Chapter 4: The Fury of the Dean and the Black System's Decree - Nihil: The strongest and the weakest

The scream of the Tier-1 Lockdown Alarm was a physical sound, a harsh, grating siren that bounced off the ferro-steel walls of the Academy's Logistics and Deployment Wing. It was a sound reserved for a Mana Core Meltdown or a sudden, localized Gate Eruption—not for a graduating student completing a teleportation sequence. Red emergency lights pulsed violently, replacing the calm white operational glow, painting the pristine chamber in shades of panicked blood.

Just as Dr. Carmilla Crimson collapsed against the glass of the Portal Five containment field, momentarily stunned by the sheer kinetic displacement of Darkiel's departure, the source of the ensuing chaos arrived.

Dean Valerius Thorne was not a Catalyst, but a pure-blood System Administrator—a man whose power resided entirely in his INT score and his unwavering belief in protocol. He was impeccably dressed in the Academy's traditional, navy-blue, high-collared administrative uniform, and his usually stern, controlled features were currently twisted into a mask of apoplectic fury. He was flanked by two burly, heavily-armored security guards, both Level 60 Aegis Catalysts whose movements were clumsy compared to the ghost-like fluidity of Carmilla's own sprint.

"Crimson! Dr. Crimson!" the Dean bellowed, his voice straining against the siren's shriek, his hands gesticulating wildly toward the still-flaring Portal Five. "What in the name of the System was that?! The surge! The unauthorized clearance! The Gate stability momentarily dropped to Level Orange! You have compromised a Five-Star Nexus, woman! And where is the student, Mikado? What unauthorized materials did he transport?!"

Carmilla straightened, pushing herself off the viewport, her amber eyes cold and sharp. She knew the Dean would not listen to the truth, so she prepared the necessary, hard-edged lie—a technical justification that his logical mind could, however reluctantly, process.

"Dean Thorne, lower your voice. The containment field held, and the Gate is stable," Carmilla stated, her voice unnaturally calm amidst the pandemonium. "As for Mikado, he has entered the Helios Gate. He utilized an unforeseen, undocumented Tier-4 Security Bypass based on a unique bio-signature that the System erroneously logged as 'Unforeseen Authority.' I am currently initiating the post-incident analysis."

The Dean stopped dead in front of her, his face inches from hers, his own Aura—a faint, scholarly yellow—quivering with rage. "Undocumented? Erroneously logged? Doctor, this is a Five-Star Eruption Zone! A Level 10 graduate with minimum passing grades is not authorized to approach that Gate, let alone enter it! You were his academic advisor! This is catastrophic failure of oversight!"

"It is a catastrophic failure of your System's Metrics, Dean," Carmilla countered, refusing to back down, her voice hardening with the protective instinct she felt for Darkiel. "You quantify power by Mana expenditure and Attribute points. Darkiel Mikado is a pre-Fracture anomaly. His power is not quantifiable by the parameters of the Academy's system. He had the right to enter because, quite simply, he is the only human being in this Academy—or perhaps this region—capable of surviving a solo entry into the Helios Gate."

The Dean scoffed, gesturing violently at the data-slate still gripped in Elias's shaking hand. "Surviving? Look at the log! He is Level 10! His highest STR is 87, his AGI is 92! He barely passed the physical metrics! You speak of him as a mythical warrior, yet his file is a testament to calculated mediocrity! This is either gross negligence or… or treason against the System!"

Carmilla stepped aside, deliberately drawing the Dean's attention away from her and towards the only evidence that mattered: the massive, mundane pile of metal scrap sitting silently in the containment chamber.

"Do you see those objects, Dean?" she asked, pointing through the thick glass at the dull, lead-alloy plates and bracelets. "That is two hundred kilograms of custom-forged Lead-Thallium Dampening Alloy. Mikado wore every single piece of that for five continuous years—twenty-four hours a day, through sleep, study, and minimal movement. That is fifty kilograms on his belt, one hundred on his chest, and fifty on his limbs. He just shed that burden in the chamber before jumping."

