She hovered just above the tower’s peak, her figure barely visible, shimmering faintly beneath the sunlight, like a mirage floating on the breeze. 

And yet, despite the way the light grazed her silhouette, no one down below seemed to notice her presence.

It wasn’t just stealth. 

The space around her warped subtly, bent in a way that prevented any gaze from truly locking onto her. 

For human eyes, it was like trying to focus on smoke dancing in the heat.

She simply didn’t register.

“Mumbo jumbo…” she muttered, tapping a finger against her chin. 

Her expression tightened slightly, thoughtful. “The plan’s speeding up too fast. The whole foundation feels like it’s starting to wobble.”

Her eyes never stopped moving, ever-watchful, scanning every inch of the surrounding landscape from her high vantage point. 

The city, the skies, the flickering pulse of life, none escaped her gaze.

Now and then, her focus shifted toward the distant border.

Another horde wave was rolling in.

Her gaze sharpened, noting the monsters pushing in along the edges. 

Something had changed. Not in form or type, but sheer scale.

The numbers had swelled, tens of thousands more than the last assault. Nearly on par with the size of Liam’s standing army. 

But after watching a few brief clashes down below, Mize made a quiet mental note.

'they’re not capable of much yet. Still manageable'

And with a flick of her sleeve, her figure vanished from the air, gone without a sound.

She reappeared moments later above the dungeon, her gaze dropping instantly to the new sight below.

What met her eyes hadn’t been there before.

“Interesting…” she murmured, head tilting slightly. “A tiny marketplace? That’s… actually kind of clever.”

Below, a crude sprawl of stalls had taken shape, people moving between them like ants drawn to sugar. 

It wasn’t chaotic, but neither was it elegant.

Makeshift booths, wooden racks, and overhanging cloths defined the space.

Nothing refined, but clearly functional.

The market had formed in the open area nestled between the western wall gate and the dungeon’s entrance, one of the few places in the city left untouched.

That strip had remained undeveloped for one reason: the dungeon.

Elias had made sure no one laid a finger on that patch of land, not out of respect but out of fear, fear of what Mize might do to him if he got too bold during his free hours.

Still, that hadn’t stopped development around the dungeon.

All along the perimeter, buildings were rising one after another, hasty construction sites, prebuilt towers, cobbled-together structures growing like moss along a stone. 

What emerged was a wide ring around the dungeon itself, forming a loose vacuum that allowed for crowd flow while never quite crossing the boundary.

And that crowd? Denser than ever.

The dungeon entrance had become the epicenter.

Stalls popped up like mushrooms after a storm, every corner packed. 

Most of the people milling through were Awakeners, and their numbers had easily tripled since the last time she checked.

Mize narrowed her eyes.

Something was off.

It didn’t make sense for that many people to show up on foot, especially from such a distance. 

Someone had to be bringing them in. Illegally, most likely.

The surge in population was dizzying, exciting, but also confusing.

“Alright then… let’s figure this out.”

She extended her divine mind outward, sending it sweeping across the city below, zeroing in on the clusters of Awakeners beneath her feet.

She didn’t just skim the surface.

Her senses dove deep, listening in on the muttered conversations, the half-whispered plans, the things they said with their backs turned, thinking no one was listening.

But no one could hide anything from her divine sense. Not even the thoughts they tried to bury.

It didn’t take long to gather what she needed.

“Hidden entrance to the territory?” she repeated aloud, a brow twitching slightly.

“The Adventurer Guild… three emissaries have arrived?”

“And… some tier 5s already inside the city?”

She tapped her chin again, mentally aligning the pieces of information, her gaze distant with thought.

“Three emissaries, huh? Sounds like a multi-headed faction then…”

A voice answered her, not from below, but beside her.

A familiar cold voice 

The space beside her rippled like water, and from it stepped a figure nearly identical to Mize herself, though cloaked in a chill far colder.

She emerged gracefully, her expression like frost, lashes fluttering like drifting snow.

Arms crossed over her chest, posture poised, she gave the impression of a silent storm that had learned how to walk.

Contained.

“Another set of variables,” she said flatly.

Mize glanced at her and grinned, her white teeth catching the light. “Good for us though, no? These new faces might push things in our favour.”

She tilted her head. “They’re probably making contact with Elias as we speak. If they’re here, it means they’re interested in the dungeon.”

“But Elias doesn’t hold power over our dungeon,” the other woman replied, voice level, eyes sharp. “Eventually, they’ll come looking for us.”

"If they are daring enough that is... "

Mize’s smile widened. “And when they do…”

She didn’t finish.

Instead, her gaze shifted again, eyes narrowing with interest.

“What about the child?” she asked, voice soft but pointed.

The other version of her gave a small shrug, not moving her arms.

“The boy doesn’t dare go near the underground layer for now” she replied. “Can’t really blame him. Too risky at his current level. We filled it with monsters far beyond what he can handle.”

