The climb out of the subterranean ruin was a brutal, agonizing exercise in sheer endurance.
There were no stairs, no dwarven scaffolding, and certainly no convenient elevators left behind by whatever ancient civilization had built the white-stone city. There was only the sheer, mile-high vertical face of the black obsidian chasm.
For an ordinary human, the ascent would have been mathematically impossible.
For Alden, it was just deeply, profoundly annoying.
His fingers, reinforced by the dense, metallic bone structure of his Nephalem bloodline, punched directly into the solid rock face like steel pitons. He hauled his body weight upward, shifting his grip, punching a new hold, and pulling again.
CRACK!
His left shoulder popped entirely out of its socket under the strain.
Alden didn't pause. He didn't even blink his single crimson eye behind the matte-black metal mask.
Sizzle.
The dark-gold Chaos energy swirling in his chest surged into the joint. It violently snapped the bone back into the socket, mending the torn cartilage with a searing burst of heat that made the surrounding air ripple.
'Sixty-four,' Alden counted internally, referring to the number of times his volatile body had broken and repaired itself since he started the climb.
His physical strength was incredible, but it was currently being fueled by a D+ rank core that actively hated being used for sustained, repetitive exertion. The Chaos mana was like a caged, rabid beast; every time Alden drew on his stamina, the mana violently lashed out, tearing at his muscles before his bloodline aggressively stitched them back together.
It was a torturous cycle. But Alden just kept moving.
By the time his bleeding, dirt-caked fingers finally breached the snowy edge of the chasm, the sky above had shifted from an overcast grey to a deep, bruising twilight.
Alden hauled himself over the precipice, rolling onto his back in the thick, freezing snow.
He lay there for several long minutes, his chest heaving, his breath pluming into the frigid mountain air in thick white clouds. The wind howling across the Dead Ridges was utterly merciless, biting at the exposed, pale skin visible through the shredded ruins of his sleek black trench coat.
His clothes were an absolute disaster. The explosion he had triggered to kill the Celestial Dragon's resentment had vaporized the entire front of his shirt and turned the expensive dwarven coat into a collection of bloody, burnt rags.
Slowly, Alden pushed himself up into a sitting position.
He looked back down into the miles-deep abyss. The tomb of the Primordial Sovereign was completely swallowed by the darkness, returning to the absolute silence it had maintained for millennia.
Alden rested his hand over his chest.
He could feel it. Deep within his soul, resting comfortably next to his spinning, dark-gold Chaos core, was the unmistakable, heavy hum of Vajra. The god-killing weapon, forged from ancient dark iron and solidified starlight, was securely soul-bound to him. It didn't try to drain his life force anymore. The weapon recognized the superior, destructive dominance of the Chaos element.
'It's quiet,' Alden mused, a faint smirk touching his lips beneath his mask. 'Good. I don't need a sword with an attitude problem.'
With a thought, he tapped the dark iron band of his storage ring. The colossal, house-sized skull and obsidian ribs of the Celestial Dragon were still resting safely within the expanded pocket dimension.
He had won. He had survived the suicide dive, claimed the ultimate prize, and pocketed enough rare crafting materials to buy a small country.
But staying here to celebrate was a death sentence.
Alden forced himself to his feet. His newly healed muscles protested, trembling slightly under the strain of the freezing temperature.
He couldn't camp near the chasm. The sheer concussive force of his chaotic self-destruct had definitely sent tremors through the surrounding tectonic plates. If there were any high-tier magical beasts roaming the Dead Ridges, or worse, if a dwarven border patrol had detected the seismic anomaly, this crater was going to be ground zero for an investigation.
Alden turned his back on the abyss, pulling the tattered remnants of his cloak tightly around his shoulders, and began to walk.
The Dead Ridges lived up to their name. The landscape was a desolate, jagged nightmare of frozen obsidian fields and sheer, impassable ravines. There were no trees here. No shelter. Just biting wind and absolute, suffocating isolation.
He walked for three hours.
His single crimson eye scanned the darkness, utilizing the absolute peak of his sensory perception. He kept his chaotic aura tightly compressed inside his body, relying entirely on the matte-black mask forged by Herman Blackwood to scramble any residual scent of his existence.
He spotted a few shadows moving in the distance—massive, hulking silhouettes prowling over the snowy peaks—but he expertly avoided them. He didn't have the stamina for another fight. His core was incredibly sluggish, exhausted from the massive output it had taken to annihilate the dragon's ghost.
Finally, as the moon crested its zenith, bathing the obsidian fields in a pale, silvery glow, Alden found what he was looking for.
Nestled near the base of a towering, jagged spire of black rock was a narrow fissure. It wasn't a deep cave, but an overhang that cut sharply into the stone, providing a solid roof and three walls of impenetrable rock.
Better yet, a faint, metallic warmth radiated from the back of the fissure. A small, natural thermal vent was slowly bleeding heat into the enclosed space, melting the snow near the entrance.
'Perfect,' Alden thought, ducking his head and slipping into the narrow opening.
He didn't immediately relax. He spent ten minutes securing the perimeter. Without reliable mana to cast warding arrays, he relied on primitive, physical traps. He carefully arranged a tripwire made of tough, braided beast-hide across the entrance, attaching it to a precarious stack of heavy stones that would clatter loudly if disturbed.