The Dean stared, his analytical mind struggling to integrate the non-magical, physical information. "Two hundred kilograms? That is absurd. The physical strain required to operate normally under that load would cripple a standard Catalyst within weeks! It's self-destructive training!"

"It was not training, Dean. It was a containment vessel," Carmilla explained, her voice dropping to a low, chilling register that demanded attention. "Mikado's true, latent power—the Ki he mastered as a six-year-old child to kill a Void Eater Overlord after the massacre of his family—is antithetical to the ambient Mana-Grid. The weights were necessary to compress his internal energy, stabilizing him and preventing him from detonating in a catastrophic feedback loop that would have leveled half of Greyhart Academy."

She leaned closer to the Dean, forcing him to confront the severity of the truth. "For five years, he deliberately carried that agony so he wouldn't risk accidentally killing people like you, like me, like those two guards. Every step he took, every cigarette he smoked, was a feat of engineering required to manage a physical power that your System couldn't measure, much less contain. He passed your exams with the bare minimum because using any more effort would have risked overloading his own physical dampeners. He achieved absolute Ki Control while being burdened by the most agonizing training possible."

The Dean's face was slack with disbelief. He glanced at the guards, who were equally stunned. "Ki… an obsolete, pre-Fracture legend. This is nonsense, Crimson! Fantastical defense! I require physical evidence that this anomaly exists!"

"The physical evidence is the Gate Flare you just witnessed," Carmilla snapped, pointing again to Portal Five, which was still humming with residual, aggressive energy. "When he shed those 200 kilograms, five years of exponentially compressed physical power were instantly unleashed. He did not jump; he achieved instantaneous kinetic displacement. The shockwave you registered was his body adjusting to a standard gravitational load while operating at a sustained 200-kilogram capacity. He is currently operating at an unknown, unquantifiable level of raw, physical supremacy."

The Dean, however, was a creature of bureaucracy. "Then the System should have recognized the surge! It should have generated a new Class, a new Title! It should have recalculated his Attributes! The System is infallible!"

"The System is not infallible, Dean," Carmilla said, her tone suddenly laced with cold pity. "The System only measures what it can see. Mikado operates in the dark. He is the last relic of the Mikado clan, a bloodline defined by its complete rejection of the System's quantified weakness. His vengeance is against the Dungeons, yes, but fundamentally, it is against the reality that allowed the Dungeons to exist. He is seeking to erase them. And he needs nothing from the System except its portal."

The Dean finally seemed to deflate, his yellow aura dimming. He was a man whose entire reality was the meticulous cataloging of data, and Carmilla had just presented him with a variable that shredded every algorithm he held sacred.

"And why the Helios Gate?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Why the Five-Star Eruption Zone? It's a death wish. If his power is so great, why not start with a manageable Level 3 for reconnaissance? Why risk everything on the first step?"

Carmilla looked back at the portal, her eyes softened by the heavy sadness of memory. "Because he has no time for reconnaissance, Dean. He has carried the weight of his family's ghosts for fifteen years. He needs to start with the greatest threat available to prove his methodology. He is not a Catalyst seeking wealth or prestige. He is a man keeping a childhood vow. And he will not stop until every red dot on the global map is gone."

The Dean sagged against the wall, utterly defeated. The alarm continued to scream, but the threat—the one they could not fight, measure, or stop—was already through the door.

Meanwhile, miles away, in the desolate, scarred landscape surrounding the Helios Gate.

The air was thick and heavy, saturated not just with Mana, but with an aggressive, suffocating energy that pressed down on the throat and lungs. This was the mark of a Five-Star Eruption Zone—a place where the membrane between dimensions was thin and bleeding, where reality felt malleable and hostile. The sky was permanently stained a sickly, metallic grey, and the ground was churned earth mixed with bizarre, crystalline formations caused by intense Mana-density.

Darkiel Mikado appeared in a flash of blue light, the standard exit signature of the Academy's portal. He landed silently, his feet sinking barely an inch into the unnatural, obsidian soil.

