Far above the human world, suspended between layers of mana and memory, a palace floated in the void.
A palace woven from shadow and silver.
Its walls were translucent currents of concept, half-real and half-not. Every hall echoed with soft chimes made from metaphysical threads. The place felt ancient—not in the way ruins were ancient, but the way ideas were ancient.
Arata sat alone at the central dais, legs crossed, eyes closed.
He wore the same apron he'd worn in his restaurant only hours prior.
And it made sense.
Because the restaurant was never just a restaurant.
Arata never just lived in the human plane.
He existed between.
The restaurant was simply the manifestation he preferred—a harmless front anchored in the physical world so mortals could interact with him without unraveling.
But this?
This palace?
This was his Anchor Chamber—a personal metaphysical domain that sat in the folds between realms, a place only he, with his authority, could enter without being erased or distorted.
He opened his eyes.
A ripple passed through the palace walls, a tremor of mana responding to his mood.
"It's been a while," he murmured to himself, fingers tapping on the floating armrest.
"Since the world needed a little… stimulation."
He lifted his hand lazily, conjuring a folded image of Earth beneath him, glowing faintly like a blue marble.
Tiny lights flickered across it.
Dungeon lights.
Breaks.
Chaos.
Fear.
Hope.
"Dungeons appearing naturally wasn't enough. People needed urgency. Pressure. A crucible."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"So… I gave it to them."
He wasn't laughing.
He wasn't gloating.
He looked almost sad for a moment.
"Kaelen, and the others… They needed a world that matches their potential. Humans can't evolve without stress."
He exhaled softly.
"This floating palace allows me to see everything clearly. No mortal distortion. No interference from old entities. Just pure observation."
He stood, coat fluttering slightly though there was no wind.
"Let's see who rises. Who survives. Who adapts."
Arata walked toward the edge of the palace and gazed down at the breaking world with almost artistic interest.
Then—
With a flick of his finger…
More rifts began to pulse.
Back on Kael'AR—a crater still smoked from the earlier clash.
Alzwalt blinked once, turning his head toward the voice behind him.
John stepped out of a distortion wave, shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets, grinning with that laid-back madness only he could wear so naturally.
Alzwalt laughed immediately.
A deep, wild, unrestrained laugh.
"So you've come to join the fun, huh?"
John smirked.
Druvok, Lord of the Shattered Abyss, narrowed his burning-red eyes.
Alzwalt cracked his knuckles.
"But would it really be fair to go two-v-one on him though?"
His grin widened.
"Because even if just one of us goes all out… he dies."
John tilted his head.
Then laughed.
"You're worried about the wrong thing."
He shrugged.
"But yeah… you got a point."
Druvok's aura spiked. The ground cracked beneath his feet.
John extended a hand lazily.
"We could always hold back."
A slow grin crawled over his face.
"And have a little fun."
Alzwalt's eyes lit up.
"Aiite… bet."
He slid his foot back, lowering into a stance that made the air tense.
A predatory smile carved itself into his face.
Druvok roared:
"MORTALS—COME, THEN!"
A shockwave burst outward.
And the fight reignited with a cosmic boom—
Snow hammered the ground in the northern lands as Kaelen carved through monsters like a blade through water.
Each swing flowed.
Each step was calculated.
Each kill fed his circuit.
But this wasn't like the dungeons he'd soloed before.
This was endless.
Creatures of black frost, bone wolves, chimeric horrors stitched from dungeon energy—each one emerged from the spreading rift like they were being vomited into the world.
Kaelen's breath misted the air.
"Damn… they're not stopping."
Tessandra's voice crackled through their mental link—strained.
"Kaelen, hold your position! Reinforcements are coming—"
A sound cut her off.
A heavy sound.
A sound like a glacier grinding across stone.
The world grew quiet.
The monsters backed away, whimpering.
Kaelen tightened his grip on his weapon.
From the rift…
A giant stepped through.
Ten meters tall.
Armored in black frozen plates.
Eyes burning with twin sapphire flames.
A jagged cleaver dragging behind it, cutting long scars into the land.
It breathed—and frost spread like instant winter.
Tessandra gasped through the link.
"Kaelen… that's—"
"A Dungeon Lord," Kaelen whispered.
The monster lifted its cleaver and pointed it at him.
"You… small one."
Its voice was deep enough to shake the snow.
"You killed many of my kin.
I recognize your scent."
Kaelen didn't move.
His eyes hardened.
The Dungeon Lord stepped forward, each step cracking the frozen earth.
"I will return your courage to the void."
Kaelen lowered his stance.
His breath calmed.
His circuits flared.
Gravitation bent subtly around him.
Time flickered in tiny distortions at his fingertips.
"Try it."
And the two charged—
Snow exploded.
Frost howled.
Mana lit the sky—