The journey back up the eight-degree incline from the subterranean transit concourse felt entirely different from the descent.
Where the gloom of Sector 7 had previously press-ganged the squad’s senses under forty-six percent miasma saturation, Squad Alpha now moved with the quiet, effortless rhythm of a unit that had crossed a threshold.
Marcus carried two canvas supply sacks slung across his heavy broad shoulders, the silver anti-magic containment canisters inside clicking rhythmically against his iron-braced tower shield. Timothy walked beside him, his taped spectacles shoved high on his nose, his eyes darting between his brass optics slate and the glowing ledger numbers he was obsessively calculating under his breath.
"Thirty high-density Tier D cores from the vault," Timothy whispered, his breath whistling slightly through his rubber filter mask. "Plus the three Rail-Hound cores from the concourse, the Apex Guardian’s core fragment, and the fifteen Tier D- cores from Grid 8... That’s over four thousand five hundred total quota points! Marcus, do you realize what that means?!"
"It means I’m going to eat three full plates of roasted boar at the mess hall tonight without feeling guilty," Marcus grunted, though a grin split his sweat-stained face behind his filter strap. He looked over at Rian, who walked beside Sabrina at the rear of the diamond. "It means no latrine duty for the rest of the term."
Sabrina didn't smile, but the sharp, icy tension that usually locked her posture was noticeably absent. Her snowy braid swished over her left shoulder as she checked the seal on her wool coat.
"Don't celebrate until the weight is logged on Brandon’s scale," Sabrina warned coolly, though her pale blue eyes flickered toward Rian. "Victor Vance fled the concourse an hour ahead of us. His uncle’s guild mercenaries will have filed an emergency incident report to cover their retreat."
Rian walked with his slate-grey coat unbuttoned, his hands resting in his pockets.
Beneath his leather soles, the Level 3 Living Shadow stretched six meters wide along the ash-streaked asphalt of Grid 8. It moved like a vast, liquid dark mantle, its four violet eye-slits silently drinking in the trailing ambient miasma of the outer ruins as they approached the high walls of Outpost Delta.
> [Environmental Zone: Sector 7 Outer Buffer]
> Living Shadow Passive: Atmospheric Siphoning Active
> Living Shadow EXP: 736 / 1500 -> 784 / 1500 (+48 EXP from return journey)
"Let Vance file whatever report he wants," Rian said, his voice flat, steady, and carrying the calm authority that had anchored the squad through thirty fathoms of concrete and iron. "A retreat logged by mercenaries carries zero weight on an academy ledger. Only yield talks."
At 17:30 hours, the sky over Outpost Delta turned a dark, bruised violet.
The cold Wasteland wind whipped through the steel gantries of the eastern Sally Port, casting long, dramatic shadows across the crowded staging yard. Hundreds of returning first-year cadets were assembled near the central weighing dais, their rumpled uniforms stained with soot, ash, and monster blood.
Whispers rippled through the crowd as Squad Alpha crossed the iron turnstiles.
"Look... it's the runaway frost girl’s squad..."
"They stayed down in Grid 12 for over six hours? How did they not get wiped out by the Rail-Hounds?"
"Where’s Vance’s team? I saw Captain Drake’s mercenary escort come back through the western gate two hours ago with their armor scorched to hell..."
Standing atop the elevated wooden platform beside the giant brass beam-scale was Instructor Brandon. His battle-scarred face was dark as a storm cloud, his single eye fixed on a glowing crystal ledger held in his left gauntlet.
Beside the platform stood Victor Vance.
Victor’s gold-etched crimson armor was dented, his right shoulder guard bearing a heavy black scorch mark where his own thermal channels had short-circuited. His face was pale, his eyes bloodshot with a mix of humiliation and frantic rage. Standing behind him were five cadets from the Vance Merchant Guild, along with Captain Drake, whose left arm was wrapped tightly in heavy medical linen.
"Instructor Brandon!" Victor was shouting, gesturing wildly toward the eastern gate as Squad Alpha approached. "I’m telling you, they used illegal external devices! Rian Craig doesn't possess a functional mana core! He sabotaged my squad’s incendiary weapons inside the mag-lev depot using uncertified black-market artifacts!"
Instructor Brandon didn't even look up from his slate. "Silence, Vance."