He stood still, letting the oppressive, aggressive Mana wash over him. Without the weights, his body felt impossibly light, like an arrow constantly vibrating on a drawn bowstring. Every sensory input—the acrid, sulfurous smell of the Gate, the low, seismic hum of the Dungeon's core, the faint, chitinous clicking sounds of unseen monsters—was magnified a thousandfold.

He wore only the dark grey Academy uniform, but now, finally unhindered, he radiated a terrifying presence. His posture was perfect, his breathing deep and even. His internal Ki circulated smoothly, no longer fighting the oppressive lead dampeners, but now interacting with the ambient Mana with an impossible, symbiotic grace. The chaos Carmilla feared did not manifest; the Control was total.

Darkiel looked toward the Gate itself—a swirling, vertical abyss of dark purple and swirling orange light, perhaps a hundred meters tall, pulsating with malevolent life. It was a wound on the world, a constant reminder of the day the Mikado Clan was erased.

He began to walk toward it, his steps measured and deliberate, his hands held loose at his sides.

It was at that moment that the System Window appeared.

It did not materialize with the soft, inviting blue-white flicker that all Catalysts saw when checking their status. This window was different. It didn't appear; it coalesced.

A dense, opaque rectangle of shimmering, absolute black materialized directly in his field of vision. It was bordered by an icy, silver sheen, and the text that appeared within it was not the familiar, vibrant gold of the System's metrics, but a cold, hard white, like chisel marks etched into granite. The window pulsed once, then settled, emitting no light, only an imposing, flat darkness that seemed to absorb the aggressive Mana around it.

It was Darkiel's true status window, finally forced into existence by the sheer, unquantifiable nature of his power.

Darkiel stopped walking, but only to read. His expression remained utterly impassive, his eyes scanning the metrics that dwarfed every record in the Academy's history.

"One hundred thousand across the board," Darkiel muttered to himself, the sound of his own voice a low, dry rasp against the wind. He didn't sound surprised, merely confirmed. "The System's method of quantifying the unquantifiable. It simply maxed out its arbitrary scale and capped the results. A statement of surrender, not a measurement of power."

He dismissed the level and the bizarre MNA: 0/Unlimited entry as irrelevant footnotes. His focus was on the newly activated Class and Skills.

"Emperor," he murmured, the name tasting like ash on his tongue. "Fitting. The Mikado Clan was defined by absolute internal authority, by the Will that bends reality, not the Mana that begs it. The System acknowledges the truth of the bloodline, even if it cannot measure the Ki that runs through it."

He focused on the Passive Skills, the white text glowing with an inner, cold light.

"Decree… the ability to assert the Mikado Will onto external Mana structures. That confirms the strategy." Darkiel spoke directly to the black System Window, treating it like a conscious, albeit inferior, conversational partner. "So it went up astronomically. The foundation of absolute control has been established. The compression achieved the necessary effect. The System believes this is the maximum, but it is merely the baseline of my true efficiency."

Darkiel reached under his jacket, his hand moving with a speed that defied the naked eye. In a flash, he drew his concealed weapon. It was not a Mana-forged artifact, but a simple, ancient Katana. The blade was jet black, polished to a mirror sheen, yet it seemed to drink the light. The hilt was wrapped in aged, crimson silk. It was a beautiful, devastating piece of historical weaponry.

"And you reveal yourself, Soul Devourer," Darkiel whispered to the blade, which hummed faintly in response to his touch. This was the weapon of the Mikado Head, the weapon that had been mysteriously absent after the Void Eater incident, now finally retrieved and ready.

He looked at the black System Window one final time, a spark of cold fire igniting in his amber eyes. His gaze settled on the Emperor's Passive Skill: Decree.

"The goal remains simple. The System logs the existence of the Helios Gate. The Overlord within demands a physical response. The Mikado Clan demands vindication. This Dungeon, this dimensional intrusion, is a symbol of the chaos that devoured my family and the logic that was lost."

