Inside him, all three foundational cores ignited in unison.
His lower dantian blazed, a furnace of elemental wrath, molten and untamed.
His heart core surged, a gravity well of spiraling spirit, pulling everything into perfect, violent alignment.
His upper mind sparked, a forge of mental lightning, burning with razor-sharp clarity and intent.
Three suns are collapsing inward.
His spine arched as qi erupted through him. A single vertebra popped, its sharp sound anchoring him amid the swirling chaos.
Bones cracked like fireworks under pressure, sending shockwaves through his frame. Energy twisted in brutal spirals—tearing, reforging, and pushing him higher all at once as he ascended, screamed, and became.
He convulsed, refusing to fall.
But he refused to fall.
With fading vision, he yanked free a final vial and tore the cork with his teeth.
Ironvein Meridian Sealant.
"Let your body be worthy of the realm you demand."
The steel-colored liquid hit his stomach like melted ore. His veins turned into glowing starmetal. His skin toughened and glowed, revealing his bones beneath like tempered jade.
He whispered the last trigger, "SIGMA, begin..."
[Deploying elemental field. Initializing the first phase of crystal dispersion. Resonance pulse turned on.]
Charles fed 100 mana crystals into the formation. The crystals arced through the air, landing in the array one after another.
Each one vibrated as its embedded core enchantments activated, amplifying the ritual's energy manyfold.
The complex mechanism took in the raw mana and processed it into a powerful wave of elemental energy.
Lightning. Fire. The earth. And in the middle, three dark crystals that pulsed with energy, each one giving off a presence like the hearts of long-dead gods.
There was a change in the sky.
Thunder growled. Lightning moved in spirals across the sky.
Fire shot up into the sky, while the ground broke up under him. Stones floated, roots split apart, and the air grew so thick with pressure it felt like the breath of creation itself.
The dark crystals bled shadows—whispers in old languages and curses from a world that was no longer on the map.
Nimbus stood up, spread his wings, and let out a barrier of howling wind, crystalline qi, and his own draconic will, putting Charles in a holy space.
And at the center,
Charles knelt.
Boiling. Burning. Breaking.
But never begging.
Lightning tried to shatter him. Fire tried to consume him. Earth tried to bury him.
Darkness tried to chain him, but he commanded.
His mind plunged into the forge of his soul, into the Tri-Core Matrix that was now his nucleus.
The elixir had done its job.
It was time.
He forced the resonance.
And the world shattered.
CRACK.
The bottleneck cracked. And it exploded.
A bright sphere burst out of Charles's chest, a nova of light cutting through the heavens. For a moment, he was gone, lost in pure, otherworldly light.
Then,
BOOM!
The sky turned black.
Lightning came down in arcs of divine judgment. Flames roared in holy circles.
The ground below turned into glass.
Nimbus roared, and the clouds moved apart.
Charles floated in the middle of the storm. His robes were ripped, his chest was bare, and glowing runes were carved into his skin like divine script on a mortal shell.
He took a deep breath and whispered, "Stillness in the storm, heart of chaos." The mantra helped him focus his thoughts and remember that there is strength beneath the storm.
His breathing got slower.
Then...
Stopped.
And he fell.
Silence.
Ash fell softly, like snow, on land that had been burned and scarred.
Nimbus, now smaller, moved forward. She curled up next to his master's body and gently nudged Charles's shoulder with respect.
[Core stabilization completed. Resonance reached. All vital signs are normal.]
[The cultivator is unconscious. Estimated time to wake up: three hours.]
The storm was over.
And time… held its breath.
Three Hours Later
[Time to wake, Sovereign. We still have a city to shake]
Charles's eyes snapped open, piercing silver-blue, blazing with inner lightning and fire.
He sat up slowly. Ash flaked off him like snow falling from a mountain god's shoulders.
Foundation Realm – Level 10.
His mind was honed to a razor edge. He shut his eyes, tracing meridians coursing with fresh power. The world no longer weighed on him; he pushed back.
[FOUNDATION REALM – LEVEL 10 with Core Resonance: Achieved
Elemental Matrix Upgraded: Fire | Lightning | Earth | Darkness
Stat Boost: +32% Qi Efficiency | +26% Elemental Conductivity
Tri-Core Alignment is now stable.
Title Gained: Tri-Forged Ascendant]
Charles flexed his fingers and then stretched his muscles. His blood hummed like caged thunder. The storm surged through his veins with electric intensity.
"...Next time," he muttered, dry as desert thunder, "I'm ordering dessert. With less screaming."