It wouldn't stop an A-Rank monster, but it would wake him up before he lost his head.
With the entrance secured, Alden finally let his guard drop.
He collapsed against the warm stone wall at the back of the fissure, sliding down until he hit the dry, rocky floor.
"Store," Alden muttered, tapping his ring.
The bloody, shredded remains of his black trench coat and ruined shirt vanished into his inventory. He didn't want the smell of dried blood attracting scavengers.
With another tap, a fresh set of clothes materialized. During his brief shopping spree in Ironpeak, Lyra had forced him to buy several outfits. He pulled on a thick, dark-grey woolen tunic and a heavy, fur-lined winter cloak. The fabric was incredibly warm, immediately fighting off the lingering chill in his bones.
Alden let out a long, exhausted sigh, leaning his head back against the rock.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crystal sphere.
The twin wisps of blue and gold flared to life, casting a soft, comforting luminescence across the small, enclosed cave. Alden set the sphere on the ground next to him, letting it act as a smokeless, silent campfire.
Next, he pulled out a small package of dwarven military rations. It was essentially a block of heavily preserved, nutrient-dense jerky that tasted roughly like salted cardboard. Alden chewed it methodically, washing it down with icy water from his canteen.
He stared at the dancing blue and gold lights in the crystal sphere.
His mind wandered back to the ruined subterranean city. To the massive dragon skeleton. To the sheer, overwhelming power of the Starlight Blade clashing with his chaotic self-destruct.
'My firepower is ridiculous,' Alden analyzed critically, swallowing the dry rations.
'But my control is garbage. If I have to blow myself up every time I face an S-Rank threat, eventually my luck is going to run out. The Nephalem bloodline heals me, but what happens if I run into someone who can attack the soul directly?'
He needed a way to tame the D+ Rank Chaos core. He needed to build proper, resilient mana channels that wouldn't shatter under the pressure of the dark-gold energy.
He placed a hand over his chest, feeling the slow, heavy, thunderous rhythm of his heart.
He was incredibly close to bridging the gap. He had the physical vessel of a monster. He had a weapon forged by demi-gods and cursed by dragons.
He just needed the key to unlock his own engine.
Alden closed his eye, letting the absolute silence of the Dead Ridges wash over him. The thermal vent warmed his back, and the soft light of the crystal sphere pushed the shadows away.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to rest. He pulled the magical imprinter from his ring, clicking it on just long enough to see the blue, holographic projection of Alisia sitting on the beach. He stared at her composed, elegant face, letting the image anchor him to his humanity.
'I'm getting stronger,' Alden promised the silent projection. 'I won't be a liability when they finally come for us.'
He clicked the imprinter off, slipping it safely away.
Alden leaned his head back, preparing to slip into a light, meditative sleep.
Tick.
Alden's single crimson eye snapped open.
The sound hadn't come from the cave entrance. It hadn't come from the wind outside.
It came from the deepest, most foundational architecture of his own soul.
Tick... tick...
The ambient air inside the small rock fissure suddenly grew incredibly heavy. The soft blue and gold light radiating from the crystal sphere visibly dimmed, suppressed by a sudden, overwhelming surge of conceptual authority.
Alden sat up straight, his breath catching in his throat.
He knew that feeling. He knew that specific, agonizingly slow ticking sound.
He looked at his internal clock. It was exactly midnight.
Exactly one week had passed since he had spun the wheel in the southern forest. Exactly one week since the System had evolved, granting him the SSS+ Rank Fallen Angel bloodline that had completely rewritten his existence.
[DING!]
The sound was absolute. It was a flawless, chiming resonance that completely drowned out the howling wind outside.
Hovering directly in front of Alden's face, casting an awe-inspiring, dark-gold glow over the rocky walls of the cave, the abyssal black interface of [THE SUPREME LUCK SYSTEM] materialized.
The crystalline white runes lining the borders of the screen rapidly shifted, burning into a brilliant, liquid gold.
[System Prompt: Weekly Cooldown Elapsed.]
[The Wheel of Causality has reset.]
The text dissolved, swirling into a massive, holographic vortex of golden light. From the center of the vortex, the colossal, intricate wheel materialized. The hundreds of impossibly thin slivers—ranging from mundane grey to blinding white, deep purple, and the infinitely rare, jagged abyssal black—shimmered in the dark cave.
Alden stared at the wheel. His heart began to hammer a frantic, heavy rhythm against his newly forged ribs.
His SSS+ Luck stat was still disabled for this function. He couldn't cheat. He was entirely at the mercy of raw, unfiltered multiverse probability. He could pull a rusty dagger, or he could pull the power of a god.
[You have One (1) Spin available.]
[Initiate the Lucky Draw?]
[ YES / NO ]
Alden didn't hesitate. The exhaustion in his muscles completely evaporated, replaced by a wild, thrumming surge of pure adrenaline.
A dark, feral grin stretched across his face beneath the matte-black mask.
"Let's roll the dice," Alden whispered into the dark.
He raised his hand and slammed his finger against the glowing golden [YES].
WHIRRRRR...