Biocores: The Legendary Weapon Designer-Chapter 111: The Return of the Prince.

Nioh sat at the front of the bay in his floating wheelchair, arms crossed casually. His posture was relaxed, but the moment Akrona stepped in, his eyes locked onto her with a flicker of intensity. He gave her a knowing smirk.

"Everyone," he called out, voice sharp and clear. "Meet Akrona. Don’t let her looks fool you—she’s the strongest warrior I’ve ever come across."

A few chuckles rippled through the hangar. Smirks were exchanged. Akrona stepped forward slowly, uncertainty shadowing her steps.

The first to greet her was a tall man in a silver exosuit, his face slick with sweat and scorched with soot. Flickers of fire still danced along the plating of his suit. His copper eyes, raw and mechanical, rotated subtly as he scanned her.

"I’m X," he said gruffly. "Chief of Security to the prince. Welcome to this dysfunctional excuse of a crew."

Akrona nodded politely.

Next, a quiet figure leaned against a crate—pale skin, narrow eyes, and a presence that radiated cold like a winter storm held behind glass.

"I go by Cryo," he said softly. "I am the young master’s squire."

"Nice to meet you," Akrona replied, her voice low.

A third crew member stepped forward—barefoot, wild-haired, and wearing a patchwork coat of feathers that rustled with every movement. A grin spread across his face.

"Call me Kyle. I cook, tell the best stories, and I’m your navigator. Don’t ask which order matters more."

"These three—" Nioh gestured toward the back, where three armored guards stood at rigid attention, eyes downcast "—are Juith, Brae, and Trum. Don’t expect conversation. They’re better at punching holes than talking."

Before Akrona could respond, the ship shuddered gently. The hangar lights shifted from blue to green.

"Docking complete. Welcome to Daewyth."

Outside the glass walls, the Archipelago of Daewyth unfurled into view—a constellation of islands carved into a sprawling turquoise sea. Bridges of woven vine and ancient steel connected the landmasses like veins across a living creature. Banners flapped in the wind. Floating platforms drifted above the water like petals caught mid-fall, while massive ships glided overhead like airborne leviathans.

Akrona stared in awe.

She had never seen the sea before.

The endless blue, the soft roll of waves, the warmth of reflected light—it struck her like a dream too fragile to touch.

Nioh wheeled beside her, watching her expression. "This is the Archipelago—also known as Biohive 09. It’s the only island-type Biohive known to humanity and serves as the capital of Daewyth."

"It’s beautiful," Akrona whispered.

"That’s an understatement," Nioh said with a grin.

Ahem.

X coughed deliberately behind them. "We need to get moving. The officials are waiting for you."

"Yes, of course."

Nioh’s playful tone vanished, his smile curving into something darker—cold, dangerous. Like a mask slipping.

His voice dropped, calm and commanding.

"Let’s put on a show."

—

The officials stood in solemn formation, aligned with practiced grace under the command of Marsai. Their armor gleamed under the sunlight, banners fluttered in the salty air. A rare gathering—dignitaries, generals, and nobles—all had come to witness the return of the young prince.

It was unexpected.

But Nioh’s name still echoed across Daewyth like a storm remembered.

During the infamous Summer Hunt, he had carved a legend of his own. With the sacrifice of his life and the slaying of the monstrous Gyroshark, he had inspired a generation. His liberation of Niarnia Island had ushered in a brief but brilliant age of prosperity.

And then—he vanished.

Rumors followed in the wake of his absence.

Some said he perished with the Gyroshark. Others whispered he had been abducted by enemies of the state. A few claimed he lived, crippled and disgraced, hiding in shame from the world he once dazzled.

Now, they had gathered to see with their own eyes what remained of the myth.

On the right stood Duke Duval, his presence heavy and noble. At his side, his proud son Warden Jubilee, and flanking them, the next generation—Leon and Kalix. Warriors and wardens of the Modern Faction stood behind them in silent vigilance.

On the left, Duke Tush—ancient, stern, and unmoved. Beside him stood Warden Cohen, and his sharp-eyed grandson Patrix, followed by their Traditional Faction guard, clad in the older war styles and bearing crests untouched by modern politics.

At the center of it all stood Marsai, poised, expression unreadable, flanked by warriors of the Glev direct line.

