The dungeon corridors were still trembling.
Not a simple tremor of stone. No. This was deeper, more visceral, as if the building itself was hesitating between staying upright or collapsing out of sheer exhaustion.
The cracked walls spat dust with every vibration.
The shattered floor revealed ancient layers beneath, as if the dungeon had already been wounded a thousand times before this day and had simply… accumulated the pain.
Every step echoed.
Not a normal sound.
A prolonged echo, distorted, always returning slightly delayed, as if even time itself was reluctant to keep up.
---
Two silhouettes ran through this chaos.
Fast.
Too fast for a place that was supposed to be dying.
Clothed in black, they barely stood out from the shadows of the corridor, as if they belonged more to darkness than to light.
Their movements were precise, economical. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
At the front, a black-haired man advanced with cold mastery. His gaze never wavered. He analyzed everything: the cracks, the vibrations, the traces of unstable mana still lingering in the air.
— "Faster."
His voice was not loud.
It didn't need to be.
It carried enough pressure to make the air comply.
Behind him, his companion accelerated without protest. Not out of blind obedience, but because he understood the weight of that tone. This was not a suggestion. It was a fact: staying slow here was choosing to die.
---
They passed through a collapsed corridor.
Chunks of stone still floated slightly, suspended in a bad magical decision.
An abnormal heat lingered in the air.
And above all…
That silence.
Not a normal silence.
A silence waiting for something.
---
— "You feel it too?" the second man whispered.
The first did not answer immediately. He inhaled slowly.
— "Yes."
One word.
Enough to confirm what they both feared.
This was not a simple explosion.
Not a failed battle.
It was a rupture.
Something had been released.
---
In the main chamber of the dungeon, Marcellus charged.
His body was a straight line of pure violence.
Every step cracked the already dead ground further.
His gaze was no longer that of a strategist or an observer.
It was the gaze of someone whose years of work had just been ripped away.
Raw anger.
Not controlled.
Not refined.
Pure.
---
The core.
That artifact.
Years of research.
Sacrifices he no longer had the strength to count.
Lives.
Mistakes.
Stolen successes.
And now—
Swallowed.
By a child.
Just a child.
---
"…you little—"
He didn't finish.
He raised his sword.
The air bent around the blade.
The intent was clear: cut cleanly, retrieve what remained, erase the mistake.
---
CLANG.
The impact was brutal.
Not just audible.
Physical.
The air itself seemed to contract under the collision.
His blade was stopped dead.
Not blocked.
Stopped.
As if something had simply decided that this attack had no right to exist.
Marcellus was pushed back several steps, his boots carving deep marks into the debris.
He stabilized himself.
Silent.
Then looked up.
---
Two men.
In black.
Motionless.
The kind of presence that does not try to impress. It simply imposes itself.
— "…you."
His voice was lower now.
More cautious.
---
The man in front took a step.
His movement was perfect. Too perfect for a place so unstable.
— "You won't go any further."
Not a threat.
A fact.
As if the conversation had already ended before it began.
---
Behind him, the second man approached Ryuji.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As if breathing too hard could trigger a catastrophe.
— "…he's still alive?"
He reached out.
Touched Ryuji's shoulder.
---
Instantly, he recoiled.
As if struck by an invisible shock.
His hand trembled slightly.
His expression changed.
— "…this is not normal."
---
The first man turned his head slightly.
Marcellus observed every movement.
All eyes converged.
---
Ryuji.
Standing.
Motionless.
Unconscious.
But…
Something was wrong.
---
Smoke was escaping from his body.
Not ordinary smoke.
Dense.
Heavy.
Almost alive.
It twisted and flowed as if it had its own will.
The air around him warped.
Temperature rising.
Still rising.
Again.
And again.
---
— "…he swallowed it…"
The first man's whisper was barely audible.
But it echoed like a verdict.
---
Immediate understanding.
The draconic core.
Activated inside a human body.
A biological and magical absurdity.
A heresy.
An error the world was never supposed to allow.
---
Marcellus gritted his teeth.
— "…that kid…"
His gaze darkened further.
— "…he just created a problem."
And not a small administrative one.
A "possible end of the continent" type of problem.
---
---
Miles away, in the capital of Eldoria.
The cathedral towered over the city like a silent mountain.
Its stained glass caught the sunlight, transforming it into fragmented colors that seemed too beautiful for such an unstable world.
At the center, a woman knelt.
Saint Helena.
---
She prayed.
Calm.
Straight.
As if nothing in the world could reach her.
---
Then hurried footsteps.
— "Saint Helena!"
A man entered, breathless, almost panicked.
— "Saint Helena!"
She did not move.
— "…what."
Her voice was cold.
Sharp.
Like a clean blade.
---
— "We have a problem!"
Silence.
She slowly turned her head.
— "Which one."
---
The man swallowed.
He struggled to speak properly, failed, tried again.
— "The… the basilisk…"
The word was enough.
---
Silence deepened.
Even the light seemed to hesitate.
---
— "…it has awakened."
---
The priestess's expression changed.
Instantly.
All calm vanished.
Her features hardened.
Her gaze darkened.
Not with surprise.
But with gravity.
Pure.
---
She stood.
Without haste.
But with absolute certainty.
---
— "…impossible…"
A whisper that sounded more like memory than reaction.
---
Then:
— "Prepare the messengers."
Her voice had become authoritative again.
Stable.
Unyielding.
— "We must inform the king."
---
---
Deep underground, the smoke continued to rise around Ryuji.
The ground vibrated softly.
Like a heart hesitating between two beats.
And him—
Still standing.
Still motionless.
But somewhere beneath that stillness…
Something had just opened its eyes.
And the world, in return, had just realized it should have kept its own closed.