It raises its sword and lets out a guttural roar that shakes the entire hall.

Zevran's claws twitch. "Should I—?"

"No need."

The Death Knight charges, the air cracking as its aura flares—a dark wave of necrotic power crashing forward. The sword swings down with enough force to crush a hill.

Alix doesn't even move. He catches the blade with one hand. The shockwave ripples outward, cracking the floor beneath him.

The Death Knight strains, its burning eyes widening in disbelief.

Alix's gaze sharpens slightly. "You're strong for a corpse."

He clenches his fist—

—and the Death Knight's entire chest caves in with a deafening boom. The black armor shatters, the undead's body disintegrating into ash and shadow in an instant.

Silence falls again.

The air hums. The runes on the walls ignite, one by one, forming a glowing circle beneath Alix's feet.

Zevran's wings flare. "Master—!"

But before he can finish, the magic activates. The tomb blazes with light, swallowing everything in its path.

Alix glances down calmly as his form begins to fade. "Looks like I was right."

Mero grins. "Second floor, here we come."

The light surges—and in an instant, they vanish, leaving the ruined tomb empty and silent once more.

----

The light fades, and Alix lands softly on solid ground again. A cold wind brushes past him, carrying the faint scent of rust and old decay.

He opens his eyes—and finds himself in a familiar wasteland, but this time, a massive, ancient castle looms before him. Its towers stretch toward the gray sky, broken and crumbling, yet still emanating an oppressive presence. Thick fog coils around its walls like living smoke, and faint blue flames flicker within the shattered windows.

Mero drifts beside him, eyes narrowing. "Oh? Do we need to clear this castle to reach the third floor?"

Zevran flutters off Alix's shoulder, hovering with a flick of his tail. "Looks like it," he says dryly.

Alix studies the castle for a moment, then smirks faintly. "Then let's clear this place faster."

He starts walking toward the entrance, boots crunching on the brittle ground. The massive doors of the castle stand half-open, their hinges groaning in the wind.

But just as Alix steps within range something moves.

The ground to his left splits open, and a blur of shadows bursts out. A spear made of condensed fire element hurtles toward him, followed by a barrage of spells and blades from all directions.

Zevran reacts instantly, spreading his small wings and forming a barrier of faint red light, but Alix lifts his hand slightly. "No need."

The attacks crash into him—fire, lightning, blades of wind—all striking in perfect unison. The explosion shakes the ground, swallowing Alix in thick black smoke.

Mero hovers back, crossing his arms. "Hm. Coordinated. Whoever's leading them has brains."

Zevran narrows his eyes, wings twitching. "They won't have them for long."

As the smoke clears, the figures step out of the mist—monsters. Their forms are humanoid, clad in crude armor and beastbone gear. A lizardman with twin daggers, a horned ogre holding a massive hammer, two shadow wolves crouched low, and at least ten more—each radiating the strength of Tier 5 and 6.

The monsters hesitate. The lizardman snarls, flashing its teeth, and signals the others forward. They leap as one—swift, silent, disciplined.

Alix doesn't move. His eyes flicker gold for a moment.

The first wolf appears behind him, claws aimed for his neck. Alix turns just enough for his fist to meet it mid-air. The impact sends the wolf flying backward, its body exploding into a cloud of black mist before it even hits the ground.

The others rush in—daggers flashing, arrows whistling, fireballs crackling. Alix raises his arm, flicking two fingers outward.

A pulse of invisible energy ripples from his body. Everything within ten meters freezes mid-motion—the monsters' bodies trembling as their attacks hang suspended in the air for a split second. Then, like shattered glass, their bodies, weapons, and artifacts scatter into glowing dust.

Zevran lands on Alix's shoulder, his tail swaying lazily. "Tch, it's not even the humans who attacked us first—it's your kind, master."

Alix brushes the dust from his shoulder, his expression composed. "Well," he says, glancing at the dissolving remains of the monster squad, "greed is one thing every race shares."