"He pinned me to the iron tracks!" Victor shrieked, his voice cracking. "My uncle’s guild paid for exclusive sector rights! Squad Alpha trespassed into a Tier D+ zone without—"
"I signed their hazard permit at fourteen hundred hours," Brandon barked, slamming the butt of his giant broadsword into the wooden deck with a deafening CRACK!
The staging yard went instantly silent.
Brandon turned his single eye down toward Squad Alpha as they stopped at the base of the scales platform.
"Squad Alpha," Brandon rumbled, his voice echoing across the concrete quadrangle. "Report your yield."
Sabrina stepped forward, unclasping the leather permit from her belt and laying it flat on the registration counter. "Grid 8 perimeter cleared. Central Transit Concourse secured. Sector 7 Subterranean Core Vault unlocked and harvested."
She nodded to Marcus and Rian.
Marcus stepped up to the massive brass scales, hoisting the two canvas supply sacks onto the wide iron plate. Rian stepped beside him, unclasping four heavy silver anti-magic containment canisters from his belt and setting them neatly beside the sacks.
CLINK-CLACK!
The heavy iron plate dropped four inches under the sudden weight.
Victor’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Captain Drake’s scarred face went rigid as his eyes landed on the silver archival crests stamped onto the anti-magic canisters. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
"Those... those are First Era containment cases..." Drake muttered under his breath, stepping back half a pace. "They actually cracked the blast door..."
Instructor Brandon stepped down from the platform. He unclasped the first silver canister, twisting the iron seal with a sharp CLACK.
Inside the case, twelve purified, high-density Tier D cores gleamed in the harsh white glare of the outpost searchlights, radiating a rich, harmonious hum of uncorrupted mana.
Brandon opened the second canister. Then the third. Then the fourth.
He turned to the canvas sacks, tipping their contents out onto the iron tray: fifteen Tier D- bone-scraper cores, three high-purity Rail-Hound crystals, and the glowing, fist-sized purple fragment of the Tier D+ Apex Vault Guardian.
The brass needle on the giant outpost scale didn't just hit the high-yield line. It slammed against the iron stop-pin with a loud, metallic RING!
> [SQUAD ALPHA YIELD METRICS LOGGED]
> Tier D- Cores: 15
> Tier D High-Purity Cores: 33
> Tier D+ Apex Guardian Fragment: 1
> Total Quota Value: 4,850 Points
A collective gasp exploded across the staging yard.
The surrounding cadets stared at the glowing brass display in total, stunned disbelief. The previous highest single-day score recorded by a first-year squad in the Ninth District Academy was eleven hundred points—held by Victor Vance’s guild-assisted team.
Squad Alpha had quadrupled it in a single afternoon.
"Four thousand eight hundred and fifty points," Brandon declared, his gravelly voice carrying to the very back of the perimeter walls.
He pulled out his crystal master slate, pressing his gauntleted thumb into the record seal. Across the entire outpost, the large copper-framed leaderboard slates mounted to the barracks walls flickered violently before updating their glowing blue runes:
====================================================
NINTH DISTRICT ACADEMY — RANKING LEADERBOARD
====================================================
RANK 1 : SQUAD ALPHA (Tran, Craig, Cole, Rhodes) ── 4,850 PTS
RANK 2 : SQUAD VANCE (Vance, Garrick, et al.) ── 1,120 PTS
RANK 3 : SQUAD FOUR (Hark, Miller, et al.) ── 680 PTS
====================================================
"No! That's impossible!" Victor screamed, taking a desperate step off the platform toward the scales. "They cheated! Rian is a Level 1 defective! How could a Level 1 defeat a Tier D+ Vault Guardian?!"
Rian slowly turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto Victor's panicked face.
He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't flare an aura.
He simply took one step forward, allowing his leather boot to come down precisely six inches from the edge of the platform.
Beneath the wooden floorboards, the Level 3 Living Shadow expanded. Four distinct, violet eye-slits flickered deep within the pitch-black pool, radiating a silent, suffocating wave of Tier D- shadow density that swept across the front of the platform.
Victor froze dead in his tracks.
The heat-conduction runes on his crimson chest plate sputtered out, replaced by a sudden, bone-chilling draft that made his knees buckle. The terrifying memory of being pinned to the subterranean iron tracks flooded back into his mind, choking the words right out of his throat.
