A silent sense of danger, like a cold blade pressing against the nape of his neck, crept into Gerald's mind as he stood facing the young man.
This one didn't need theatrics.
No killing intent. No threats. No outbursts of magical power.
Yet it was precisely that "unnatural calm" that made Gerald's skin crawl.
This one was strong.
Stronger than anyone he'd ever faced in his life. Stronger than the infamous generals of the kingdoms, or even the divine-imbued mutants from the far northern lands.
So strong... that Gerald's instincts as a Grand Mage, honed through countless life-and-death battles, were now ringing alarm bells.
"So... you're the King?" Gerald spoke in a low voice, forcing himself to suppress the unease and steady his mind. His sharp eyes locked directly on the figure before him.
The young man lazily glanced down, his voice drifting like wind through cold ashes: "Didn't I just say so?"
No title, no ceremony. His answer was as casual as mentioning a forgotten breakfast.
Gerald clenched his staff tighter, then spoke firmly: "I don't care who you are. I only want to leave this place."
"Oh?" The young man's brows rose slightly. A faint smile began to form: "Why... should I help you?"
"Because I'm with the Empire," Gerald said sternly, every word carrying political weight. "A mage personally appointed by the Emperor himself, head of the Imperial Academy. If I don't return, legions will descend upon this place, and then—"
"This place will be in danger?" the young man cut him off, his voice tinged with mockery and a soft chuckle.
Gerald froze for a second, but he didn't back down. Instead, he pressed on: "So you understand what that means, don't you?"
The young man—no, the Dungeon King—tilted his head slightly. A flicker of light gleamed in the abyssal depths of his eyes: "It means... things are about to get interesting."
His calm voice poured fuel onto the flames of chaos, ever so gently.
Gerald narrowed his eyes. He was no stranger to threats, but he had never met anyone who answered the pressure of an Empire with excitement for chaos. And then, with no warning, the figure sitting atop the massive stone dragon raised his hand.
Pale as ivory, fingers slender like claws of a predator.
Gerald only heard one word from the young man's mouth:
"[Black Arrows]."
A black arrow materialized from thin air, hovering as if waiting for the order to kill.
The young man flicked his finger, light as brushing away a speck of dust.
Whoosh!
A tearing gust of wind roared.
The arrow shot out like a phantom, slicing through the air, aimed straight for Gerald's chest!
"[Defensive Light]!!!"
Gerald shouted, activating a high-tier defensive spell. A radiant shield of light surrounded him.
Crack!!
A sound of fracturing rang out. The black arrow pierced halfway through the barrier. The air froze in that instant.
Luckily.
The magical shield did not break.
Gerald panted, sweat forming on his forehead. Yet he held his voice steady and replied with icy sarcasm: "Is that all?"
The Dungeon King's lips curled.
"Yes, but..."
He raised his hand again: "Not just one."
"[Black Arrows] x10."
Ten arrows appeared at once, floating above his hand like a flock of hunting birds.
He snapped his fingers.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Ten gusts tore through the space, thunderous and relentless like a symphony of destruction.
"[Defensive Light – Reinforce]!!" Gerald layered his defense with another tier but couldn't summon his strongest barrier—it was already too late.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Nine arrows struck in rapid succession, each impact forming spiderweb-like cracks in the barrier.
When the last arrow struck—
BOOM!!
The shield exploded into hundreds of shards of light.
The black arrow pierced straight through Gerald's shoulder and embedded itself deep into the ground. Blood sprayed in a bright crimson arc.
"Aaaagh!!!"
Gerald screamed and collapsed to his knees, clutching his bleeding shoulder. His aged eyes burned with pain and fury.
The Dungeon King... yawned.
Yes, he yawned, as if all that had just happened was a passing amusement.
"How boring."
His voice drowned Gerald's groans in a sea of humiliation.
Gerald gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder. His eyes burned with a mix of rage and steel-hard resolve. He gripped his staff tightly, the artifact he had never used at full strength.
Until now.
This wooden staff was no ordinary tool. It was crafted from a branch of the Magical Oak Tree—the oldest living being at Nara Academy, where Gerald was the Headmaster. That oak had lived for over a millennium and was a sacred symbol not only for the academy but for the entire Empire.
Nara-sama, the legendary Hero who defeated the Demon King and saved the world, had personally nurtured the tree and imbued it with his magical blood.
