Inside the VIP Observatory, the silence was suffocating.
Dozens of the most powerful Awakeners in the city—Guild Masters, elite instructors, and high-ranking military officials—stared at the central holographic screen as if witnessing a ghost.
On the screen lay the bisected corpse of the Level 15 Blood-Iron Direwolf, blood pooling around it like ink.
Next to it, Oliver Silver—golden armor battered, sword shattered, spirit utterly crushed—slumped against a tree.
Above them all stood a three-meter-tall monstrosity of dark crystal and bone: the Abyssal General.
And its master.
The F-Rank slum rat. Arthur Pendelton.
"Scan his wristband…" Marcus, Guild Master of Silver-Blood, whispered hoarsely, face pale as death. "Scan it now! He must be cheating! No F-Rank can command a summon of that magnitude! It's impossible!"
The Headmaster snapped out of shock, pounding the command console. "System Control! Full diagnostic on Candidate Pendelton's energy signature! Mana output! Artifacts! Everything!"
A mechanical female voice echoed:
[Processing request…]
[Scanning Candidate: Arthur Pendelton.]
VIPs leaned forward, desperate for an explanation. They needed a cheat. They needed logic.
[Scan Complete.]
[Result: No illegal artifacts detected. Energy signature originates entirely from host's soul. Summon is legitimate.]
The words hit like a hammer.
Legitimate.
An eighteen-year-old F-Rank had just commanded a summon radiating Epic-Tier nightmare power.
Marcus collapsed back into his velvet chair, trembling. "A monster…" he muttered. "The academy didn't create a genius… we birthed a monster."
Before anyone could process it—BZZZZT! BZZZZT! BZZZZT!
The lights snapped off. A strobing red glare replaced the observatory's warm illumination.
Sirens blasted, deafening.
Across the Grand Academy, tens of thousands froze in panic. Holographic screens flickered, then bled into pure red.
[WARNING! WARNING!]
[CRITICAL MANA SURGE DETECTED IN SECTOR D!]
[ARTIFICIAL DUNGEON MATRIX COMPROMISED!]
The Headmaster leaped from his chair, face twisted in panic. "Report! What is happening?!"
A frantic technician screamed through the comms: "Sir! The dark energy released by that… that black knight summon! Too dense! It overloaded the Red Zone's spatial stabilizers!"
"Fix it!" Marcus roared. "Reboot the system!"
"We can't!" the technician shrieked. "The spatial tear is expanding! Something… something is forcing its way in! An external entity is entering the exam zone!"
The Headmaster's blood ran cold. The dungeon matrix, built atop a dormant high-level spatial rift… if it cracked, the consequences were unimaginable.
The central screen flickered. The Red Zone appeared.
The sky inside the dungeon didn't just tear.
It resisted.
Golden runes flared across the artificial clouds, desperately trying to hold the fabric of the dimension together.
And then... it lost.
The sky tore like wet paper.
A massive, jagged fissure of dark-purple energy ripped across the clouds.
From it, a colossal, rotting hand covered in thick green scales gripped the edge of the tear, slowly pulling itself into the artificial world.
The system tried to scan it.
[ERROR.]
[ERROR.]
[External Entity Identified: The Plague-Drake King]
[Estimated Level: 35 | Tier: Lord]
Level 35. Lord Tier.
In an exam designed for Level 7 students at most.
"Evacuate…" the Headmaster whispered, voice trembling. "Immediately! All instructors, prepare for Guild-level raid! If it breaks free, the academy will be destroyed!"
Panic erupted. VIPs grabbed weapons. Instructors shouted orders. Outside, the crowd descended into a stampede of sheer terror.
Inside the Red Zone, the ground quaked violently. Oliver could barely keep himself seated against the tree.
The sky above had turned sickly purple. The roar of the Plague-Drake King shook the forest, knocking leaves from trees.
The sheer presence of a Level 35 Lord crushed the air, doubled gravity itself. Oliver's party cried, paralyzed by fear.
This isn't something we're meant to survive, Oliver thought, his mind completely surrendering to the encroaching void.
He forced his eyes upward. The only one standing between them and the descending apocalypse: Arthur Pendelton.
The dragon roared, toxic necrotic energy radiating like molten plague. Trees melted. Rocks cracked. Air sizzled. Yet… Arthur didn't flinch.
He crouched beside the bisected Direwolf, calmly picking up its glowing core.
[Item Found: Blood-Iron Core (Rare)]
He tucked it into his pocket, stood, and dusted off his black trench coat.
His dark eyes slowly widened—not with fear, but with a dark, predatory excitement. A slow, chilling smile spread across his face.
"A free delivery…" he whispered. "The system really knows how to spoil me."
He didn't run. He didn't call for help.
Arthur raised his right hand, pointing at the descending dragon.
"General. Bring me its head."
The air grew suffocatingly heavy.
The Abyssal General didn't move immediately.
Its massive, three-meter-tall frame remained perfectly still. The crimson flames in its visor flickered, but its gaze didn't lock onto the descending Dragon.
It slowly turned its head, its burning eyes locking directly onto Arthur.
It was measuring him.
Arthur's smile vanished.
A sudden, agonizing spike of pain drilled into his skull. His vision blurred, and a hot, metallic taste flooded his mouth. He coughed, a few drops of pitch-black blood staining the collar of his coat.
[Warning: Epic-Tier Summon resisting command.]
[Host's Mental Energy insufficient for absolute domination.]
Arthur gritted his teeth, forcing his will down like an iron anvil. He didn't blink. He stared directly back into the General's crimson eyes, pouring the terrifying, existential weight of the [Calamity Seed] into the mental link.
I am the Sovereign, Arthur's mind roared, crushing the anomaly's rebellion. Obey.
The General held his gaze for a fraction of a second longer, before finally turning away. It stepped forward, raising its massive crystal greatsword toward the sky. Its presence alone warped reality.
Arthur wiped the blood from his chin, his breathing ragged.
[Notice: Empathy Suppression Active. Corruption Level: 7%.]
The Plague-Drake King screeched, claws smashing into the ground. The forest shook. But the General didn't rush. It merely watched, calculating.
The world held its breath.
Even the System... fell silent.