Chapter 987 – Heritage Secured

Shadowblade slowly walked out from the edge of the arena. Even with all his experience, his heart stirred with waves of emotion.

She was merely a level 18 Shadow Assassin, yet she could perfectly control six Shadow Phantom Clones simultaneously, each possessing strength equivalent to at least a level 16 elite Shadow Assassin—and they weren’t even real clones, but mere illusory phantoms.

Normally speaking, the illusory phantoms of Shadow Phantom Clone were weaker than real clones, which in turn were weaker than the main body.

Each real clone was essentially a part of the main body, capable of sharing damage, but at the same time, injuries to a clone would also injure the main body.

Illusory phantoms, on the other hand, were entirely phantom clones with no connection to the main body whatsoever. Even if the phantom was destroyed, the main body would remain completely unharmed.

Shadowblade recalled his own Shadow Phantom Clone back when he was level 18. His real clones had indeed reached the level of an ordinary level 16 Shadow Assassin, but his illusory phantom clones had only possessed the strength of a level 10 Shadow Assassin. Moreover, he hadn’t been able to control six clones simultaneously—that required formidable control ability.

Not to mention, her main body had also employed the Shadow Walker’s level 9 Magic, Shadow Attunement, perfectly “grafting” herself onto a shadow somewhere in the environment, achieving a state of concealment that approached “I am the shadow itself”—even he had nearly overlooked her.

From this alone, her level 18 Shadow Walker abilities were equally solid.

And she was said to be not yet a hundred and fifty years old.

Such age, yet such strength—even within the Nightveil Clan, there was no one so young who had reached level 18 as either a Shadow Assassin or a Shadow Walker, yet she had pushed both to their extremes.

Even Shadowblade couldn’t help but feel a measure of admiration for her talent.

“The trial is over. You’ve won, Moira—won… flawlessly.”

He turned to the three Fangs of Nightveil members who still seemed unable to collect themselves, his voice growing several degrees sterner: “Now, do you see where the gap lies between yourselves and a truly top-tier genius? Dismissed. Reflect well and train harder.”

The three Deep Shadow Elves of the Fangs of Nightveil lowered their heads in shame, bowed respectfully, and swiftly exited the training grounds.

Only Mo Lan and Shadowblade remained in the arena.

“You’ve proven your strength.” Shadowblade looked Mo Lan straight in the eye. “Viola was right about you. As agreed, I will now pass on to you the Deep Shadow Elves’ class heritage for levels 19 and 20.”

“Thank you, Elder!” Mo Lan, fearing he might change his mind, immediately produced the Resonance Device.

This was the Underdark—the Nightveil Clan—a place where secrecy, cunning, killing, and pragmatic self-interest were the laws of survival.

In the Underground World, “trust” often required strength and immediate mutual benefit as guarantees. Variables and the unexpected were the norm.

Only when the heritage was truly in her hands could she breathe easy.

Mo Lan carefully explained the Resonance Device’s functions to him. After listening, Shadowblade raised a condition: “I need to inspect this instrument. And before sharing the heritage, you’ll need to sign this magical contract!”

“Of course.” Mo Lan was unsurprised by his caution. “You may inspect the instrument however you wish. As for this contract…” She quickly scanned the contract terms with her psychic power, confirmed that they only ensured both parties’ interests and safety with no hidden malicious traps or vaguely worded clauses that could be stretched indefinitely, then nodded. “I can sign it right now.”

Seeing this, Shadowblade’s last trace of doubt vanished: “A wise choice!”

While Shadowblade inspected the Resonance Device, Mo Lan signed the magical contract: “Can we begin now?”

Shadowblade gave a slight nod and walked over to the sharing terminal of the Resonance Device.

Before long, the final portion of the Deep Shadow Elf class heritage memories filled in within Mo Lan’s mental sea. She opened her eyes with delight: “Elder Shadowblade, I cannot thank you enough! If I obtain the high Elf heritage, I will absolutely share a copy with both Viola and yourself!” This was precisely the core reason Shadowblade had agreed to share the heritage memories.

In that stringent magical contract from moments ago, aside from the safety restriction clauses, the sole interest-related clause concerned exactly this.

The lost high Elf heritage held an irresistible allure for any Elven branch with ambitions of ascending to the Peak of power.

“The transaction is complete. As for how to digest and apply this heritage, I trust you need no one’s guidance. Follow me—I’ll escort you out of the clan grounds.”

With that, Shadowblade turned and walked away. Mo Lan hurried to keep up.

The two moved swiftly through the labyrinthine, heavily guarded caverns. Every Deep Shadow Elf they encountered, upon seeing Shadowblade at her side, silently stepped aside.

Soon, they arrived once more before that fearsome archway. Beyond the gate lay the complex cave labyrinth.

“From here, you’re on your own. Remember—retrace your steps. If anyone tries to stop you, show no mercy.”

Mo Lan knew that the Deep Shadow Elves of the Nightveil Clan had a tradition of assassinating outsiders who entered their territory—from the moment one set foot inside the clan grounds until one exited the cave labyrinth.

Only those strong enough to survive the assassinations were deemed capable of keeping the clan’s secrets and allowed to leave the Nightveil Clan safely.

This also served as a trial for the clan’s own members. If a Deep Shadow Elf was killed in retaliation during this process, the Nightveil Clan would not pursue the matter.

It was only because of Shadowblade’s presence that she hadn’t been targeted within the clan grounds. The moment she stepped through this gate, his protection would no longer apply.

The instant Mo Lan crossed the threshold of the archway, Shadowblade vanished without a trace behind her.

At the same moment, killing intent surged toward her like a wave.

She hadn’t taken three steps before three needle-thin projectiles—fine as ox hair and nearly indistinguishable from the darkness—shot out from three different holes in the rock walls with lightning speed, targeting her posterior neck, the vital point along her spine, and the back of her knee.

Her body moved as if guided by premonition, twisting and swaying with minimal yet exquisitely precise adjustments that defied the normal limits of joint flexibility. The three needles grazed the edges of her clothing and embedded themselves in the opposite rock wall, sinking in silently without leaving so much as a mark.

And she was already lunging toward the source of the projectiles.

In mere minutes, silence returned to the passage. Three Deep Shadow Elves now lay sprawled across the ground in various positions, unconscious.

Apart from where Mo Lan had struck them, their bodies bore no other injuries—but they wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.

Mo Lan dusted off her hands—brushing away dirt that wasn’t actually there—glanced at the “spoils of war” on the ground, and curled her lip: “Elder Shadowblade did say there was no need to hold back… but killing their people right after receiving the heritage would be a bit much.”

That said, she hadn’t gone easy on them in the slightest.

Those few precisely placed strikes had been infused with just the right amount of hidden force, guaranteeing that when these fellows woke up, the backs of their heads or necks would ache for days—a thorough lesson for them.

After all, these assassins had gone straight for the kill with poisoned needles, targeting vital points that could instantly paralyze or kill. They hadn’t shown her an ounce of courtesy.

If her skills hadn’t been sharp enough and her reflexes fast enough, the one lying on the ground right now would have been her.