He sheathed the Soul Devourer in a smooth, silent motion, the metal whispering against the scabbard. He began to walk again, his pace accelerating from a walk to a blurring, graceful stride. The unburdened power allowed him to move with a physical elegance that made the landscape itself seem heavy and slow.

"First, I will kill the being who rules over this filth, the Dungeon Overlord," Darkiel declared, his voice rising, carried by the rising wind of the turbulent Mana-Zone. He was speaking not to the System, but to the entire hostile world. "And then, I will use the Emperor's Decree to collapse this Gate into its component Mana elements, forcing the System to acknowledge the impossibility."

He was moving at an incredible, almost soundless speed now, approaching the swirling, malevolent abyss of the Five-Star Gate. He was focused, cold, and utterly terrifying.

Darkiel stopped directly before the shimmering event horizon of the portal, a solitary figure dwarfed by the massive, chaotic void. He took one final, deep breath of the polluted, Mana-saturated air.

"Let's erase this Dungeon after I've killed that Dungeon Overlord."

Then, without the slightest hesitation or change in his chilling expression, he stepped into the vortex. The churning purple and orange light instantly engulfed him, and the massive Helios Gate swallowed the Last Blood of Mikado. The only change left behind was a profound silence where the air had previously been thick with anticipation. The black System Window flickered once, then dissolved into pure darkness, awaiting the next moment the Emperor's Decree would be necessary.

The Heart of Helios: Kinetic Supremacy

The interior of the Helios Five-Star Dungeon was not a mere cavern, but a vast, oppressive echo of a dead, alien world. The air was a viscous medium, thick with ozone and the stench of pulverized sulfur, and the only illumination came from bioluminescent fungi that pulsed with a faint, malevolent indigo. The oppressive atmosphere pressed down, a constant, low-level gravity multiplier that even a Level 100 Aegis would find debilitating. This was the raw, unadulterated reality of a high-tier dimensional rift.

Darkiel Mikado moved through this hostile environment like mercury—fluid, silent, and impossibly fast. He was surrounded by a swirling vortex of the dungeon's inhabitants: the Tidal Scorpions. These were Level 30+ Minions, armored in layers of razor-sharp, dark blue chitin, each creature the size of a large dog, possessing six bladed limbs and a whip-like tail that dripped with paralyzing neuro-toxin. Their attacks were fast, coordinated, and relentless—a wave of biological weaponry aimed at overwhelming targets through sheer numbers.

Darkiel used no Mana. He uttered no System Decree. He did not rely on the Academy-taught Skill Tree for Area-of-Effect damage. He fought with only the perfect, unquantified kinetic potential of his unburdened body and the absolute, terrifying sharpness of his katana, Soul Devourer.

The Emperor's Martial Art Passive Skill manifested not as a flash of light, but as absolute efficiency of motion. Every muscle fiber contracted and released with flawless timing, generating bursts of speed and force that defied the high-gravity atmosphere. His feet seemed to barely skim the ground, his motion a whisper of compressed air.

The Soul Devourer was the centerpiece of the carnage. The jet-black blade, a relic of pre-Fracture mastery, never once tasted Mana. It only drank life. With every silent, surgically precise slash, a Tidal Scorpion's head, or a bladed limb, or the joint of its carapace, was severed. The severed monster would not simply fall; it would instantly crumble into a pile of dry, desiccated dust. From the disappearing essence of the creature, a thick, shimmering, ruby-red vapor—the Reality Essence—would momentarily flare, only to be instantly drawn, like smoke to a powerful vacuum, into the black surface of the katana.

Shing. Thwick. CRUMBLE. Shing. Shing. CRUMBLE.

The sound of the fight was a rhythm of silent speed and sudden collapse. Darkiel was a black blur amidst the indigo shadows. His movements were minimalist; he didn't waste energy blocking or parrying. He moved around the attacks, positioning himself in the blind spot of one creature only to eliminate two more in the space of a heartbeat.

