were: Alive with the Gravity concept, Tunde with Destruction, Logan with Wind, Seraphim with Puppetry, Lens with Reflection, Hemsworth with Transformation, Arthur with Sword, Anthonia with Poison, Morganna with Summon, Merlin with Magic, Lancelot with Spear, and Rothschild with Persuasion.

"I will investigate this myself," Daniel vowed, his words sharp with quiet certainty. "All I need is time."

He glanced toward the sealed corpse of Sabbah's ancestor, which he had taken for examination. He already had a suspect in mind—all he needed now was proof.

"For now," Daniel continued, "return to your families. Prepare your legacies. Put things in order."

The storm had only begun to gather.

---

*******

Sabbah returned to his territory, his heart a storm of rage and discontent.

His ancestor was dead. The weight of it crushed his thoughts.

Without that powerful deterrent, his family stood vulnerable. In the delicate power balance of the hidden world, they were now at a serious disadvantage.

Daniel had asked for the corpse for investigation. Refusing would have made Sabbah a target of resentment and suspicion. It wasn't a risk he could afford.

But something didn't sit right with him. Unlike the others, Sabbah was trained to see patterns where others couldn't. A former assassin and historian of the hidden families, he'd seen enough to spot an unsettling truth.

Only the ancestors who supported honoring the promise they made to the legend had been killed.

Those who intended to break it and oppose Greg survived.

That couldn't be a coincidence.

"Father, forgive me for my failure," a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Sabbah turned to see Elena kneeling before him.

"Kate is gone."

"I know," Sabbah said quietly. "She said she had a pressing matter, didn't she?"

"Yes, Father… and due to my negligence, she slipped away unnoticed."

"It's fine. Perhaps… it's for the best. Even I don't know what's going to happen from here on out."

Elena frowned. "Father… is our primogenitor truly…" She couldn't finish.

"Yes," Sabbah said grimly. "He's dead. We now have only ourselves to rely on."

"But without a single absolute concept wielder on our side…" she whispered, "…we'll be crushed."

"They won't move openly. Not while Daniel is still breathing," Sabbah said. But even he didn't fully believe his own reassurance.

Unknown to everyone, not even Elena, Sabbah had achieved a breakthrough—a pseudo-absolute concept. The only one who knew was Greg.

He had revealed it to the boy to drive him harder, to prepare him. Sabbah had long predicted that something like this might occur.

But not this soon.

---

*******

"Chris… did it work? Can you move?"

Brian sat quietly beside the hospital bed, watching his best friend's pale face.

Apocalypse had descended.

Brian had felt it—the surge of power, the crackle of life-altering energy flooding through him. Swordplay, instinct, and strength that once eluded him in reality now flowed through his veins with ease. He had become something else—something supernatural.

He'd rushed from his house the moment the change settled in, praying it would be enough to free his friend.

"Well, as you can see, I'm still in bed, aren't I?" Chris said, a small smile trying to mask the bitterness in his voice.

Brian felt the words like a knife to the chest.

"I'm sorry," Brian said, lowering his head. "I promise I'll do everything in my power to make sure you're okay. With the apocalypse's descent… maybe I can find a healer. Someone who can fix you."