Arknight : The Rise of The Grand Detective

Xiaolan's life could be summed up in a single word—tragic.

Growing up under the shadow of a mother shackled to her gambling addiction was a torment no child should ever have to endure.

The reckless debts, the screaming matches, the empty cupboards—it was a life that swallowed hope whole. And yet, she endured.

She endured because of him.

Hanxi. Her brother. Her anchor.

He worked himself to the bone, juggling endless shifts just to keep them afloat.

She remembered the way he'd stumble home in the dead of night, dark circles carved deep under his eyes, his body running on sheer will alone.

And yet, every single day, he smiled.

"Don't worry, Xiaolan. Just focus on your studies, yeah? I'll take care of the rest."

That was Hanxi.

Tireless, stubborn, kind. Because of him, she had dared to dream, to believe that maybe, just maybe, life could be better.

But life was cruel.

When their mother finally lost her last bet—her life—she left them something far worse than grief.

The debt, staggering and inescapable, passed to them like a curse.

There was no escape, no loophole, no way out.

The reminder came on a night that would forever be burned into her memory.

A plain envelope, slipped under the door. No sender.

Just her name, scribbled in crude, uneven strokes.

She had opened it with trembling fingers.

Inside—

A severed finger. Wrapped neatly, almost mockingly.

A letter, brief and merciless.

"If you wish to see your brother alive, you'd best pay up."

She had collapsed right there on the floor, her breath stolen, her world caving in.

"Hanxi… no. No, no, no—"

But there was no one to hear her. No arms to hold her.

Only silence. 

That were her recollection stopped.

The hum of the elevator filled the cramped space, the soft whirring of cables the only thing cutting through the heavy silence.

Four black cases sat neatly in the corner, their metal latches gleaming under the cold fluorescent light.

Between them, standing stiff as a board, was Xiaolan—medium frame, bob-cut hair, thick-rimmed glasses slightly askew.

She looked small between the two men flanking her, their presence looming like a pair of shadows.

One of them, the taller of the two, exhaled sharply through his nose, amused. He ran a hand through his cropped hair and dog ears, flashing her a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Well, shit," he muttered. "Didn't think you'd actually make it. That's a hell of a lot of money you put together, Xiaolan."

She said nothing.

Her fingers twitched slightly, curling into the fabric of her coat.

The second man chuckled, a rough, scratchy sound.

Stockier, built like a brawler, one could notice his hunger fitting that of a wolf, he leaned against the railing, watching her with something between curiosity and amusement.

"Yeah," he drawled.

"Real impressive. Guess it's true what they say—people'll do anything when they're desperate enough."

He tilted his head, eyes glinting.

"Just a shame, really. 'Cause if you ain't got the rest of it, well… hate to say it, love, but you might be next."

Xiaolan's jaw tightened, but she didn't react otherwise. The first man sighed, shaking his head.

"Ease up, mate. No need to scare the poor girl." He glanced at the cases, then at her, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Still. You really pulled through, huh? Makes me wonder… just how far you're willing to go."

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open with a slow hiss.

The men stepped out first, waiting. Xiaolan hesitated, staring at the threshold as if it marked a point of no return.

Then, swallowing hard, she stepped forward.

The doors shut behind her.

**

Xiolan's fingers crept into her suit, cool and steady, like a fox slipping through the hedgerows.

The two guys were nattering away, completely oblivious, arguing over something daft like who'd gets more girls.

Her hand closed around the small axe strapped to her side.

It wasn't much to look at, but it didn't need to be.

Not with what she had in mind.

She felt the surge of Originium art ripple through her, that familiar, electric buzz. One of the guys—the one with dog ears, finally clocked her.

His eyes went wide, but it was too late. Xiolan was already moving.

The axe flashed, a blur of silver.

*thwack*

his head hit the deck before his body even realised it was dead.

No dramatic last words, no heroic struggle. Just sorted.

The other one, the lupo, lost his focus.

He fumbled for his shooter, but Xiolan was already on him.

He swung wildly, trying to land a hit, but she dodged like she was doing the foxtrot. His punches were all over the shop, desperate.

She smirked, sidestepping another wild swing, and then—*slice*—her axe carved through him like a hot knife through butter.

He crumpled, a heap of limbs and regret.

Blood splattered her suit, dark and sticky, but she didn't bat an eyelid.

She stepped over the bodies, her boots squelching in the mess, and headed for the cases.

The elevator dinged, signalling it had reached its stop.

She spun, axe ready, expecting a whole squad to come bursting through the doors.

Huh," she muttered, lowering her weapon.

As she crossed her eyes, she noticed nobody. She slowly crept up the hallway with the cases in her hands.

Finding no one in the rooms she began to go to work. She popped it open, and there it was.

A sniper rifle, disassembled into pieces, hidden behind the false lining of the case. She worked fast, her fingers flying as she put it back together.

Barrel, scope, stock—click, click, click. It was like riding a bike to her. Within seconds, she had a fully loaded killing machine in her hands.

She had trained extensively throughout the year in preparation for this moment.

She crept to the window, her visor sliding down over her eyes.

The world outside sharpened into focus, every detail crystal clear. She scanned the area, her breath steady, her heart calm. And then—there he was.

The boss.

Standing on a balcony across the way, puffing on a cigar like he didn't have a care in the world.

As she prepared to shoot her target of revenge. 

She sensed something.

Something was wrong.

Xiaolan felt it before she saw it—an unease creeping up her spine like a cold hand tracing her vertebrae.

The hallway ahead, once still and empty, now seemed to quiver ever so slightly, like the air itself was holding its breath.

The darkness, thick and absolute, began to shift, a slow and deliberate ripple moving through it.

Then, a flicker.

A tiny flame sparked to life, barely more than a whisper of light, but in that suffocating blackness, it might as well have been the sun.

It danced atop a lighter, illuminating just enough to reveal the faint outline of a man standing in the void.

A long overcoat draped over broad shoulders, worn and slightly weathered, the kind that told stories of long nights.

And then, the eyes—blood-red and gleaming, cutting through the gloom like a predator spotting its prey.

The lighter snapped shut with a quiet clink, plunging them back into the murky dark, but the figure remained, his presence unmistakable.

A voice, smooth yet edged with something sharp, filled the space.

"My name Howard Leyman," he said, tone almost amused, like he'd walked into a game where he already knew the ending.

He took a step forward, the soft creak of leather breaking the silence.

"And I've come to solve your case."