Pirate Phantom
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Chapter 126: The Closed-Door Conference
🕑 Added 2025-10-24 20:50:49 +0000 UTCThe Ironwall Veil System came online.
Victory belonged to humanity.
The invisible barrier that forbade every form of prying rose in silence, folding the meeting hall within its pale, shimmering light.
“Since the activation of the Fractured Shield Project,” said the representative from the UN region, “the rate of Chaos corruption has fallen by ninety-nine percent compared with previous years. Almost all manifestations of Chaos have vanished like fading illusions. Here is the incident report. Even the Mutant Lord sealed beneath Cheyenne Mountain has entered deeper dormancy.”
Her tone was steady, her rhythm unhurried. She spoke with a calm that demanded attention.
An S-Class daemon—the sort marked as an Alpha-level global threat—lying dormant was no small matter. The UN region had suffered wave after wave of crises in the past two years. Were it not for the absence of absolute certainty, their director would have long since chosen annihilation over containment.
“The RU region has seen the same ninety-nine percent decline,” rumbled another voice, thick with a heavy accent. The man who spoke was built like a bear, arms crossed over his chest. His tone carried no warmth. “But the Fractured Shield Project caused the brain death of two players.”
The losses had already been erased from public record. The danger of panic had been smothered before it could spark.
The RU director was proud of his nation’s fearless spirit, the culture of fighting to the last breath. Yet the unease in his words came not from the loss, but from the secrecy. The CN region, always one step ahead, had shared nothing. The Fractured Shield had appeared out of nowhere, too mysterious to trust.
If they had not each confirmed through their own channels that the Fractured truly stood opposed to Chaos, none would have dared deploy the project.
“The CN region’s data is in the next report,” said another voice. “Our main discovery is the appearance of two possible Evolvers within the Fractured Shield system. Their physiological state is still under observation.”
“Evolvers?”
“This is verified?”
The FR and UK directors exchanged glances, their disbelief obvious. The Fractured had always shown strange phenomena, yet to confirm that it could now shape reality—that was something else entirely. A virtual shield had become a living experiment, an instrument with real-world impact.
And that realization was terrifying. If the Fractured could touch the real world, then Chaos could use that same bridge. The shield that once protected them might one day serve as a ladder for the abyss.
“I’m afraid it’s true,” the CN director replied. Her blurred, holographic features flickered. For a moment she seemed to smile, yet her voice trembled like someone suppressing a sob.
“Director of CN region,” the UK representative said coldly, “you are leading humanity in pursuit of fire.”
Humanity’s first ancestors had done the same—reaching for flame, only to be struck down by lightning. What the CN director called courage, others saw as arrogance. The gift of Chaos was never free. Every miracle carried a hidden cost.
“For ten years the corruption rate has risen without pause,” the CN director answered, her tone calm yet unyielding. “Time is running out. If we remain still, Chaos will consume us. We must change our thinking and face it without fear.”
The words fell heavy across the chamber. The Ironwall Veil shimmered faintly, reflecting each face in pale blue light.
“The Fractured,” she continued, “is not humanity’s refuge or shield. It is a precious field of experience, a training ground. If the day comes when we must face Chaos in the real world, we cannot walk into that storm blind. The Fractured is our chance to understand it, to study its patterns, to uncover its weaknesses.”
CN’s leadership had long held the belief that the best defense lay beyond their borders. They lived by that creed both in reality and in the digital frontier.
“Seconded.”
The RU director raised his hand first. His region and CN had always shared the same fire in their hearts.
“Seconded.”
“Seconded.”
The FR and UK directors followed. Their territories were smaller, their populations thinner. To them, turning the Fractured into a proving ground made perfect sense. They could let the greater powers pay the heavier price while still reaping the rewards of the research.
“…Seconded.”
At last, after a moment of silent thought, the UN director nodded as well. History had proven CN’s strategic instincts sound. Though the other regions claimed equal standing, the truth of their inferiority was plain.
“Then the Fractured Shield will enter its first operational phase in five days,” the CN director declared. “The UN, UK, FR, and RU regions will coordinate with us to deepen the integration.”
No one spoke for a long time. The faint hum of the Veil filled the silence.