Nimbus huffed, the dragon equivalent of a sarcastic snort.
SIGMA' came in crisp and to the point: [Coordinates set: Velmora Adventurer's Guild - Tier Two Hall.]
Charles rose to his feet, summoned a teleportation scroll, and channeled qi into it until its runes flared crimson.
He paused for a few seconds to feel the wind wash over his face.
And smiled.
That quiet, dangerous smile.
And with a surge of lightning and a twist of space, he vanished.
He left behind a scorched battlefield.
A Sovereign's Return to Velmora
The teleportation scroll flared and vanished, leaving behind only heat and silence.
And then, in the blink between heartbeats, Charles reappeared before the towering gates of Velmora's Tier Two Adventurer's Guild.
There was no ripple in the air. The ground did not shake. But every head in the square turned as if it were being pulled by gravity.
There was no doubt about it.
He was back.
Lord Charlemagne Ziglar crossed the threshold with the weight of a storm, walking upright.
He wore robes that were burned, his hair was messed up from the stormfire, and he had an aura so strong that it made Foundation-ranked adventurers sweat under their armor.
The chatter in the marble atrium stopped and died. Receptionists stopped scrolling in the middle. One of the couriers fell because of his own boots. An adventurer with a silver rank dropped her gauntlet with a loud clang.
Charles didn't bother looking at anyone.
He simply walked.
His steps carried him to the Mission Completion Hall, where several ranking officers sat behind enchanted desks, processing contracts and validating kill reports. Behind them, arcane bulletin boards displayed mission IDs, reward lists, and recent completions.
The oldest clerk, a horned beastkin with four decades of bureaucratic grind in his spine, barely glanced up. "State your name and active contract batch—"
Charles lifted his hand and released his storage ring.
The room flinched.
Scrolls. Cores. Mission talismans. Blood-sealed bags of magibeast organs—twenty missions' worth of materials slammed onto the obsidian counter in organized, flawless bundles.
Beast hearts still pulsed faintly in their bindings. One wraithbone stinger hissed.
He put the Crystal Imprint Record Scroll on top of them all. It had a SIGMA signature and a date and time stamp.
The clerk opened it. Look at the time.
Froze.
Then it blinked.
"Four days?" he said in a whisper.
"Four days, seven hours," Charles said in a flat voice.
"All of the missions?"
Charles gave a nod. "Three times the quota."
The golden alert rang behind the desk. The receptionist turned pale. The clerk choked. When the overhead board moved with a flash of blue light, every adventurer in line turned to look.
[ALERT: ELITE HUNTER STATUS GRANTED]
Adventurer: Charlemagne Ziglar
Tier Upgrade: Tier Two – Gold Class
Badge: Elite Hunter Insignia Issued
Guild Honor Score: +9,000
Evaluation: Exceeds All Standards
A velvet box was rushed forward—inside, the silver-gold badge of an Elite Hunter gleamed like a coronation jewel.
Charles picked it up, pinned it to his collar without a word, and turned.
"I'll need the earnings processed immediately," he said, eyes cool.
"R-right away, my lord!" one of the junior evaluators stammered. "Would you like to return for personal collection—?"
"No."
He dropped a folded slip onto the counter.
"Forward all money to this address. I won't be back."
The clerk opened the note and shook.
Name: Charlemagne Ziglar
Address: East Wing Manor, House of Ziglar
Authorized Vault: Stellar Bank Platinum Account
Secondary Routing: SIGMA AeterPharmaceuticals, Velmora Branch
The entire hall went silent.
Just the name alone made everyone in the guild cease chatting.
He is not just a top-notch hunter or a monster killer.
Not just a monster killer.
He came from a noble family with military ducal blood, one that everyone in the realm respected. All of the guild officials there could feel the change in their lungs. It was as if their world had tilted a little under the weight of his heritage.
Charles nodded slightly and walked away.
But he didn't go very far.
He stopped at the entrance to the guild lobby, reached into his sleeve, and pulled out a scroll with layered runes and spatial arcane glyphs on it.
A scroll for teleportation.
He said "SIGMA" in a low, tired voice. "Activate scroll to designated coordinates. Target: training chamber."
[Coordinates locked. Emergency override enabled. Transmission in five… four…]
Nimbus let out a soft growl from within his beast ring. He could feel Charles's instability. Even now, his qi pulsed unevenly—like thunder muffled by water.
Charles gave one last glance at the stunned crowd, the velvet banners of the guild, the unfinished whispers hanging in the air.
