Surviving World's End

The smug deacon

Mark's boots echoed softly through the underground corridor as he walked alone toward the administrative wing of Shadow Mountain.

The mission briefing had ended less than an hour ago, yet the atmosphere across the mountain had already changed.

The competition had begun.

Even the air itself felt sharper.

Disciples hurried through the stone corridors carrying sealed documents, weapons cases, and coded messages. Silent observers lingered in the shadows pretending not to watch the remaining candidates.

But Mark knew better.

Inside Shadow Mountain, someone was always watching.

He eventually stopped before a massive black iron door engraved with the symbol of the organization—a faceless figure standing beneath a crescent moon.

The Deacon's Office.

Without knocking, Mark pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Warm air greeted him immediately, a stark contrast to the freezing corridors outside. The office walls were lined from floor to ceiling with shelves containing scrolls, intelligence files, forged government seals, foreign currencies, passports, and classified reports gathered from every corner of Orivarion.

Behind a massive wooden desk sat an elderly man dressed in simple gray robes.

Unlike the Grand Elder, the Deacon appeared completely ordinary.

That alone made him dangerous.

The old man adjusted his glasses while calmly reading a document in his hand.

"Candidate Seven," he said without looking up.

"Or should I say… Mark."

Mark remained standing.

"I need mission resources."

Only then did the Deacon slowly raise his eyes.

Most people found his gaze unsettling because it lacked emotion entirely.

"How much?"

"Ten million dollars."

For the first time, the Deacon paused.

He leaned back slightly in his chair.

"That is an unusually large amount for an assassination mission."

"I'm not planning a simple assassination."

Silence filled the room for several seconds.

Then the Deacon folded his hands together.

"Explain."

"I need mobility, information networks, emergency escape routes, safehouses, bribes, and unrestricted access to the upper districts of Luminaris."

The Deacon studied him carefully.

"You've thought this through."

"I intend to survive."

A faint smile appeared on the old man's face.

"Good answer."

He opened a drawer and removed a black folder.

"What else?"

"I need a complete identity package."

"Specify."

"A passport. Driving license. Banking access. Educational history. Travel records."

The Deacon wrote everything down without interruption.

"Name?"

Mark had already decided.

"Marcus Vale."

"Nationality?"

"The Republic of Norvain."

The Republic of Norvain was home to the wealthiest businessmen and financial elites in Orivarion.

Officially, Norvain was one of the most influential members of D.A.N.U—the Democratic Alliance of Nations Union.

Unofficially, everyone understood the truth.

Norvain was a nest of spies.

Imperial informants, royal financiers, church agents, arms dealers, and foreign intelligence operatives all operated beneath the polished masks of wealthy investors and corporate executives.

Every major power maintained influence there.

Because whoever controlled information controlled the future.

The Deacon nodded slightly.

"A businessman identity?"

Mark shook his head.

"Independent security consultant."

The old man gave him an approving glance.

Flexible profession.

Easy border access.

Easy explanation for combat skills.

Easy access to weapons.

"You've done your homework," the Deacon remarked.

Mark said nothing.

"What else?"

"I need a hidden contact inside the capital."

The Deacon's pen stopped moving.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Whether you deserve one."

The atmosphere inside the office immediately grew colder.

The Deacon slowly folded his hands together.

"Hidden assets inside Luminaris are among Shadow Mountain's most valuable resources. Some have taken decades to place."

His emotionless eyes narrowed slightly.

"If a candidate proves incompetent, that asset could be exposed."

Mark met his gaze calmly.

"I won't expose them."

"That's what every failure says before they die."

Silence.

Then suddenly, the Deacon smiled.

"Fortunately for you, the Grand Elder seems to value you highly."

He opened another drawer and removed a small black card engraved with a silver emblem.

"A woman named Elena Voss."

Mark memorized the name instantly.

"She operates a library in the lower district of Luminaris."

"Officially?" Mark asked.

"A bookstore owner."

"Unofficially?"

"One of our oldest intelligence brokers."

The Deacon slid the card across the desk.

"She will help you only once."

"One request," he continued.

"No more."

Mark carefully picked up the card.

"What about transportation?"

"I need a direct flight to Cleaveland," Mark said.

"Duke Kevin's territory."

The Deacon raised an eyebrow.

"Directly into the Duke's domain?"

"Yes."

"Most candidates will likely head toward Luminaris first."

"That's why I won't."

The old man stared at him silently for several moments.

Then a quiet laugh escaped his lips.

"So that's your strategy."

"Everyone will focus on the destination."

"But you intend to investigate the origin."

Mark remained silent.

"Alright," the Deacon finally said.

"You may leave now. Arranging everything will take some time. Someone will deliver the package to your residence before dawn."

Mark opened his mouth to respond.

Then hesitated.

For a brief moment, uncertainty flickered across his face before disappearing again.