How long could a fractured shield protect humanity? None of them knew. They were peering into a world beyond their grasp, one stitched from broken laws and unstable dreams. The Fractured was aptly named—a realm destined to shatter. All they could do was delay the inevitable, prolonging the slow collapse with every ounce of strength humankind could muster.
Beyond the sealed chamber, in the real world, anticipation swept across the networks like a storm. The most brutal game ever conceived was about to open its gates to the public.
At the same time, unrest began to stir within the game itself.
The brutal joy of the early days was curdling. Every act of pleasure birthed an echo of violence. The faithful of the Radiant Church marched in growing numbers, their chants shaking the streets. Order, already fragile, began to buckle beneath the roar of the crowd.
In some districts, radicals hurled stones at government buildings. Several guards had been wounded.
It spread like a tide.
Not just in Torrent City. Not only in Southwind Province. The unseen ripples of unrest collided and magnified one another until the entire network quivered like water before a coming wave.
In the wealthier quarters of Torrent City, property prices had spiked. Merchants from the middle districts were moving uphill, seeking safety in marble towers and gated gardens. For the moment, the faithful dared not march there. But even the blind could see that day would come.
Amid that uneasy calm, Lady Maria arrived at number sixty-seven on King’s Avenue. She had kept her promise to visit Harvett, president of the Merchant Council.
Her usual habit of wearing a nun’s gown was forbidden outside the Luminous Cathedral now. Too many eyes watched the Church; too many hearts simmered with suspicion.
This time she dressed differently.
No gown, no veil. Instead, she wore a sharp-cut suit of men’s clothing: polished black boots that reached her knees, fitted beige trousers that traced the lines of her long legs, a tailored blouse beneath a slim vest, and over it all a close-fitting coat that moved like shadow when she walked.
The attire should have looked absurd on a woman of her grace, yet on Maria it became something else. Every thread amplified the cool nobility that lived within her posture, the distant chill in her gaze.
She was elegance refined into steel.
A lady in men’s dress—Lady Maria carried the phrase into the Fractured for the first time.
The street outside the Merchant Council glimmered with thin mist. The scent of rain hung in the air. Carriages rolled past, the iron rims of their wheels cutting shallow lines into the wet stone.
Harvett’s office stood at the end of the avenue, its windows glowing like amber in the dim light. Inside, the president waited behind his desk, a man who had seen more profit than mercy.
When Maria entered, the sound of her boots echoed once, sharp and precise.
“Pastor Lynn sends his regards,” she said quietly, her tone calm as winter air.
Harvett rose from his chair, his plump face folding into the shape of a practiced smile. “And I return them with gratitude. The Radiant Church’s blessing is always welcome here.”
But his eyes flickered, uncertain. The protests outside, the rumors of miracles and madness, the whispers of a coming purge—all of it made her presence unsettling.
Maria said nothing. She crossed the room, the hem of her coat brushing the floor. The faint scent of iron clung to her like perfume. She stopped before the wide window, looking out toward the dark skyline where the towers of Torrent City stood like pillars of an old faith.
“The people are restless,” Harvett said at last. “You’ve seen the marches. They chant for light, but their hands reach for knives.”
Maria turned her head slightly. “Faith and hunger often wear the same face.”
The merchant’s smile faltered. “And what will the Church do? These riots—if they continue—will burn the trade districts.”
“The Church does what it must.”
There was no heat in her words. Only certainty.
Outside, thunder rolled across the horizon. The wind shifted, bringing with it the distant murmur of thousands of voices chanting the name of the Radiant Lord.
Harvett shivered.
Maria’s reflection stared back at her from the glass: the sharp lines of her coat, the cold gleam in her eyes. She thought of the hidden conference in the real world, of the Fractured Shield and the humans who treated the virtual as a battlefield for gods.
Perhaps they were all chasing fire.
And perhaps, like the ancient fools who first reached for flame, they would one day burn for it.
She touched the edge of her coat and turned from the window.
“Tell your traders to prepare,” she said. “When the storm comes, it will touch every city. Even the gilded ones.”
Then she left, boots striking the marble like the ticking of a distant clock.
Outside, the sky over Torrent City had turned the color of molten brass. The first drops of rain began to fall.
The age of the Fractured had begun.