Thus, the staff in Gerald's hand was a supreme treasure.
A soft blue light began to radiate from the staff's wooden core. Ancient runes etched along its shaft glowed, awakening from a thousand-year slumber.
"Open the gate," Gerald whispered emotionlessly. This was the sacred incantation set by Nara-sama to activate the staff's full power.
Three Shadows standing in the distance stiffened upon hearing Gerald speak those strange foreign words. A question mark appeared in their minds—those words didn't belong to this world.
Did they mishear?
Zzzap—!!
A thin lightning bolt split the air. The ground cracked beneath Gerald. At the tip of the staff, a dark violet gemstone eye emerged, staring into the world like a sentient creature.
In that moment, all of Floor Five froze.
Even the Dungeon King—seated high above—was momentarily taken aback.
"Oh? You think you can still talk like that... after this is over!!!" Gerald roared, raising the staff high as magical energy surged around him like a tide.
"[Super Fire Ball] x7!!!"
Seven fireballs suddenly appeared—not from his palms, but hovering and spinning above the staff's head like miniature celestial bodies in chaotic orbit. Each orb swelled with every beat of Gerald's heart. They weren't just flames—they were living cores of energy, boiling and furious. A thin aura encased them, like galaxies embracing savage stars. That membrane seemed to shield them from being sensed or interfered with.
Gerald felt as though his body was burning from within. Each breath was heavy, as if containing a raging storm inside his chest. Sweat dripped down his skin.
This magic had surpassed his limits.
"...There's no time to hesitate."
He clenched his teeth, eyes gleaming with deadly resolve. His feet slid back slightly to brace himself.
"Fire!!"
He bellowed, swinging the staff forward. A crimson blaze tore through space, dragging the seven fireballs with it in defiance of gravity.
They rocketed forward, spiraling through the air, leaving trails of burning stars. Each one was a miniature sun, reeking of destruction and fury.
As they launched, the scarlet light reflected across the palace dome, brighter than sunset, illuminating every massive carved feature atop the stone dragon.
The air trembled.
Atop the stone dragon's head—until now a still, statue-like figure—two shadows emerged, left and right, floating as if born of the void.
No... not floating. Flying.
Each had massive dragon wings gently flapping in the chaotic air. The one on the left bore emerald wings like jade in the night. The one on the right had blazing red wings like fire streaking through dusk.
Both wore long, wide cloaks draped from head to toe. Their bodies, faces, and auras were swallowed in shadow. Yet their pressure was undeniable—a primal threat that made all weaker beings shiver.
They were the Twin Dragon-Winged Guardians—silent sentinels by the throne, unmoving for years, never speaking, never flinching.
Now... their eyes locked onto the seven fireballs, each powerful enough to tear the palace asunder.
The red-winged one moved first. He stretched out his arms from beneath the cloak. His clawed hands, scales glinting in firelight, emerged.
A low growl rumbled from his throat, ancient and chilling.
"[Fire Element]."
His voice echoed like hell's roar—coarse, weighty, commanding flame by birthright. It wasn't spellcasting; it was dominance.
At the same time, the green-winged one raised his hand. His voice was cold as northern wind over snowfields:
"[Freezing Magic]."
No need to shout. A single word brought frost swirling in the air.
Fire and Ice—opposite elements—collided with the incoming fireballs.
But...
Nothing happened.
No explosion.
No shockwave, no spreading fire or frost.
All they received... was the silent defiance of those seven fireballs—still soaring, unstoppable as meteorites.
Only then did the Guardians realize—this was no ordinary magic.
Around each fireball, now clearer under the light, shimmered a faint aura—like the veil of the cosmos twinkling like a miniature galaxy. Not thick, not aggressive, but untouchable.
Both Fire Element and Freezing Magic were repelled the moment they touched that veil, as if striking a thin mirror and seeing themselves bounced back.
The red-winged one's eyes narrowed. He whispered: "Impossible..."
The green-winged one stayed silent, but his hand trembled—a reflex when confronting something beyond reason.
Everything happened in a blink.
The young man who had been sitting lazily now stood—his trusted guardians had failed. Disappointment shadowed his face.
But even if he wished to dodge—it was too late. His eyes narrowed.
Yet Gerald wondered if the Dungeon King had ever even intended to dodge.
One second later—
BOOOOOOM!!!
A cataclysmic explosion rocked the deepest level of the Dungeon, shaking the palace to its foundations.
