For the time being, I decided to let Sare and Grigori familiarize themselves with the Labyrinth first.
Benimaru had already been informed of the training plan. When the timing was right, I'd hand them over to him properly.
Benimaru gave me a look like he already knew what I was doing.
"So I'll be taking care of them again?"
"I'm counting on you," I said. "With Hakurou, it's sudden. Confusion is inevitable."
He chuckled.
"You're being too careful."
"They're guests," I replied, flat and firm. "Atem doesn't invite people in just to let them get crushed for convenience."
That ended the argument.
Then I moved to what mattered.
"So," I said, setting my cup down, "what's the status of Karion and Frey?"
Benimaru's expression sharpened.
"It's gotten interesting."
The moment he said it, Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom surfaced the information like a blade sliding out—clean and cold.
Name: Karion
EP:2,773,537
Race: Divine Beast. Greater chaos spirit, light spirit beast
Name: Frey
EP:1,948,734
Race: Divine Bird. Greater chaos spirit, sky spirit bird
…The Labyrinth was ruthless.
It didn't respect privacy, pride, or reputation.
It exposed truth.
Karion and Frey had evolved—divinity clinging to them like a crown made of pressure. Frey's EP was under two million, yet she still met the conditions. Power didn't always obey neat numbers. Sometimes the "margin" was simply the world admitting it couldn't measure talent.
Skills and resistances were still hidden—those wouldn't show unless they revealed them.
Even so, one fact was absolute:
They were True Demon Lords now.
Strong. Real. Dangerous.
I compared their growth in my mind. Karion's base was around 700,000 before. Frey's less than 400,000.
Karion had grown about fourfold. Frey close to fivefold.
But the multiplier didn't matter.
The weight did.
So I asked the only thing that mattered.
"What's Karion like now?"
Benimaru's mouth curved.
"I fought him first."
"…What?"
He spoke like it was normal.
"I wanted a rematch. Back in Eurazania, I wasn't even close. So I tested myself against Karion-dono after his awakening."
He had it backwards, but I didn't stop him.
This was the Labyrinth—no permanent death, no civilian damage. A clean arena.
I only asked the result.
"Who won?"
"By a narrow margin… me."
"Good," I said. And I meant it.
But the moment the words left my mouth,
something unpleasant curled in my chest.
I realized I hadn't doubted Benimaru's victory.
That arrogance—subtle, quiet—was exactly how kings die.
So I didn't let it slide.
"A narrow margin. Explain."
Before Benimaru could answer, Solarys slid the scene into my mind.
«Karion made the first move.»
The vision unfolded.
Karion raised his weapon—then sank into motion like flowing water.
And then—
His body turned into light.
Not metaphor.
Not illusion.
He broke into will-driven particles, and the attack launched forward like judgment itself.
«'Burst Roar.' An illusionary diffusion-focused particle cannon. He converts his own body into willful particles to pierce and pursue the target.»
So it carried will.
That meant Karion had stepped into the domain of spiritual lifeforms. His existence wasn't chained to flesh anymore.
No wonder the light chased Benimaru like a predator.
Benimaru's voice tightened.
"The instant it started, I got chills. Not fear—something worse. I sensed death. So I didn't wait. I activated 'Heat Haze' immediately."
Heat Haze.
Formhide's ultimate secret—so absolute it erased the concept of "being hit."
But it only worked because Benimaru had an Ultimate Skill: Heat King Amaterasu.
If he hadn't triggered it instantly, he would've lost in one move.
Karion's speed wasn't just fast—it was several hundred times the speed of sound. Comparable to Velgrynd's super-speed strikes.
Benimaru survived because he was Ultimate.
I stared at him, calm, but commanding.
"Your intuition and your Ultimate Skill were the difference between victory and death."
He nodded once.
"It reminded me how pride hides in your breathing."
"Good," I said. "Let it remind you again if you ever forget."
Shuna brought café au lait. The warmth steadied the room while the truth stayed sharp.
Then I asked what came next.
"Frey?"
Benimaru leaned back.
"She watched us… and decided it wasn't worth it. She hates wasting time."
That sounded like Frey. She wasn't reckless. She was precise.
Benimaru continued.
"After that, they tried the Labyrinth. It's the fastest judge."
"If you want your true measure," I said, "you face my guardians."
Benimaru nodded.
"Each started at the fifty-first floor. Alone."
And again, Solarys opened the feed in my mind.
First—Karion.
His momentum was real. His Burst Roar was violent. He carved through the early floors like a blade through silk.
