The Veridian mansion hasn't changed.
The outer gates still stand impossibly tall, carved from obsidian-veined stone that drinks in light. Mana circulates through the walls in disciplined patterns, invisible but unmistakable—amplifier arrays woven into architecture itself.
Order made permanent.
As I walk through the gates, several gazes settle on me.
Not curious.
Calculating.
Veridian eyes don't ask who you are. They ask how useful.
I don't go far before I'm stopped.
"Eren Veridian."
The voice is calm, practiced. An attendant—no, a clan evaluator—steps into my path. His robes bear the subtle crest of internal assessment, threads faintly glowing with amplifier runes.
"The Patriarch has ordered a routine mana verification," he continues. "You will comply."
Routine.
Of course.
I nod once. "Understood."
I'm escorted through inner corridors I haven't walked in months. The air grows denser with every step, saturated with refined mana. The walls hum softly, responding to the flow of those who belong here.
I feel nothing.
No pressure.
No resonance.
Just… weight settling deeper.
We stop at a circular chamber.
The Verification Hall.
At its center stands a crystalline pillar suspended by rings of rotating sigils—an Amplifier Matrix designed to read, classify, and quantify mana with ruthless precision. Several elders observe from the perimeter, their presence heavy enough to warp ambient flow.
This room has decided the futures of countless Veridians.
"Step forward," the evaluator says.
I do.
The moment I enter the circle, the sigils activate.
Mana pressure descends.
Hard.
Normally, this is where weaker candidates falter—knees buckling, breath hitching, mana flaring uncontrollably as the system provokes a response.
I remain standing.
The pressure doesn't push.
It sinks.
The matrix hum deepens, runes brightening as they attempt to engage my mana.
Nothing happens.
A murmur ripples through the observers.
"Odd," one elder says softly.
The evaluator frowns. "Begin scan."
The rings rotate faster.
Threads of probing mana brush against my core—structured, invasive, designed to provoke amplification or suppression responses.
My mana doesn't react.
It doesn't flare.It doesn't recoil.
It absorbs.
The probing threads thin as they touch me, their glow dimming slightly before dissipating altogether.
The matrix stutters.
Literally.
One of the sigils flickers out, then reignites with a different frequency.
"Recalibrating," the evaluator mutters.
The pressure increases.
Still nothing.
Inside, I keep Calm Mind locked in place, resisting the urge to do anything. This isn't a battle. It's observation. Any reaction would give them something to latch onto.
Minutes pass.
Sweat beads on the evaluator's temple.
"Results?" an elder asks.
"…Inconclusive," the evaluator replies slowly.
"Inconclusive?" Another voice sharpens. "That's not possible."
"Mana output reads F," the evaluator continues carefully. "Density readings fluctuate abnormally. Circulation pathways are… compressed."
"Compressed how?"
He hesitates. "Like they're already full."
Silence.
I feel several gazes sharpen on me.
"Check attribute alignment," an elder orders.
The matrix shifts again, light refracting into layered spectrums meant to isolate elemental response.
Fire reacts.Ice stabilizes.Wind disperses.Shadow refracts.
When the scan reaches me—
The spectrum collapses inward.
The light bends, then dims, as if swallowed.
The chamber darkens subtly.
Several elders straighten.
"Attribute?" someone demands.
The evaluator swallows. "Black."
A pause.
"That isn't a Veridian classification," an elder says flatly.
"It's listed," the evaluator replies. "Just… uncommon. No amplification compatibility detected."
That lands like a blade dropped on stone.
Amplifier incompatibility.
In Veridian terms, that's heresy.
"So he's mana-deaf," another elder concludes dismissively. "As expected."
I almost smile.
They still don't understand.
"Yet," a different elder interjects slowly, "the matrix failed to suppress him."
That earns attention.
"Repeat the suppression sequence."
The evaluator hesitates—but obeys.
A suppression field slams down, designed to forcibly quiet mana activity.
I feel it enter me.
And vanish.
The field collapses instantly, feedback rippling through the matrix. One of the outer rings cracks with an audible snap.
The evaluator stumbles back.
The chamber erupts into murmurs.
"This is unacceptable," one elder snaps. "Shut it down."
The matrix powers down reluctantly, light fading.
I step back from the circle calmly.
No pain.
No fatigue.
Just confirmation.
The evaluator avoids my eyes as he bows stiffly. "Assessment… complete."
"And the conclusion?" an elder asks coldly.
The evaluator chooses his words with care.
"Eren Veridian's mana remains low-rank. No amplification potential. No immediate threat."
That part is true.
They don't add the rest.
Uncontrollable.Unreadable.Incompatible.
I bow shallowly and turn to leave.
As I exit the hall, whispers trail behind me—speculation, dismissal, unease.
I walk through them untouched.
Black mana settles comfortably within me, heavy and silent.
They tried to measure me by control.
They failed because control assumes cooperation.
As I step back into the open halls of the mansion, one thought remains clear and steady:
The Veridian system cannot raise me.
But more importantly—
It cannot stop me.