Far away from the dungeon, beyond layers of forest, mountains, and borders guarded by soldiers who would never understand what truly moved in the shadows of the world, a city stood in proud silence beneath a sky washed in pale gold.
At the very center of that city rose a palace that seemed carved from light itself.
Tall pillars reached upward like spears aimed at the heavens, their surfaces polished until they reflected the sun in blinding brilliance, while banners of white and gold hung from every wall, moving gently in the wind as if the entire structure breathed with a quiet, steady life.
Inside the grand hall, power gathered.
It did not shout.
It did not explode.
It simply existed.
A heavy presence filled the space, pressing down on everything within it like an invisible ocean, and at the center of that pressure sat the King of the Holy Kingdom.
His body rested upon a throne shaped from white stone and gold, yet it was not the throne that drew attention.
It was him.
Holy power leaked from his form without restraint, rolling outward in waves that carried both warmth and authority, as though the very concept of judgment stood behind him, watching every movement made in his presence.
Before him stood a line of ministers.
Each one wore robes of gold and white, their garments decorated with symbols of faith and power, their expressions calm but their eyes sharp, because no one reached that position without understanding the weight of the world they served.
Holy power flowed from them as well.
Not as overwhelming as the King's.
But enough to show that they were far from ordinary.
At the front of that line stood a man with long dark red hair.
His face bore a faint resemblance to Clay, though older, sharper, and hardened by years of experience and authority.
His posture remained straight, his hands clasped calmly before him, yet the air around him carried a quiet tension, as if he already knew that the conversation would not be pleasant.
The King leaned slightly forward, his gaze locking onto the man.
"Explain something to me," he said, his voice calm, yet heavy enough to make the entire hall feel colder.
"Why has your son left his estate, and why does he show no interest in marrying the woman I personally chose for him?"
The question was simple.
But the pressure behind it was not.
Clay's father lowered his head respectfully.
"Your Majesty," he said, his tone steady despite the situation, "even I do not have a clear answer to that. My son left without explanation, and all I know is that he has gone toward the Middle South Border, near the territories of the Dark Glave Kingdom and the Shadow Saive Kingdom."
The King's eyes narrowed.
"For some unknown reason," the father added, though the words did little to improve the situation.
The King let out a short, cold snort.
"Find out what he is doing there," he said, his tone sharpening, "and if you fail to give me a proper reason within two days, I will personally summon both you and your son, and I will make sure you understand what it means to disrespect this throne."
The hall grew silent.
Clay's father did not hesitate.
He bowed deeply.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The ministers remained still, their expressions unchanged, yet everyone in the room understood the weight of those words.
Punishment from the King was not something anyone wished to experience.
The meeting should have ended there.
Everything had been said.
Everything had been decided.
But then something changed.
At first, it was only a faint sensation.
A ripple.
A distant pulse of power that brushed against the edges of their awareness.
Then it grew, stronger, clearer, and heavier.
They are familiar with that surge of magic.
It was Holy power.
But not the kind they were used to.
This one seemed different.
It surged across the land like a rising tide, vast and overwhelming, carrying a purity so intense that it made their own energy feel small in comparison.
The ministers stiffened.
Their hair stood on end.
Even the King's expression changed.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice no longer calm, but filled with genuine interest.
This was not ordinary.
This was something that could not be ignored.
One of the eunuchs stepped forward quickly, his face pale as he spoke.
"Your Majesty… the source of that power… it is coming from the Middle South Border."
Silence fell again.
But this time, it was different.
Every gaze in the hall turned toward the man with dark red hair.
Clay's father.
His eyes widened slightly.
Even the ministers could not hide their surprise.
The King slowly rose from his throne.
The movement alone caused the air to tremble.
"Prepare a carriage," he said without hesitation, his voice firm, decisive, filled with a rare excitement that only appeared when something truly worth his attention emerged.
"I will go there myself."
No one dared to question him.
No one dared to delay.
Orders spread instantly.
The palace moved.
At the same time, far beyond the Holy Kingdom, in lands where darkness held more influence than light, two other rulers felt the same surge of power.