But the moment Karion reached the territory that mattered—Atem's floor guardians—the tone changed.
The Labyrinth stopped being a test of Karion.
It became a test of Karion's limits.
He reached the 60th floor and encountered Adalmann, Albert, and Wenti—returning to adjust a transfer circle, yes, but still guardians under my rule.
Karion attacked first, as always. Burst Roar from multiple angles—hunting, tracking, relentless.
Wenti raised herself as a shield. Albert moved like a shadow at range. Adalmann's presence was still and heavy—like a tomb that learned how to speak.
Karion tried to break the formation with raw force.
That's where he made his first real mistake.
Because my guardians weren't a "team."
They were a system.
Wenti didn't fall like before—not this time. Her defenses held long enough for Albert to force Karion's angle off by inches—tiny deviations that ruined a lethal path.
And Adalmann—Adalmann didn't chase.
He waited.
Then the trap closed.
The moment Karion rematerialized—when his particle state hit its limit—Adalmann's barrier layering didn't just block.
It crushed the space around Karion's movement.
Karion tried to force his way out with willpower.
He succeeded—barely.
But it cost him momentum, timing, and blood.
He didn't destroy them.
He didn't "defeat" them.
He was forced to withdraw and reset.
Solarys spoke, clean and final.
«Karion's willpower is exceptional. But the
guardians protecting Atem-sama's Labyrinth possess ultimate-level structure and combat discipline. Karion cannot overwhelm them by force alone.»
So that was the truth.
Karion was strong.
But Atem's guardians were stronger.
Benimaru confirmed it aloud, his tone steady.
"Karion-dono realized something there. He stopped fighting like a beast and started thinking like a commander. But even then—he couldn't break them."
I nodded once.
"Good. The Labyrinth isn't here to flatter him."
Then Benimaru continued.
"Kumara demanded the right to face him next."
The vision shifted.
Kumara came out fully serious. No playful pacing. No hesitation.
Karion opened with Burst Roar again—multiple light strikes from every direction.
Kumara rose and invoked Gravity Domination.
The light bent under super-gravity. Karion's attack grazed—didn't kill.
Karion rematerialized again.
Time limit. Same weakness.
He set his stance:
White Tiger–Blue Dragon Strike.
Kumara dove with Nine-Tailed Piercing Strike.
The clash shook the air.
Kumara won the exchange. She had the advantage—Ultimate Gift, tactical gravity, and better timing.
She pressed in to finish.
But Karion wasn't naive.
He used the shards of his shattered weapon like controlled particles—trying to pierce her from behind, the same execution trick.
Only—
This time, it didn't end the fight.
Because Kumara was a guardian of Atem's Labyrinth.
She didn't panic. She didn't freeze. She sacrificed a tailed-beast limb, let it take the hit, and countered with a crushing follow-up that forced Karion backward.
Karion escaped again—wounded in pride more than flesh.
Kumara stood tall.
Not victorious in a "kill."
But victorious in the only way that mattered:
She stopped him.
Benimaru's voice entered, low and certain.
"Kumara didn't get destroyed. She held the line.
Karion-dono couldn't take her down cleanly—and he knew it."
I exhaled once.
"That's what a guardian is."
Then Benimaru said the name that always ended discussions.
"Zegion."
The feed snapped to the next scene.
Karion stepped forward.
He tried to initiate.
He didn't even finish the thought.
Zegion smiled—calm, almost gentle—like Karion was seeing an illusion.
And then—
Karion's body separated into pieces.
Not smashed.
Not blasted.
Cut.
So clean it looked like the world itself agreed with the blade.
"One strike," Benimaru said. "Instant shut down."
My grip tightened around the cup.
"What is Zegion?"
Benimaru didn't laugh this time.
"To be honest… it's a miracle I ever beat him. If I fought him now, I don't think I could win."
Benimaru hated losing. If he said that, then Zegion wasn't just exceptional.
He was built for a different battlefield.
And even after that absolute result, Zegion didn't look satisfied.
Benimaru continued.
"He said, 'This isn't even close to Atem-sama.'"
I went still.
Zegion wasn't chasing Benimaru.
He wasn't chasing Karion.
He was chasing me.
Not my reputation—my standard.
And the Labyrinth had proven what I needed
proven:
Karion and Frey had evolved.
They were divine now.
But they still could not break the board I built.
Because the guardians of Atem's Labyrinth weren't meant to be overcome by ambition.
They were meant to be overcome by someone worthy of the throne.