The central body and head of the colossal stone dragon—where the Dungeon King stood—along with the palace dome, vaporized instantly. The remaining parts began to collapse. Massive stones rained down, a chaotic storm of debris. The engraved pillars cracked and fell like an era ending.
CRASH!!
Clatter...!
Dust engulfed the world in a gray-white storm.
Gerald stood still, gripping the staff radiating residual heat. His wide eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing.
He whispered, eyes never leaving the staff: "Unbelievable..."
This was the first time Gerald had cast a spell using the Headmaster's Staff—an artifact representing Nara Academy's legacy.
Usually, he used it only to amplify MP or reduce casting time.
But this time... the destructive power had far exceeded even his expectations.
Far away, monsters previously blown away by Dragon Storm were now slowly getting up. Yet instead of rage or snarls... they stood still, all eyes on Gerald as if facing a being of a different tier.
They... were afraid.
"S-such terrifying magic... S-Shadow, what do you think...?" the Swamp Monster trembled.
Before Shadow could reply, a raspy voice barked: "Hmph! That's not just magic... it's all from that staff!" It was the Dark Undead Mage—once human, now twisted. No reason to risk his life for the Dungeon King.
His blood-red eyes gleamed with greed as they stared at the staff.
After that magical storm, those who once roared now shrank back. Quietly, instinctively, they huddled near the Swamp Monster, far from the blast's center.
"Truly terrifying..." Gerald murmured, still staring at the staff, as if doubting whether he himself had caused the devastation.
Suddenly—
"Are you talking about me, or the stick?"
A mocking voice rose through the fading dust, pulling Gerald back to reality. It was the lazy young man—the Dungeon King.
Gerald's eyes snapped to the sound.
Fwoosh...!
A wingbeat scattered the dense dust. The space before Gerald cleared.
He was still there.
The young man in black robes.
But... different.
Behind him unfurled massive black wings, each scale gleaming in fading firelight. His luxurious black robe had been torn open, revealing a sculpted torso. His skin was flawless. Not a single wound.
Gerald held his breath.
The two winged subordinates now lay collapsed among the ruins. Their cloaks shredded... and their bodies were no longer human.
Scales covered them from head to toe. Twisted faces, jagged teeth, crimson eyes, claws like blades.
Half-human, half-dragon.
Gerald frowned. He'd met dragons, fought Dragonkin. But this... was something else. A grotesque fusion of instinct, strength, and failure to retain humanity.
The Dungeon King floated, eyes on Gerald. The laziness was gone. He asked calmly: "Your name?"
"...Gerald. Mage." Gerald replied, never taking his eyes off those trembling wings.
"Vagador." The man spoke his name—softly, but with absolute authority.
Then, pointing at his ruined robe, he said: "You... ruined my outfit."
His eyes narrowed. His smile was cold as midwinter frost.
"So... I will kill you."
The smile vanished.
Gerald immediately stepped back, clutching his staff like a drowning man clinging to the last raft.
Unbeknownst to him, Vagador's black robe was no ordinary garment. It was made with ancient forbidden magic—able to bend reality, devour mana, and resist high-tier spells. Its tier far surpassed Vagador's level.
At that moment—
Shadow, who had remained silent like darkness within light, suddenly shifted his gaze away from the battle's climax. His eyes grew vacant—as if what lay ahead no longer mattered.
He smirked.
"Goodbye."
The whisper carried on the wind, enough to startle the Swamp Monster beside him.
"Huh...? What did you say...?"
Shadow turned. His presence bottomless as an abyss. He didn't answer right away—just smiled, as if seeing something far beyond the other's understanding.
Then, he spoke.
"I'm not leaving... 'I' am arriving."
The Swamp Monster froze.
"Wha... what? You mean... 'you' are arriving? What does that—"
But before an answer came, Shadow's body began to dissolve into black smoke. His form blurred, fading into the air like a shadow caught in the wind. No trace remained.
In a blink, he vanished—like he never existed.
The Swamp Monster recoiled, spinning around to look for the other three Shadows who had roamed the battlefield.
Gone.
Not one, all three Shadows had vanished without a trace.
"They're gone...? All of them...?" the Swamp Monster cried out in utter confusion. Its eyes scanned the ruined landscape, searching desperately—uselessly.
No sign.
Shadow disappeared like mist into the dark—as if... he had never truly belonged to this world.