He executed a full, 360-degree rotation, transforming his body into a living gyroscope. The Soul Devourer described a perfect, seamless circle, slicing through the air and the necks of three charging scorpions. Three puffs of ruby vapor rushed into the blade, leaving behind three mounds of inert dust.

Yet, despite the astonishing speed of the slaughter—the wave of Level 30+ minions collapsing into nothingness—the exhaustion began to settle, not in his muscles, which were driven by the boundless internal Ki, but in the very core of his physical stamina. His breath, though controlled, was growing heavier. His movements, though still impossibly fast, lacked the absolute zero-effort fluidity of the initial minutes.

His prodigious STR of 100,000 meant he could kill these creatures with a single, light cut. But Stamina was a finite resource, even when unburdened. The hostile environment, the constant high-G exertion, and the sheer metabolic cost of pushing his body far beyond human limits were taking their toll.

He dispatched the last of the immediate wave, kicking a final, dying scorpion into a bioluminescent wall. The creature dissolved into Reality Essence, feeding the blade. Darkiel stood amidst the silence and the dust, leaning slightly forward, his chest heaving with heavy, controlled breaths. The amber in his eyes was muted by the fatigue.

He looked down at his hand, gripping the hilt of the Soul Devourer. A single drop of sweat trailed down his temple and dropped onto the obsidian soil, instantly absorbed.

"I still get tired, huh?" Darkiel spoke, his voice a low, dry rasp. It wasn't a question of disappointment, but one of cold, academic confirmation. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Even without the dampening burden, five years of Ki compression simply increased the maximum output. It didn't magically grant endless stamina. High-level kinetic exertion requires caloric conversion, regardless of the Attribute Score. Five-Star Dungeon density is still high-rank and hard, indeed."

He recognized the weakness. His methodology was sound—gain absolute physical power—but the sustained efficiency still required external resources, namely time to rest and metabolize. But time was the one thing he didn't have. He needed to be able to fight at 100% until the job was finished, until the Overlord was dead and the Gate was destroyed.

Just as this logical conclusion finalized in his mind, the silent, black System Status Window abruptly appeared before him again, its icy white text glowing against the indigo shadows of the dungeon. It wasn't a proactive communication, but a delayed response—the System's core algorithms finally processing the chaotic data surge generated by the continuous, high-speed destruction of Level 30+ entities by a Level 10 Catalyst.

The window expanded slowly, chillingly, as if reading its own proclamation aloud.

System Alert: Core Metrics Integration Complete

Level Up! You are now Level 30.

New Function Unlocked:Reality Essence Conversion Module.

Passive Skill Unlocked:Soul Devourer - Stamina and Health Conversion.

Every unit of Reality Essence harvested by Soul Devourer can now be exchanged for Stamina or Health.

Conversion Rate: 1 Reality Essence = 100 Stamina or Health Points.

Darkiel stared at the final, crucial line, and a flicker of something close to approval—or maybe just grim satisfaction—passed over his face. The Soul Devourer was more than a sword; it was a relic designed for his bloodline, and the System was now reluctantly forced to integrate its capabilities into his status. His combat method—killing and consuming the essence of the enemy—had unlocked the ultimate form of self-sustenance.

The black window updated again, showing the final harvest from the hundreds of Scorpions he had just dispatched.

Reality Essence Count: 3,000 |

"That's exactly what I needed," Darkiel stated, his voice now regaining its cold, measured confidence. The problem of fatigue was solved. The exhaustion was now merely a resource to be purchased. He was no longer reliant on resting; he was reliant only on the supply chain of his enemies.

He focused his gaze on the Reality Essence Count: 3,000 and mentally issued the command to the Soul Devourer's passive skill.

"Convert half. Fifteen hundred Reality Essence. Stamina."

The black sword in his hand instantly, subtly, hummed. The 3,000 Essence Count on the System Window dropped to 1,500. At the same moment, Darkiel felt an instantaneous, overwhelming rush of energy. It was not the gradual warming of Mana or the sudden adrenaline surge of combat. It was the absolute, mechanical restoration of his body's core metabolic function. His heart rate normalized. His lungs emptied of heavy air and filled with effortless, perfect breath. The subtle ache in his shoulders vanished, and his limbs felt lighter than ever—a restoration of 150,000 Stamina Points that was complete in less than half a second.

