He didn’t answer, but the smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Vyn slowed as they reached a cross-section, her fingers brushing the air. "Hold."
They stopped.
She pointed.
"Magic distortion. Right side. Hostile pack."
Reia nodded. "Then we take the left."
The group slipped down the new corridor—clean. Silent.
Two monster encounters later, they reached the narrow slope that led toward the core. The air here buzzed like a storm waiting to break.
Silas wiped blood from his knuckles. "Something’s ahead."
Reia tensed. "I feel it too."
Lucian caught up by then, walking silently behind them.
"Still low," he said casually when they turned.
Nobody questioned it.
They moved together now, Reia scanning every glyph, Vyn dismantling each magical trap with a flick of her fingers, Evelyn marking anchor points for fallback, Silas anchoring the center with pure mass.
Then—
The air changed.
The tunnel opened into a large antechamber. The walls here were cracked with age, symbols drawn in patterns they didn’t understand, pulsing with red-orange heat like dying stars.
And there, across the room, stood the core.
It wasn’t floating.
It wasn’t protected by glass or barrier.
It throbbed in place. A bleeding crystal, radiating pure dungeon mana in surges that made their skin crawl.
But that wasn’t what stopped them.
It was what stood in front of it.
A shape. A thing. Not fully visible.
Just... present.
Lucian’s eyes locked on it.
Then his mind froze.
A wave of pressure rolled out from the creature. Not mana. Not magic. Something worse.
It drenched the room in silence.
Silas stepped back unconsciously.
Reia clenched her fists.
Evelyn’s threads fluttered like they were trembling.
Even Vyn—always composed—took a sharp breath and whispered, barely audible,
"...Jesus Christ."
The room stood still.
And the monster hadn’t even moved yet.
The Academy
Dean Garos sat behind his desk, eyes locked on the silent projection floating in front of him. The data flickered—unchanged, unyielding. The gate had registered as S-Rank. Clean. Stable. Nothing out of the ordinary.
And then it wasn’t.
Now it was sealed. Twisted. Dead silent. No one in. No one out. Not even a trace of mana drift.
That didn’t happen on its own.
Not unless someone forced it.
Someone who could bend the system. Rewrite data. Warp classifications.
Garos clenched his jaw.
There was only one man he knew with the power—and the ego—to tamper with a gate when he felt threatened.
A man who saw rising talents as a problem.
Not potential.
Not future.
Just competition.
A shadow passed by the doorway.
Then a quiet voice.
"...Brother."
"Eron."