CHAPTER 47: PREPARING FOR THE 8TH - ASTRAIA’S APPEARANCE

Noel let the silence linger for a moment more before finally speaking again. His tone was calm, but there was tension in his jaw.

"So... what now?"

I turned to look at him, eyes steady. "I’ll keep going."

He blinked. "Through the Rift?"

I nodded. "Until the 10th Floor."

Noel frowned. "You’re not even going to take a breather?"

"No point," I said, standing up and stretching my arms slightly. The weight of Astral Overdrive had faded, but the echoes still lingered in my bones like faint tremors.

"Things are escalating too fast. That troll shouldn’t have had a shard. Floor 7 wasn’t supposed to throw that at me."

"And if something’s accelerating the Rift’s evolution... then we’re running out of time."

Noel looked down at the floor, processing. He knew I was right.

"You really going in again today?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Floor 8 won’t wait."

He sighed. "You know normal people rest after, I don’t know, fighting an usual shit?"

"I’m not normal people," I muttered, fixing my gloves.

Just then—my HUD flickered.

A high-priority alert pulsed at the edge of my vision.

[ Incoming Encrypted Call: Astraia Valemont ]

[ Source: Verified Vassal Channel – Personal Line ]

I froze.

Noel blinked. "Uh... did I just read that right?"

I turned slowly to meet his gaze.

Even he looked unsettled.

"She’s calling you. Personally."

The pulse continued, waiting for my input.

[ Accept | Decline ]

My finger hovered over the prompt... then I paused.

’She hadn’t seen my face—not yet.’

Without a word, I reached for the mask resting beside my gear, slipped it on, letting the familiar weight settle in.

Then, with a quiet breath, I tapped Accept.

The air shimmered—and her projection snapped into focus.

Astraia appeared, arms crossed, dressed not in golden armor or ceremonial regalia—but in a casual black jacket, hair tied back, expression sharp.

"You picked up fast," she said.

"Didn’t expect you to call," I replied evenly.

"Most people don’t."

Her tone was neutral, but I could see it—tension just beneath the surface. Not fear. But something close to urgency.

Noel stared at the projection from behind me, mouthing the words: What the actual hell is happening.

"Why are you contacting me directly?" I asked.

Astraia didn’t blink.

"Because you triggered a global anomaly in the Rift again."

"Because you cleared Floor 7 in under an hour."

"And because three Guild Masters are panicking in their war rooms right now trying to figure out who the hell ’Blank’ really is."

Astraia’s projection flickered into sharp focus, posture composed, expression cool—but her gaze darted to the mask I’d just slipped on.

"Oh? Getting a little self-conscious now?" she said, a faint smirk on her lips. "Didn’t expect the infamous Blank to hide behind a mask."

I didn’t bother responding to that.

"What’s going on with the Guild Masters?" I asked instead.

The smirk vanished. Her arms crossed.

"They had a meeting. A closed one. All three Guild Heads—Argoss, Virein, and Serael."

"Topic? You."

I said nothing, letting her continue.

"They’ve started hiring aggressively. Not just any Vassals—people on our level. Or close to it. Quiet contracts, private offers, accelerated training... all off the record."

"And they’re pushing for a Rift scan mandate. One that forces high-tier Vassals to reveal themselves, guilded or not."

Noel muttered a curse under his breath.

I tilted my head slightly. "They’re afraid."

Astraia nodded once.

"You’re unregistered. Unknown. And stronger than anyone outside the official rankings."

"If someone like you exists outside their influence, they see it as a threat."

I already pieced it together.

"Because if they can’t control it," I said quietly, "they’ll try to eliminate it."

Astraia didn’t deny it.

"They’ve done it before. Government sucks. You just didn’t hear about it because the ones they erased were quiet... or careless."

Her gaze sharpened.

"You’re neither."

I leaned back, arms relaxed, voice steady.

"Then they’ll have a problem. I don’t kneel."

Astraia’s eyes lingered on me for a long second. I could see the calculations running behind them—scanning through probability trees, weighing outcomes. Then, she exhaled.

"Then at least consider this—"

She straightened, expression softening just enough to be genuine.

"Join my guild. You wouldn’t have to lead, just sign. It gives you protection—political leverage. If they try anything, they’d have to go through me as the number one Vassal in Tokyo, Japan."

"Or if that doesn’t work for your pride..." she added with a slight tilt of her head, "start your own. I’ll even pull strings to delay their pressure."

I shook my head.

"I appreciate it," I said calmly, "but I won’t hide behind a banner. Not even yours."

"And as for starting a guild—"

I glanced out the window, the distant pulse of the Rift still faintly visible on the horizon.

"I’m not ready to be someone else’s shield. Right now, I’m the blade."

"So don’t worry about me, Astraia. I can handle them."

She was quiet after that. Not offended. Not surprised, either.

Just... watching.

Finally, she gave a small nod, her voice lower this time.

"You’re going to turn the whole Rift upside down."

"Try not to die before I get the chance to see it."

Then the call cut and the projection faded into static.

Noel let out a long breath behind me. "...You just turned down Astraia."

"Yeah."

"Are you insane or just stubborn?"

"Yes."

-

I finished strapping the last buckle on my armor, the hum of mana running through my gear in a steady rhythm. The Emberfang Set shimmered faintly under the lights—still marked with scorches from the seventh floor’s fight.

Noel stood by the door, arms crossed, his gear bag slung over his shoulder.

"Alright," he said, determination flaring in his voice, "I’m heading back in too. I’ll start catching up."

I turned slightly, glancing over my shoulder.

"Not so fast."

He blinked. "Huh?"

"You’ll go in after I clear the ninth."

"What?" he frowned, stepping forward. "Nile, come on. I’m not just sitting here while you—"

"It’s not about sitting," I cut in, tightening the last strap on my gloves. "It’s about surviving."