Inside the core chamber of the Dungeon, a soft, steady rhythm filled the air.
Thump… Thump… Thump…
The egg, enormous and veined with fire-red and ocean-blue light, pulsed as though a second heartbeat now resonated with the Dungeon itself.
The little girl sat cross-legged just a few steps away, her tiny hands clutching a wooden bowl of stew Kael had prepared for her earlier. Beside her, Megalania—shrunken to the size of a wolfhound for convenience—crunched through slabs of roasted meat, molten embers flickering in its maw with each bite. The two looked almost like siblings sharing a meal while guarding something precious.
Around them, the slimes Kael had contracted during his last delve bounced in playful arcs, clustering around the girl like living beads of glass. Their soft glows gave the chamber the atmosphere of a fairy tale—innocence woven into the Dungeon's otherwise oppressive aura.
Every so often, the girl's eyes darted to the egg. "It's moving more," she whispered to the lizard. Megalania rumbled in response, curling closer to the egg as if ready to defend it.
Far above, Greyspire was changing.
The sisters' campaign had moved from speeches to tangible action. Relief supplies were being distributed, food caravans delivered at half the cost, and commoners found themselves greeted not by scorn, but by genuine acknowledgment.
At first, the city's nobles scoffed, thinking it a performance. Yet the weeks unfolded differently—common folk fed, streets stabilized, even employment offered in rebuilding projects. Rumors of sincerity spread like wildfire: the princesses actually care.
And just as importantly, Kael's company was becoming impossible to ignore.
Merchants and nobles alike gathered in Greyspire's markets, where the stalls under his trade banner stood proudly stocked with gleaming fruit, cured meat, aromatic spices, polished fur, and strong monster bone tools. The products weren't only of high quality—they were priced so that both noble households and common kitchens could afford them.
For once, commoners bought the same oranges, the same milk, the same bread as nobles. And instead of backlash, a strange balance took root.
One noble was overheard muttering as he bit into Kael's fruit, "If the common folk eat this well, then they will work harder. It benefits us too."
Another chuckled at the low cost of spices. "Let them enjoy it. What matters is the stability—and these goods make stability easier."
In this, Kael's gamble bore fruit: quality that transcended class, offered in a way that neither threatened nor insulted the nobility. Slowly but surely, the company became a neutral ground—both nobles and commoners finding it natural to trade under the same roof.
Back in the Dungeon, the egg's pulse grew louder, shaking dust from the ceiling.
The girl set aside her bowl and crawled closer, placing her small palm on its surface. At her touch, the pulse quickened, glowing veins stretching like lightning across its shell.
Megalania's eyes glowed with recognition. The slimes clustered tighter around her in anticipation.
Something was coming. Something neither the girl nor the lizard fully understood.
In the capital, the prince's private study was choked with tension. Scrolls and wax-sealed messages lay scattered across his desk.
Arlen stood stiffly to one side, delivering the report with measured precision.
"Greyspire has rallied, Your Highness. The sisters' campaign is not only gaining traction—it's working. The nobles there are aligning with their trade company, and the commoners speak their names with reverence. If left unchecked, their influence will grow uncontested."
The prince's jaw tightened, his hand slamming onto the desk. "Greyspire is the weakest of the six pillars of our Empire. A city of fields and granaries—nothing more. That it now acts as a beacon of hope is an insult."
Arlen's eyes narrowed. "Which is why we must divert our attention. The other five cities—trade, smithing, shipyards, fortifications, and mines—those are our true backbone. If Greyspire's momentum cannot be broken, then we ensure the others are ironclad under your control."
The prince leaned back, rage simmering behind his calm. "Yes. Secure the others. But…" His lips curled. "Greyspire must be reminded of its place. Even food can rot if left unchecked."
Arlen bowed slightly. "It will be done, Your Highness."
Meanwhile, Kael had already returned from Greyspire, shadows curling at his heels as he stepped back into the Dungeon's depth.
The Dungeon Core pulsed faintly with awareness, resonating with the egg in the chamber below. But Kael's thoughts lingered not on the egg—at least not yet—but on the political threads he had pulled earlier.