He sheathed the Soul Devourer. The movement was once again a silent, effortless slip of steel and leather. He was fully restored, ready for another hour of relentless, high-kinetic slaughter.

"One thousand five hundred Reality Essence reserved," he confirmed, looking into the deeper darkness of the tunnel. "That must be saved for the Overlord fight, or the final Decree application. This should be enough for now. Time for the Core."

He began to walk again, the silence of his footfalls now absolute, his body radiating renewed, terrifying purpose. He was a perfect killing machine, finally operating at optimal, sustained efficiency, fueled by the ghosts of his prey.

The Academy's Anguish: A Protocol Breakdown

Miles away, in the red-flashing chaos of the Academy's Logistics Wing, the tension was suffocating. Dean Thorne had moved past apoplectic rage into a state of chilling, procedural panic. He was pacing the length of the control room, his yellow aura flickering weakly, while Carmilla sat composedly at a temporary, isolated console, typing furiously.

"The System's report on the surge is still flagging a Tier-9 Mana Fluctuation, Doctor Crimson! That is the theoretical threshold for an active Black Hole event! Yet the Gate stabilized! The data simply does not reconcile!" the Dean shouted, slamming his hand onto the console table, which did nothing to aid the reconciliation of data.

"It stabilizes because Darkiel Mikado is a Tier-9 Anomaly that is currently stabilizing the Gate by removing its inhabitants, Dean," Carmilla replied, not looking up from her interface. Her fingers danced across the keys, inputting custom algorithms. "Your System is designed to recognize Mana. It recognizes the absence of a large Mana signature and the presence of an unprecedented Ki signature. It's misinterpreting the physical reality. It is Mikado who is normalizing the chaos, not the Gate stabilizing itself."

Elias Thorne, the poor aide, finally mustered the courage to approach the Dean, clutching a pristine, high-tech, spherical object the size of a tennis ball. It was the Academy's Vigilance Drone (VD-001), designed for deep-dungeon reconnaissance.

"Dean, the drone is prepped, loaded with Anti-Distortion Mana Shielding and a Thermal/Kinetic Tracker," Elias stated, his voice squeaking slightly. "We can launch it through Portal Five immediately to obtain visual confirmation and telemetry of Mikado's status. Protocol dictates drone deployment for any solo Catalyst past Level 50, but… given the circumstances…"

"Given the circumstances, we are defying every protocol we were sworn to uphold!" the Dean thundered, snatching the drone from Elias's hand. He turned to Carmilla. "We are sending a multi-million credit piece of equipment into an active Five-Star Zone after a Level 10 student who defies measurement! This is madness!"

"It is the only logical move left, Dean," Carmilla countered, finally stopping her typing. She turned to face him, her expression a study in grim finality. "Because there is another critical factor your protocols demand I report, but which Mikado himself ignored: Logistics. You are worried about his power, but I am worried about his sustained existence."

The Dean stared at her, waiting.

Carmilla's voice dropped, carrying a wave of fresh, academic dread. "Mikado's file lists zero in terms of portable resources. He has the sword, the clothes on his back, and the weights he just discarded. He did not bring Mana Potions. He did not bring Health Flasks. He did not bring food rations, emergency beacons, or any form of supplemental energy reserve. He entered a Five-Star Dungeon with zero consumable supplies."

The Dean's face, already pale from the earlier shock, went entirely grey. The sheer audacity, the contempt for the basic rules of survival, was almost physically painful for the protocol-obsessed man.

"Zero… no Aether Vials? Not even a standard Level 1 Healing Paste?" the Dean whispered, the thought of this logistical oversight shaking him to his core. "That is… that is suicide by willful neglect! Even a Level 1 Catalyst would pack a field kit! He cannot sustain that level of kinetic output without immediate, rapid metabolic replenishment!"

