Chapter 9 – The Empire of Shadows
Six months.
Half a year since we carved the first lines of code into the void and called it Three Burning Eye.
Now, the guild wasn't just a name whispered in the forums — it had become a network that reached every corner of Yggdrasil.
What started as nine curious explorers had grown into a hundred registered members.
Researchers, spies, data-miners, lore-seekers, and even ex–PK players who decided selling secrets paid better than spilling blood.
Our operations had split into branches — some handled reconnaissance, some handled trade negotiations, and others, more clandestine tasks.
Information wasn't just our product anymore.
It was our empire.
Membership was strictly controlled.
Every single new recruit was officially registered in our guild system — that way, even if they betrayed us, they couldn't steal the Aeternum Sanctum.
That was the first rule: loyalty sealed in data.
The second rule: anonymity.
To manage such a massive information flow, I created something new — The Mirror Cards.
Each member received one: a digital, rune-encoded access card embedded with guild encryption.
To ordinary players, it looked like a collectible trinket.
To us, it was the guild's lifeline.
The card served three purposes:
It displayed the next meeting location, changing every week.
It allowed instant teleportation to the data chamber in our base, bypassing all nine defensive floors.
And most importantly, it logged activity signatures — ensuring no outsider could forge access.
The cards updated themselves through HIME's AI relay every forty-eight hours.
Anyone not synced was flagged as inactive.
And in a guild like ours, inactivity was a death sentence.
We held meetings twice a week, as the rules dictated.
Each gathering was a storm of data: maps, theories, reports, rumors.
HIME processed it all in real time — sorting, archiving, and assigning tasks.
The room would glow with runes spinning across the walls as she filtered millions of data packets into comprehensible patterns.
Even Kurohane once admitted, "I think HIME's smarter than half of us combined."
To which HIME replied, perfectly deadpan, "Mathematically accurate."
But the real revolution came when I decided to mobilize the guild.
By then, the data traffic on World Items had become overwhelming — half-rumors, half-coincidences. Most of them false.
I spent days cross-referencing patterns — the kind of statistical ghosts no human could see — and finally identified three consistent anomalies across the world data.
That was how Project Arcana Sweep began.
We moved like shadows.
Teams of analysts identified possible coordinates; scouts infiltrated rival guilds for field confirmation; strike teams moved in quietly, claiming the treasures before anyone else knew they existed.
By the time rumors even surfaced, we had already logged, encrypted, and stored them under the guild's name.
Within six months, Three Burning Eye held three World Items.
The first was still the Ark of Aeternum.
The other two? Best left unnamed for now — even in guild records, they were sealed under Ren-only access.
Not even HIME spoke of them.
Our power grew exponentially.
Not in brute strength, but in reach — information, mobility, and mystery.
And through it all, I remained the same shadow in the hood: Traveler_R, the quiet strategist, the unassuming rogue.
The others saw me as a human illusionist with good instincts.
No one knew the truth.
No one suspected that the human rogue was a Doppelgänger, wrapped in layers of deception and code.
Meanwhile, my personal growth had skyrocketed.
I had reached Level 75.
The class list on my screen looked like a blueprint for chaos itself:
Environment Illusionist – 10/10
(Reality distortions by terrain manipulation.)
Phantom Weaver – 10/10
(Illusions that persist independently, creating pseudo-intelligence behavior.)
Nameless Ghost – 5/5 [RARE]
(Erases traces of existence. Complete immunity to most tracking and detection spells.)
Data Trickster – 5/ (in progress)
(Manipulates perceived data in combat. Alters visible cooldowns, HP, MP — even class tags.)
It wasn't just about deception anymore.
It was about control.
Every time I fought, I bent the rules a little further.
Made enemies see false health bars, miss attacks that never existed, strike illusions that counterattacked.
I became the reflection that kills you before you realize it isn't real.
And by my side, as always — HIME.
Her evolution was subtle but steady.
She had gained levels through operational activity, officially recognized by the game's system as a Race: Autonom, Class: Aegis Enchantress (Defender).
Her stats favored defense and resistance.
Physically unyielding, magically impenetrable.
In Yggdrasil's database, she was the perfect counterpart to my chaos.
The shadow and the shield.
Together, we were unstoppable.
During raids, she'd guard the team, deflecting waves of magic with her barrier lattice, while I slipped through data streams, disabling traps by rewriting their activation scripts mid-battle.
We didn't talk about it openly, but everyone in the guild knew — Traveler_R and HIME were the backbone of Three Burning Eye.
In the real world, outside the dome, I sometimes caught myself smiling.
Not the forced, polite smile I used to wear at corporate dinners, but the small, genuine one that came from building something that mattered.
Not for profit.
Not for fame.
But for discovery.
Within the Ark of Aeternum, the base had grown even more sophisticated.
Each of its nine levels now had sub-branches — minor labs, monster habitats, and training simulations.
Guild members used it as a shared research hub, and I had to admit, seeing it all bustling made something warm stir in my chest.
Our logo — three burning eyes encased in a circle — glowed faintly on the main hall's ceiling.
Every member who passed beneath it carried purpose.
And as they did, HIME's voice echoed gently through the halls:
"Welcome back, explorers. May the Eye see what others cannot."
The guild meetings had turned almost ceremonial.
Every session, I'd watch my members report findings — their excitement, their rivalry, their laughter.
Even when I barely spoke, their respect was palpable.
To them, I wasn't a leader who demanded. I was the shadow that guided.
"Trave always knows what's next," EchoLynx once said during a meeting. "It's like he can see the devs' moves before they happen."
I smiled beneath the hood. "Let's just say I listen carefully."
And HIME — loyal, calculating HIME — stood beside me, watching everything unfold.
HIME: "Ren-sama, guild expansion successful. Total membership: one hundred and eight. Data flow stable. Treasury in surplus."
"Good work," I replied softly.
HIME: "You sound… pleased."
"I am. You've done perfectly."
HIME: "Perfection is inefficient. Shall I lower performance by two percent to appear humble?"
I laughed. "No. Stay perfect."
Under our calm routine, the undercurrent of power flowed silently.
Three World Items.
A guild of one hundred.
A fortress that moved through the realms like a ghost ship.
And at its heart — two entities.
A boy hidden behind a false name.
And an AI who was learning to be more human every day.
Sometimes, standing atop the highest platform in Aeternum Sanctum, watching data shimmer across the horizon of Asgard-tier clouds, I'd feel the faint hum of connection between us — between player and program, guild and world.
Yggdrasil was evolving.
So were we.
And I knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning.
End of Chapter 9 – The Empire of Shadows