He sat alone, reviewing the contracts secured with the local nobles. Most had signed willingly, their loyalties tethered by reason, profit, or genuine care for their lands. But there was one—a single holdout—whose signature was missing from the parchment.
And that man was, at this very moment, whispering poison into ears he thought safe.
Kael exhaled softly. Then let the shadows answer.
In a candlelit hall, that noble raged, his words slurring with wine.
"That masked bastard—whoever he is—thinks he can buy us all like cattle! And those sisters, acting as if Greyspire belongs to them! No—no!—I will not bend. I will see their rise crushed before—"
His words cut short.
A whisper of shadow unfurled behind him. The assassin Kael had resurrected earlier stood there silently, his blade already dripping with the noble's blood. The man collapsed over the table, his eyes glassy, his last sneer unfinished.
The assassin wiped the blade clean, turning to the shelves lined with gold and ledgers. The mansion was stripped with surgical precision. Jewels vanished, documents removed, heirlooms carried into shadow.
When the scene was discovered the next morning, it would look like nothing more than a robbery turned violent. A noble silenced by greed and misfortune—not by politics.
The assassin stepped into the gloom, the corpse cooling behind him.
Kael's voice echoed faintly in his mind: All loose ends must vanish.
And far below, in the Dungeon's heart, the egg pulsed louder than ever, as if celebrating the clean stroke of Kael's justice.
The Dungeon Core chamber was unnaturally still—until the first crack split the silence.
The egg pulsed with radiant energy, fissures of molten light running across its massive shell. Waves of elemental force bled into the air, raw and violent—heat and cold colliding in a chaotic dance.
Kael narrowed his eyes. "It's starting."
The egg burst again, a stream of chilling frost surging outward with enough force to coat the chamber walls in glittering rime. At the same time, waves of fire rippled from the core, the competing elements threatening to destabilize the entire floor.
"Pyraflame, contain the fire. I'll handle the rest."
The Abyssal drake roared, lowering its massive wings as they absorbed and redirected the flames into its own body.
But the ice—raw, ancient, and unrefined—was another matter. Kael raised a hand, summoning a presence from the Dungeon's depths.
A shimmering silhouette of frost coalesced into being, an Ice Elemental. Its form wavered, jagged like a living glacier, as it stepped into the chamber.
"Absorb it," Kael commanded.
The elemental obeyed, its core flaring as it drank in the leaking energy. Frost spiraled into its body, its crystalline structure shifting, growing sharper, denser, more defined.
A sudden chime rang out within Kael's mind.
[System Notice]: Ice Elemental has absorbed Ancient Frost Energy. Evolution Path Unlocked → Direct Ascension into Epic-Class.
Kael's expression tightened in rare surprise. Direct evolution? Just from this overflow?
He studied the elemental as it pulsed with newfound power, its icy frame hardening into a perfect lattice of primordial frost. Runes of snow etched themselves into its surface, glowing faintly with every exhale of cold.
"It seems," Kael murmured, "this egg isn't just birthing a beast—it's rewriting everything around it."
The Dungeon itself trembled, resonating with the twin forces sealed inside the egg.
Meanwhile, far above, the world moved on unaware.
Greyspire's markets hummed with life, nobles debating in hushed tones the growing influence of the sisters and the masked benefactor rumored to back them.
And in the capital, Arlen stood once more before the prince, another letter in his hand.
"The noble from the southern tract is dead. Murdered in what appears to be a robbery. His estate stripped."
The prince clenched his fist. "Another piece falls. Whoever this masked specter is—he's tightening his net around us."
Arlen's eyes flickered with cold calculation. "And soon, Your Highness… Greyspire will no longer be the lowest city. It will become the fulcrum of our Empire's balance."
The prince's lips curled in a bitter smile. "Then we will crush it before it rises further."
Deep within the Dungeon, Kael stood with arms folded, his gaze fixed on the cracking egg. The storm of elements raged harder, but now controlled, siphoned, refined by Pyraflame and the newly evolved Ice Elemental.
And the girl—small, innocent, yet already holding a Titan-class summoner's aura—clutched Megalania's scaled neck, eyes shimmering with expectation.
The final crack ran across the egg, light spilling out like the dawn of a new world.
Kael's lips curled into a faint smile. "Come forth… let me see what you are."