The air was taut, every eye on the docking ramp.

"How long is he going to keep us waiting?" Kalix muttered, voice low but clear in the silence.

A voice rang out from the ramp—casual, but edged with familiarity.

"You’re still rude as ever, niece."

Gasps followed.

X and Cryo stepped out first, clearing the way.

Then came Nioh.

The sound of the wheelchair’s wheels echoed across the platform like a declaration. His legs were encased in frost-metal braces, the shimmering remnants of cryogenic damage. But beside him walked a tall woman—Akrona—her presence like a blade unsheathed, calm but alert, her hand gently resting on the handle of his chair.

Gasps turned into whispers.

People leaned in.

What had happened during those two missing years?

"Greetings, Prince Nioh," Marsai intoned, bowing low with practiced formality.

"Greetings, Prince Nioh," echoed the warriors of lower rank, many kneeling. A wave of deference swept through the crowd—a majestic display of loyalty, tradition, and reverence to the noble bloodline of the Glevs.

But Nioh’s eyes scanned the sea of bowed heads and stiff shoulders.

He scoffed silently.

There was no loyalty in their eyes.

Only curiosity. Hesitation. Doubt.

A performance. A hollow gesture.

Their hearts were absent.

It was customary now for him to raise a hand, to allow them to stand.

But he did not move.

He made no sign.

Let them kneel.

Let them feel the weight of the silence.

Marsai was the first to speak, her voice steady, though her posture revealed the tension in her spine.

"Welcome back, young prince. We have long awaited word of your return. It is a blessing—for the fiefdoms and for—"

"Spare me the bullshit."

Nioh’s voice cut through the air like a blade. "I’m not in the mood for your hypocritical speeches."

The air thickened.

The warrior beside Marsai raised his head, eyes narrowing as he let his killing intent seep out like poison. A threat, silent but clear.

But before anyone could react—

The woman behind Nioh vanished. A blur.

Akrona reappeared before the warrior.

He tried to draw his blade, instincts sharp—but not sharp enough.

With one swift motion, her hand swatted his head clean off his shoulders.

Blood sprayed like mist, coating Marsai and the stunned warriors in a warm, wet veil.

The sound of the head hitting the floor echoed louder than a cannon.

No one moved.

No one dared.

"Akrona," Nioh said casually, unfazed by the carnage. "That was unnecessary. You don’t need to handle worms yourself."

"He released killing intent," she replied, her tone tinged with indignation.

Nioh’s gaze swept to Marsai—her robes soaked red, her expression frozen.

Then to the gathered crowd—frozen in awe, fear, and disbelief.

"I’ve been gone a few years," he began coldly. "And it seems the standards of this palace have plummeted. I suppose that’s what happens when you leave weak hands in charge."

He let the words settle like dust.

"But that won’t be a problem anymore. Because I’m back."

His voice rose—not a shout, but something worse: steady, venomous, final.

"Let this be a lesson. Traditional, modern, uncle, or nephew—I don’t care. I am investigating what happened two years ago. And if I find so much as a whisper of your involvement..."

His gaze turned to stone.

"I will kill you.If I can’t, I’ll erase your entire line. My father is still alive."

He gestured forward, and his entourage began moving. As they approached the blood-slicked Marsai and her entourage of twenty-some warriors, Nioh slowed. He turned his head back to her.

"If you can’t make them respect you," he said, voice low, "they should at least fear you. That’s what you taught me... remember?"

Then his biocore flared. The air bent, as if reality itself recoiled. His energy pressed down on the twenty warriors, each one frozen in place like dolls beneath the crushing weight of a god.

And then he gave the command: fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

"Kill yourselves."

No hesitation.

Like machines, the soldiers lifted their weapons to their temples.

Twenty synchronized clicks.

A single, thunderous shot.

Their skulls exploded in unison—like a grotesque choir of death.

Silence.

Only the sound of blood dripping on stone remained.

Gasps. Nausea. Horror etched on every face.

Nioh turned, eyes gleaming with cold amusement.

"This is interest," he said with a smirk, "for the kidnapping last time. Keep up the good Marsai. I will accompany you till the end."

And with that, Nioh wheeled forward, Akrona at his side, X and Cryo following close behind. His laughter echoed through the halls—low, maniacal, and unforgettable.