Then he vanished in a burst of electric gold and violet fire, space bending around him like silk pulled taut.
One Hour Later at The Beast Parts Pavilion, Velmora Central District
The Beast Parts Pavilion was no stranger to horror.
It had processed dragon claws that were still twitching with leftover qi. It had sorted the wyvern livers, which kept pulsing even after they were taken out. It had even kept track of a sealed manticore head that tried to sue them while they were removing it.
But nothing, nothing, had gotten them ready for this.
A junior clerk at Counter Eight stood frozen in fear of what was going to happen as the contents of a mid-grade spatial pouch spilled out across the strong granite slabs like a mad god's war diary.
SPLASH.
THUD.
DRIP.
Steam hissed out of still-warm guts. Frost mist curled up from broken stag horns. A wave of blood, smoke, and leftover qi filled the room so thickly that a nearby rune lantern went out in protest.
Black, scaled snakes that are too long to measure. Their chitin cracked like broken emerald glass when they saw scarabs. Camostride lizards with mottled skin that is still half-invisible. The legs of the thornweb spider were tied together like a bouquet of gifts from the underworld.
And close to the bottom?
Basilisk tails that have been cut off.
Three of them.
Like sausages wrapped in linen with chains.
The head of a Frost-Antlered Wyrmstag hit the table with a finality that made the junior clerk squeak.
Be quiet.
Then an old appraiser with a scar on one cheek and a glowing monocle on the other limped over to look into it. His voice sounded like gravel dipped in tea.
"Who the hell sent all this?"
The counter girl leaned in, whispering as if invoking a curse.
"…Charlemagne Ziglar."
The monocle cracked.
He blinked twice and yanked the item ledger from her hand.
Submission:
Field Harvested – All Verified System Kills
Origin: Velmora Outlands
Submitter: Lord Charlemagne Ziglar
Address: East Wing Estate, House Ziglar
Delivery Directive: Process contents. Send proceeds. No delay. No ceremony.
"…He just left this here?" the old man croaked.
The girl nodded, shaking, "He didn't even wait. That guy just dropped the pouch, said 'Deliver everything to this address,' and walked off like he was late for dinner with Death herself."
The poor old appraiser's face went pale. He held the ledger with shaking hands.
"Bring the Pavilion Master. Right now."
"But sir, he didn't even sign..."
"That doesn't matter. We should even be honored that he considered coming to our hunting grounds."
"But the weight..."
"Verify three times. Do high-fidelity scans. I want each scale to be soul-verified. If even one tooth is incorrect, a dragon, a noble, or a dragon noble will come after us."
The junior clerk hesitated. "Do we need to charge full market tax...?"
The appraiser cut him off with a whisper that could chill marrow.
"Apply royal-tier tax exemption. Right now. This isn't a debate. This is Ziglar."
"But I thought that was just a story! I thought he was still recovering and in training!"
"Oh, he is," the old man muttered, eyeing the blood-soaked inventory list with reverent dread. "And that's what he brought back during training. Just imagine what he'll do once he's warmed up."
Another clerk fainted.
A third made the sign of the Verdant Wyrm and activated five stress-relief talismans.
The girl at the counter simply stared at the bloodied pouch now coiled like a sleeping monster, its seams still faintly twitching with spatial echoes.
No more questions.
No one asked when the next delivery would come.
They just moved.
Silently. Frantically. Religiously.
Because when Death flirts with Charlemagne Ziglar…
He doesn't beg mercy.
He kisses her hand… and keeps dancing.
Back in the Lotus Isles of Vermillion Grace Hotel, a flicker of light crackled in the private chamber of the Seventh Sky Pavilion Suite.
Charles reappeared in a cascade of violet flame and spatial distortion, kneeling, trembling, breath ragged.
Nimbus burst free from the beast ring and wrapped protectively around him.
[Transmission successful. Stabilizing ambient qi. Deploying a restorative field.]
Charles collapsed into his padded recliner, exhausted. His head was spinning.
"…Next time," he groaned, "remind me not to do ten missions, kill three hundred beasts, and break through a cultivation bottleneck in the same week."
[Mental note recorded. Will delete reminder for next week anyway.]
He chuckled, then winced.
Nimbus curled beside him like a storm given shape. SIGMA deployed recovery runes across the suite walls. Alchemical mist filtered into the air.
And Charles closed his eyes, letting it all wash over him.
He didn't need applause.
He didn't want praise.
Not yet.
He just wanted five hours of respite…
…before the world knocked again.