"Precisely," Carmilla affirmed, leaning forward. "He is relying solely on his physical prowess, and no physical body, no matter its STR score, can maintain that type of caloric burn indefinitely without crashing. Which is why the drone is essential. If he faces the Overlord without a means of recovery, we are tracking a corpse."

The Dean looked at the spherical drone in his hand, then at the menacing purple light of Portal Five. He was trapped between the impossible power of Darkiel's anomaly and the crushing reality of basic biology.

"Launch it, Dr. Crimson. Initiate the VD-001 Deployment Sequence," the Dean ordered, his voice thin but resolute. He pressed the activation stud on the drone. "We must know how this anomaly sustains itself. Launch immediately, and focus the visual spectrum on the target's location. I need data. Give me data, Crimson. It's the only way I can manage this catastrophe."

Carmilla nodded once, her eyes already on the console. "Elias, clear the atmospheric field for drone insertion. Dean, place the drone onto the staging pedestal now."

The Dean strode to the pedestal inside the Portal Five containment field, placing the spherical drone carefully onto the magnetic launch platform. He retreated quickly as the platform began its loud, whining countdown.

"VD-001 now integrating with Gate Mana Stream for insertion!" Elias's voice crackled over the intercom.

BEEP… BEEP… BEEP…

At the final sound, the drone did not fly. Instead, it was violently snatched away by the Gate's turbulent energy field, disappearing in a flash of deep blue light—the reverse of Darkiel's departure, but equally jarring.

Carmilla's fingers flew across the keyboard, re-establishing the connection. "VD-001 telemetry active. Mana Shield holding at 98%. Transferring visual feed to the main monitor, Dean."

The massive monitoring screen above their heads, which had been displaying the chaotic red Tier-9 Fluctuation alert, suddenly flickered and resolved into a stable, indigo image. The picture was clear: a hostile, alien landscape of deep purple shadows and bioluminescent fungi.

And there, centered perfectly in the drone's high-zoom lens, was Darkiel Mikado. He was standing motionless, his back to the camera, but the image was sharp enough to see his posture, his unburdened, perfect frame.

"He's… he's fine," the Dean breathed, a flicker of relief crossing his face.

Then, Darkiel began to move, his stride long and impossibly fast. He vanished around a dark bend, leaving the drone to hover and follow. The movement was too quick, too efficient for a man who should be nearing collapse.

"Wait. Freeze the frame, Dr. Crimson. Right there," the Dean ordered, pointing a trembling finger at the status overlay Carmilla had just activated.

The feed froze. In the corner of the screen, Carmilla's telemetry confirmed Darkiel's position, but beneath it, the drone's secondary, deep-scan sensor provided an unexpected, chilling report.

Darkiel Mikado: Current Stamina Level: 100%.

"How?!" the Dean gasped, pressing his face close to the screen. "He just fought a continuous engagement against a high-tier horde! The metabolic burn rate for that activity, even with his STR… it's physically impossible!"

"He didn't bring Mana Potions because he found a better source of replenishment, Dean," Carmilla murmured, her eyes fixed on the image of Darkiel vanishing into the darkness. She recognized the chilling logic of the Last Blood of Mikado. "He is not sustaining his body with supplements. He is sustaining it with vengeance. He is farming his enemy's very existence."

On the screen, the drone caught a fleeting glimpse of the ground where Darkiel had stood—piles of fine, obsidian dust. The camera zoomed in on a faint, quickly dissipating ruby mist clinging to the air.

"Zoom onto that residue, Elias. Spectral analysis," Carmilla commanded softly.

The spectral analysis returned instantly, displaying a single, chilling word at the bottom of the screen: Reality Essence Signature: Consumption Complete.

The Dean recoiled as if struck. The anomaly had a name, a mechanism, and a horrifying efficiency. Darkiel Mikado was not fighting the dungeon; he was harvesting it.

Chapter 5 - Chapter 4: The Fury of the Dean and the Black System's Decree