In the Dark Glave Kingdom, the ruler stood from his seat, his expression turning serious as the energy reached him, while in the Shadow Saive Kingdom, hidden deep within layers of secrecy, the leader paused, their presence becoming cold and focused.
Both kingdoms reacted without delay.
Elite troops were dispatched.
Orders were given.
The balance of the region began to move.
All because of one surge of power.
…
Back in the dungeon, silence lingered for a brief moment after the Minotaur fled.
Clay broke it first.
"Maid," he said, glancing at Cerys with a raised brow, "is that normal? You have been here before, right?"
Cerys turned toward him slowly, her movements stiff, her mind still struggling to process everything she had just witnessed.
Then she saw it.
The reason.
The very reason why the Minotaur fled like a scared kitten.
Clay's body radiated holy power so dense that it felt like standing beside a blazing sun, and compared to that, her own presence felt small, insignificant, like an ant standing before something far beyond its understanding.
"Master…" she said without thinking, her voice filled with disbelief, "how strong are you? How did you do that?"
Clay paused for a moment.
He could not explain it.
Not fully.
Inside his mind, his thoughts remained clear.
That Minotaur is nothing but an ant, he thought calmly, even if it adapts, I can just grow stronger without limit.
But outward, he shrugged lightly.
"Well," he said, "it is just a flashy technique that makes my body emit a strong fake light."
Cerys froze.
Her eyes widened.
Fake?
She heard his thoughts.
She knew the truth.
And that truth made her heart beat faster.
So he really is that strong…
Then another thought struck her.
Master.
She had just called him that.
Her fingers twitched slightly as she realized what she had done.
Why did I say that?
Her plan had always been simple.
Stay close.
Gather resources.
Leave.
That was all.
But now…
Now she was not sure.
This man was no longer just a target.
He was something far more dangerous.
One wrong move, he might search for her and kill her.
Worse, he uses teleportation magic.
Something far more unpredictable.
Clay, unaware of the storm inside her, turned his attention to the system.
"Let's go back," he said.
And the response of the system came immediately.
The system cannot transport the host back at this time due to the overwhelming amount of holy Mana that host currently possessed.
Clay frowned.
"Then how do I turn this off?"
Ding.
The host no longer has an opponent equal to or stronger than himself.
The Exponential Overgrowth Spur will deactivate naturally after thirty minutes.
Clay sighed.
"I see. But that is going to be boring."
Then he glanced at Cerys again. He had an idea.
"Maid, did your master Cerys manage to take the inheritance of this place?"
The question snapped her back to reality.
Right.
The inheritance.
The curse.
Her mind began to move again.
If she used him…
If she relied on his strength…
Then she could take it.
But…
Can I really do that?
She hesitated.
Fear and opportunity clashed inside her.
Then she heard his thoughts.
This girl is wasting my time.
Her body straightened instantly.
"Master Clay," she said quickly, correcting herself mid sentence, "last time I failed… I mean, my master Cerys failed to obtain the inheritance here, and she was cursed by it, and so was I, which means the inheritance should still be located at the far end of this dungeon."
Clay's eyes lit up slightly.
"Ooh," he said with interest. "Then what are we waiting for?"
Cerys nodded obediently. "Yes, young master… "
Clay snapped back.
Earlier she called him master and now young master, he felt a little uncomfortable.
After all, he used to be called a young master only.
"Also don't forget, " he spoke. Cerys became eager. "Yes, young master?"
Clay combed his dark red hair. "Call me young master, or young master Clay."
Cerys nodded. "Yes, young master."
Then he seemed to remember something, he tilted his head and asked.
"By the way, have you decided what I should call you? Maid Nightshred sounds unfitting to your cute little face."
Cerys unconsciously blushed and hesitated.
Then she spoke.
"Maid Cy…"
Clay blinked.
Inside his mind, his thoughts jumped immediately.
Why does that sound similar to Cerys? Don't tell me she idolizes her that much.
Cerys felt a drop of sweat form on her temple.
She reacted quickly.
"It is a name given to me by Master Cerys," she said, her voice steady, "but I never dared to use it. Now that I will be serving you, young master Clay, I will take it as a way to remember her."
Clay tilted his head slightly.
Then he spoke.
"Huh?"
He paused.
Then his expression turned curious.
"That evil woman was kind?"