After that, they continue.

The castle's halls twist like a maze—filled with animated suits of armor, banshees screaming through cracked ceilings, and beast-like undead stalking the corridors. Yet none of them slow Alix down.

Each encounter ends the same way: swift, silent, absolute.

A flick of his wrist sends armored knights crashing into walls; a glance shatters banshees mid-scream. Zevran tears through the stragglers like a streak of red lightning, while Mero manipulates the residual mana to seal off reinforcements.

Minutes turn into moments. Floor after floor falls under Alix's advance.

Until finally—

They reach a massive throne room. The air here is heavy, tinged with golden light from the cracked ceiling above. At the far end sits a figure upon a blackened throne—a towering undead draped in regal robes, a jagged crown embedded in its skull. Its sword, ancient and rusted yet still brimming with power, rests across its lap.

The creature stirs as they enter. Its voice scrapes through the silence, deep and hollow. "Mortal… you dare step into my sanctum?"

Alix's tone stays even. "Alright... let's make this quick."

The undead rises, the sound of its armor echoing through the chamber. "Kneel before your king!" it bellows, its aura flaring—a thick wave of death energy bursting outward.

The shockwave hits Alix directly—but it parts around him like mist.

Alix disappears from where he stands. A single dull thud echoes.

When he reappears, he's behind the undead. The crown slips from the creature's head, hitting the floor with a faint clang. A moment later, the undead's body splits in two clean halves before turning to ash.

Silence.

Mero floats forward, eyes gleaming faintly. "That was… anticlimactic."

Zevran lands on Alix, flicking his tail. "Middle-level Tier 6. You barely needed to blink."

Alix looks around the crumbling throne room, already sensing the faint ripple of energy gathering again. "Let's move on. The third floor's waiting."

The air hums. The floor glows.

And once again, the world around them begins to fade into light.

---

The light fades.

A damp, choking stench fills the air. Alix's boots sink slightly into soft mud as the world around him comes into focus—a vast, dead swamp stretching endlessly in every direction. Twisted trees jut out of the black water like skeletal fingers, their bark rotted and slick with slime. Mist hangs low, thick enough to blur the horizon.

Mero grimaces the moment he takes shape beside Alix. "Ugh, it smells really bad here."

The water ripples. Once. Twice. Then—

A low gurgling growl echoes from beneath the surface. One by one, shapes emerge from the swamp: bloated corpses of beasts—giant reptiles with half-decayed flesh, swamp toads with empty eye sockets, and skeletal serpents dripping with black ooze. Their movements are slow but deliberate, drawn to Alix like moths to a flame.

Zevran's wings flare, red mana pulsing faintly. "They're not wasting time."

Zevran hovers a few feet forward, his small body outlined by a faint green and brown glow. "Master," he says, his tone calm but his eyes sharp, "let me take care of it."

Alix glances at him and gives a single nod. "Go ahead."

Zevran's wings flick once, and in that instant, the air around him shifts. The stagnant swamp breeze transforms into a spiraling gale, tearing through the fog like knives. The undead swamp beasts snarl and lurch forward—but before they can close the distance, the ground trembles.

A pulse of earth mana surges outward from beneath Zevran, cracks spiderwebbing through the mud. Jagged spires of stone erupt from the ground, impaling several undead in one strike. Those that survive stagger, but Zevran's eyes glint with emerald light—his next move already forming.

"Tier 6: Wind Burial."

His voice is calm, almost casual. The air explodes. Countless invisible blades of compressed wind slice through the swamp, moving too fast for the eye to follow. The sound they make is soft—like a sigh—but the aftermath is devastating.

Every undead in sight—hundreds of them—freeze mid-step, then fall apart in perfect silence. Their decayed bodies crumble into the black water, leaving only faint ripples and drifting bones. The fog itself scatters under the pressure of Zevran's attack, torn apart by the faint traces of law infused into his skills.

Mero whistles low. "Not bad, little lizard."