F-Rank Soul Eater-Chapter 122: An Assassin?

Soren was left shocked. If Pencil had been the one here and not him, that attack would have hit target.

His pulse hammered in his ears.

He spun back toward Pencil, who was frozen in place—staring at the collapsed cadet like his soul had left his body.

"Pencil!" Soren snapped at him. "Get the porter. Now. Hurry!"

Pencil jolted like he’d been shocked.

"Y–Yes! Yes, right away!" he stammered, but hesitated to ho out the hallway.

Then he remembered he could just make the report with his watch.

Soren didn’t wait.

He launched forward, boots slamming against the floor as he tore down the corridor after the black-clad figure.

The assassin didn’t look back.

They moved like a shadow peeling itself off the wall—silent, fast, and inhumanly smooth.

Soren clenched his jaw and pushed harder.

"Hey!" He screamed.

However, the figure flicked their wrist.

A needle shrieked through the air.

Soren twisted his torso sideways at the last second.

The needle grazed past his ribs and embedded itself into the wall behind him with a sharp tick.

But that was not all. Another needle came.

Then another.

But his Blackfield kicked in. Soren ducked, rolled, and slid across the floor, feeling the cold wind of death skim his hairline.

Nevertheless, his gaze was focus.

The figure froze for a slight second. Shocked.

Soren kicked off the ground and surged forward again.

"Not fast enough," he growled.

He was no longer far.

He poured force into his legs, using Ivory’s frog ability.

The floor cracked under his next step.

Stone shattered as Soren launched himself like a cannonball, the impact carving a shallow trench behind him as he blasted forward.

The distance between them vanished.

He slammed both palms together mid-run.

Clap Technique.

The compressed shockwave exploded behind the assassin.

CLAP.

But the figure’s body bent backward at an impossible angle, spine bowing like rubber, narrowly letting the force blast scream past their chest and obliterate the wall ahead instead.

Soren’s eyes widened.

"What the—?"

He didn’t stop. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

He rushed in and threw a punch.

The assassin twisted sideways.

Soren elbowed.

They ducked.

Then he swept their legs.

They vaulted clean over him.

They didn’t counterattack.

They only dodged.

Like their entire existence was built around avoiding death.

They can use Blackfield?

Soren thought to himself.

The figure leaped up the wall, boots sticking to the stone like it was wet glass.

They ran sideways for three steps, then flipped and clung to the ceiling, body folded like a spider hanging upside down.

Soren skidded to a halt, staring.

"...You’ve got to be kidding me."

The assassin dropped another needle.

Soren slapped it away with his forearm and growled in frustration.

He yanked his dagger free from his side, and hurled it with full force.

The blade spun end over end, screaming straight toward the assassin’s chest.

At the same time, the figure flicked a needle forward.

Metal struck metal.

Soren’s eyes widened.

The needle hit the dagger’s flat midair, deflecting it just enough that the blade veered off course and shattered a light fixture instead.

Glass rained down the hallway.

Soren cursed and sprinted again as the assassin bolted around the corner.

He rounded it a heartbeat later—

—and nearly slammed into Cynthia.

She was stepping out of her room, towel over one shoulder, head turning in confusion at the noise.

Soren’s eyes went wide.

"CYNTHIA!" he roared. "GET EM!"

She didn’t ask questions.

Her eyes flared through her helmet.

The assassin burst out of the hallway toward the open balcony—

—and Cynthia’s massive hand shot out like a bear trap.

She caught the figure by the hoodie mid-leap.

The force of it cracked the railing.

"Gooooot yooou," Cynthia snarled, yanking them back in.

But the hood collapsed inward.

Like it was empty.

The fabric slid through her fingers.

Nothing was inside.

Soren skidded to her side—his dagger already back in his hand, eyes scanning wildly.

"...What?"

They both turned, searching the balcony.

The hallway, the ceiling, and the walls.

But Nothing.

No footsteps.

No presence.

No blood.

Just the cold morning air and the distant echo of cadets rushing up to see what the commotion was about.

The assassin was gone.

Soren slowly lowered his weapon.

Cynthia’s expression darkened.

"...Yooouuur Frrriend!?."

Soren exhaled hard, heart still hammering.

"No," he muttered. "It wasn’t."

Soren frowned. Somewhere deep in his gut, he knew—

This wasn’t over.

By the time he went back to the room, Hectorhad arrived—staring at the not moving cadet on the floor.

He frowned.

.....

A few minutes later, Soren’s room no longer felt like his.

It had become a crime scene.

Two figures from the Red Sword Inquisitors stood near the center of the room, draped in their signature heavy white robes that had the massive red sword insignia across their chest.

And at their sides were their swords.

A soulbound warrior’s nightmare.

The air felt colder with them present.

Instructor Hector had not left too.

And standing near the wall with his arms folded was the Instructor with the eagle-wing eyebrows.

Soren had found out that he was actually called Instructor Eagle wing eyebrows by the cadets and surprisingly did not mind it.

His gaze was narrowed.

The pale cadet’s body had been wrapped in a clean white cloth.

Four attendants carefully lifted him onto a levitating stretcher.

The cloth shifted slightly as they moved him, and for a moment Soren thought he saw the boy’s pale fingers twitch—but then they disappeared beneath the folds as the stretcher floated out of the room.

The door slid shut behind them.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

One of the Red Sword Inquisitors stepped forward. "This is not a nice sight to see in the morning."

"Its a good thing we are having the fast." His colleague added.

He grunted in agreement. Then he turned to Soren.

"State your name for the record."

"Soren," Soren replied. "First-year cadet."

"Explain what happened," the Inquisitor said calmly.

Soren did.

He told them everything.

The delivery cadet.

The attack with the needle.

The chase.

The assassin in black.

Cynthia grabbing the hood.

The disappearance.

Aside how he used his abilities, he left nothing out.

When he finished, the room felt heavier than before.

The Red Sword Inquisitor slowly turned his head toward Instructor Hector.

"And you confirm this account?" the Inquisitor asked.

Hector didn’t answer immediately.

He exhaled.

Then shook his head.

"...No."

Soren’s stomach dropped.

"What?" Soren said sharply. "What do you mean no?"

He pointed to the black cloth and obvious needle that had been taken as evidence.

However, Hector tapped a button on his wrist.

His cybernetic eye hummed.

Then a translucent projection bloomed into the air between them.

"This," Hector said, "is the security footage from the dormitory hall. The same feed your sponsors are currently seeing."

The hologram flickered.

Then played.

Soren saw himself burst out of his room.

He saw himself sprint down the hallway.

He saw himself duck.

Twist.

Roll.

Kick off the floor hard enough to crack the stone.

He saw himself clap his hands and send a shockwave down the corridor.

He saw himself throw his dagger.

He saw himself round the corner and scream Cynthia’s name.

He saw Cynthia grab at empty air.

He saw himself skidding to a halt, staring in confusion.

But there was one problem.

A massive, horrifying problem.

There was no one in front of him.

No black-clad figure.

No assassin.

Yes. There was no presence.

In the footage...

Soren was fighting nothing.

(Author’s Note: Yeah... You know it. YOUR BOY about to cook with this one.)