"The yield is verified," Instructor Brandon said, his single eye fixing Victor with absolute, unyielding authority. "The cores carry the energy matrix of the Sector 7 deep vault. Squad Alpha’s ranking is official."
Brandon turned back to Squad Alpha, pulling four gold-stamped credit vouchers from his coat.
"First place overall," Brandon said, handing the vouchers to Sabrina. "Priority housing in Block A. Double credit stipends for the remainder of the term. And full authorization for deep-tier rift excursions."
"Thank you, Instructor," Sabrina said, accepting the vouchers with a crisp, formal nod. The source of this chapter is g.com.
"Dismissed to the upper barracks," Brandon grunted, a faint, barely visible smirk touching his scarred lip. "Get washed up. You've got advanced tactical tactical briefings at dawn."
An hour later, Squad Alpha occupied the top-floor suite of Block A Dormitories.
Unlike the damp, subterranean stone cell of Block C, Block A was built from polished basalt brick, featuring private sleeping quarters, a large central hearth fueled by clean thermal crystals, and a high arched balcony overlooking the glowing lights of Outpost Delta.
Marcus sat near the roaring hearth, a massive wooden platter of roasted meats and fresh bread resting across his lap. "Block A... private water conduits... actual feather mattresses... I feel like a high-district guild master."
Timothy was seated at the wooden desk, carefully organizing their remaining core inventory into silver containment trays. "We have eight high-density Tier D cores left over after turning in the quota. If we convert them at the outpost exchange tomorrow, we can upgrade your tower shield to full vanadium steel, Marcus!"
"And get you a proper optical focus ring for that crossbow," Marcus grinned, taking a huge bite of bread.
Across the room, Sabrina stood near the open balcony doors, watching the cold Wasteland wind sweep ash across the distant plains of Sector 7.
Her snowy braid rested over her shoulder, her pale blue eyes reflecting the warm orange light of the hearth. She held a cup of hot spiced tea in her hand, the steam rising softly in the cool air.
Rian walked out onto the balcony, stopping two paces beside her. He leaned his forearms against the iron railing, looking out toward the dark horizon where the spires of the First District glowed like distant white stars.
"Victor’s uncle won't let this stand," Sabrina said quietly, her voice smooth, analytical, and devoid of fear. "Losing the top rank to an banished noble and an exiled frost runaway destroys the Vance Merchant Guild's political leverage in the Ninth District."
"Let them try," Rian replied flatly, his slate-grey coat brushing against the iron bars. "A merchant guild operates on financial metrics. Now that we hold the top leaderboard slot, the academy quartermaster reports to our yield first."
Sabrina turned her head sideways, looking at him intently.
The localized frost around her boots was completely still, no longer flaring or crackling with volatile instability. The steady supply of purified dark energy Rian had provided during their deep raids had stabilized her internal core channels far more than any high-district medicine ever had.
"Level 3," Sabrina murmured, her pale lips curving into a subtle, genuine smile. "Your entity’s growth rate is unnatural, Rian. You went from a dormant fluid thread to solid shadow plate in three days."
"The Wastes provide what we take," Rian said smoothly.
He raised his right hand, extending his gloved palm over the balcony railing.
Living Shadow... manifestation.
WHIP-CRACK!
From the six-meter dark pool beneath his boots, a single, sleek shadow tendril erupted into the cold night air. It didn't rage or flex with violent force; it hovered beside the railing with fluid, perfect grace, its pitch-black surface gleaming like polished obsidian under the moonlight.
> [Host Identity: Rian Craig]
> Base Level: 1 (Human Limit)
> Living Shadow Level: 3 / 100 (784 / 1500 EXP)
> Physical Shadow Density: Tier D- (Solidified Plate)
> Shadow Reach: 6.0 Meters
> Mana Capacity: 300 / 300
> Current Rank: #1 — Ninth District Academy
> Next Objective: Level 20 Ascension Trial
Rian closed his fingers, dissolving the shadow tendril back into his coat.
He looked out over the dark, sprawling ruins of Sector 7, his dark eyes burning with an unshakeable, violet-gold flame.
The foundation was laid. The leaderboard was conquered.
And the long, thousand-chapter road to absolute monarch of the realm had just begun.