Biocores: The Legendary Weapon Designer-Chapter 63: Survival

The initiation ceremony was a spectacle of tradition, hierarchy, and raw power.

The Hall of Fame, now packed to its very edges, thrummed with energy as the swearing ceremony resumed—this time with Nioh at the center. Grimmes had brought him here not just to introduce him but to make a statement.

A few Conquerors stepped forward, standing in open opposition. Their eyes bore into Nioh, full of disdain, curiosity, and something deeper—hostility.

"This one does not belong," one of them declared, his voice sharp as a blade.

"He is an anomaly," another sneered. "Will you force him into our ranks, Grimmes?"

Grimmes let out a low chuckle, his amusement evident. He didn’t move, didn’t even straighten his posture. And yet—his aura shifted.

A crushing force swept across the room.

The opposing Conquerors stiffened, their bodies resisting out of sheer pride. But it was futile. Grimmes’ presence alone bore down on them like a mountain, pressing their feet into the floor. The air felt suffocating.

One step.

Grimmes took a single step forward, and the tension snapped like a whip. The Conquerors closest to him stumbled back instinctively, their breath caught in their throats. A few clenched their fists, trying to maintain their composure, but the weight of Grimmes’ dominance made resistance impossible.

"You don’t get to decide who belongs," Grimmes said, voice calm but laced with absolute authority. "If you have a problem, settle it with your own strength."

Silence followed, thick with unspoken threats. No one stepped forward. No one dared.

Nioh watched it all, feeling the sheer disparity in power between Grimmes and the others. This was no ordinary mentor. freewebnoveℓ.com

Grimmes turned to Nioh.

"Kneel," he ordered.

Without hesitation, Nioh dropped to one knee, mirroring the tradition of all those before him.

A Conqueror in a ceremonial robe stepped forward, holding an insignia etched in silver. He placed it against Nioh’s hand, and a searing heat burned into his skin. It lasted only a second, but the mark of the Citadel was now forever imprinted on him.

"Rise," the officiant announced. "From this moment forward, you are no longer just a corebinder—you are a Seed of the Citadel."

The hall erupted into a storm of murmurs and quiet resentment, a mixture of curiosity and barely concealed hostility. But no one dared to challenge what had just transpired. Not after witnessing Grimmes’ overwhelming presence.

With the ceremony complete, Grimmes turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, forcing Nioh to follow. The weight of countless gazes bore down on him, but he ignored them, keeping his focus forward.

Once they stepped into the open air, Grimmes finally spoke.

"This is it. There’s no turning back from here. As a first seed your objective is to survive in the citadel for a year. By your own means. You will be confined to the lower levels until you raise enough conqueror points to pass the second year tests." His voice was calm, but the words carried undeniable finality.

He glanced at Nioh, eyes sharp, unreadable. "I won’t ask about your past, nor will I ask about your purpose. You’re still too weak for either to matter."

A pause. Then, a smirk. "Your biocore is on the verge of breaching the threshold to five stars. Let me give you a hint—why is there a difference in strength between Corebinders of the same level?"

Nioh furrowed his brow, but before he could ask anything, Grimmes continued.

"You have three months to reach the fifth star. How you do it is up to you."

And with that, he vanished—fading like a specter, leaving only the weight of his challenge behind.

Nioh exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted the straps of the heavy box on his back.

"I swear, I’m going to kick him in the head when I’m strong enough. Mark my words."

Around him, hushed voices continued their speculation.

"He’s terrifyingly strong... He gives off the same feeling as the old man."

"You mean the Monarch?"

"If not the same level, then close."

Nioh ignored them. He had no time for rumors.

"Let’s find a place to shower and strategize," he muttered, already moving.

The Exchange Hall

Contrary to his expectations, the Exchange Hall wasn’t some grim, mechanical facility. It was grand—a vast chamber of gleaming bronze, its high ceiling supported by towering pillars that cast long shadows across the floor. The air hummed with activity, figures moving between various counters lining the walls, each one manned by an administrator handling requests with machine-like efficiency.

Nioh approached the nearest available counter, dropping his box to the ground with a quiet thud.

"Hello! Can I get some information?"

The administrator, a middle-aged man with cybernetic eyes, barely spared him a glance.

"I don’t do information," he replied, voice flat. "This place is for trading Conqueror Points."

Nioh smirked. "Alright. What’s the rate for converting credits to Conqueror Points?"

"Thousands for one point."

Nioh didn’t hesitate. "I’ll exchange seventy-five thousand credits. I also need a residence."

The administrator finally looked up, studying him. "High-end or low-end?"

"The lowest end possible," Nioh said, his tone firm with conviction.

"Fifty Conqueror Points per week for the key."

"Forty. I’ll pay a month in advance."

The administrator blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Are you... haggling with me?"

"Is that forbidden?"

"No, just... no one’s ever tried." A grin cracked through the man’s otherwise neutral expression. His cybernetic eye flickered as recognition dawned. "Oh. You’re the anomaly everyone’s whispering about."

Nioh crossed his arms. "My name is Nioh. So, deal or no deal?"

A chuckle. Then, a nod. "Deal. If you ever need anything, ask for Atlas."

Nioh froze for just a second, caught off guard by the name. But he quickly recovered, pocketing the key.

"Sure," he replied. Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward his new home.

The Exchange Hall was still buzzing with activity, but he paid it no mind—he had a mission now. Three months to reach Fifth Star level. And he knew that meant more than just crossing a numerical threshold. Grimmes wouldn’t have given him that cryptic hint if it were that simple.

As he stepped out into the streets of the Citadel, he felt the weight of the city pressing in on him. The towering structures, the distant hum of powerful energy sources, and the sheer presence of conquerors walking these roads—it was overwhelming. He wasn’t in a school, nor an academy. This was a battlefield in disguise.

His first order of business? A shower. Then, a plan.