“No contact with him so far then?”

“Few, I’ve just been watching the usual crowd, brave and stupid folks trying their luck. And honestly? I’m surprised. A few even survived the fall using that hole entrance.”

She paused, amusement flickering behind her cold tone. “Guess plot armor isn’t just for protagonists.”

Mize chuckled under her breath. “The boy must be earning a lot by selling key information. He wouldn’t be able to keep all of it to himself, not with his power level.”

“A weakling,” she added, “but with the right attention… a potential point factory.”

The other woman’s eyes flicked toward her. “Any mutation in his characteristic?”

“None yet,” came the calm reply. “Doesn’t look like we can replicate what happened with Liam. He’s a different case.”

“Or maybe we need a different catalyst,” Mize murmured, tapping her cheek.

“Possibly,” her counterpart replied. “I’ll keep digging.”

With a faint shimmer, space folded and the woman vanished again, quiet, like a ghost slipping through a half-open door.

Mize didn’t even spare a full glance. Her attention stayed fixed on the city spread beneath her, basking under the afternoon light.

"In a way, my territory is slowly becoming the center of the region. Drawing in stronger forces, one after another,” she murmured, voice barely louder than the wind curling around her.

She lifted her chin slightly, gaze sweeping over the distant skyline. “With the territory’s current size, it could easily hold several million people. That won’t be a problem.”

A soft hum left her lips, a note of satisfaction as her eyes glinted beneath the sunlight. 

Her gaze flitted casually from street to street. “The Church will be my sword, cutting away unnecessary forces, native or lord. With Titrus watching over them, they’ll be more than capable of handling whatever comes.”

She paused, fingertips tapping against her elbow. 

The thought continued unfolding in her mind. “The script’s already in place. All that’s left is to give a name, a universal label, or anything and anyone that dares to go against me.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, expression thoughtful. Silence stretched for a beat.

Then her lips curled up, a satisfied smile spreading across her face.

“Heretics,” she said, nodding once, pleased. “Yes... they should be labeled as heretics.”

And with a blink, the message was passed.

Somewhere, the clone stationed at the Church received it, already preparing for the next encounter with Harapan. 

The word would be spoken aloud, not just as a term, but as a decree.

Mize didn’t particularly care where these enemies came from. 

She didn’t need to. 

As long as they had the nerve to lay a hand on her points factory, then they’d be treated as nothing more than targets.

She lingered in the air for the next half hour, hovering quietly above the city, her gaze drifting from block to block. 

From this height, every little movement registered like lines on paper, drawn clean and sharp.

Even things meant to be hidden weren’t spared.

In the shadows of a narrow alley, tucked far behind the bustling districts, something caught her eye.

Elias had designed the city layout with meticulous care. 

But still, Mize could already see the pattern taking shape, a future hive-like sprawl. 

Deep between the tightly stacked blocks, there were places where normal people had no reason to step into.

And there, in one of those narrow alleys, something moved.

A limping figure.

Male. One arm clutched tightly around the other, as if holding a shattered bone together. 

His breath came ragged, uneven.

He staggered through the maze of alleys, not aimless, but desperate, like a rat who still remembered where the hole was. 

Every few seconds, he’d glance over his shoulder, eyes wide with panic, then rush forward again, melting into the shadows.

“No way… no way…”

His voice cracked.

“Why are there suddenly people, no, things, hunting us down?”

“M-my wife… my wife…”

His hoarse cries trailed off, broken with each gasping breath.

It was obvious something had gone horribly wrong. But don’t be fooled. This wasn’t who he really was.

Not anymore.

His name didn’t matter. 

The moment he shed his humanity, he also discarded that label. 

His identity had been swallowed up by something else.

But his wife…

He loved her. Dearly. 

He had brought her along, hand-in-hand, into this new path. A twisted road he’d embraced just days ago.

He thought they’d achieved something grand. No more aging. No more food. No more pain. 

Immortality, at a cost.

But lust remained.

And one other need.

Flesh.

To preserve their form, their beauty, their immortality, they had to consume a small amount of human flesh each day.

So, just before dawn this morning, before the sun had even peeked over the horizon, the couple set out.

They found a lonely refugee, someone drifting at the edge of the temporary settlement zone. 

They offered him a chance to “enjoy” his wife, an easy lure, wrapped in temptation.

But it was a lie.

And they killed him.

The body, he thought, would be enough to last them a month. 

But as they were dragging the corpse back through the alley, something happened.

Someone appeared.

A figure, massive, easily several heads taller than him. Cloaked in an enormous suit of white armor, with a sword hanging at his side, long enough to tower over an adult’s height.

There weren’t many words. Barely any, in fact.

“Foul creature.”

That was all.

Before either of them could react, his wife was cleaved from hip to shoulder in a single stroke.

But that wasn’t what shattered him.

No, it was the way she screamed.

A sickly green energy erupted from the wounds, followed by a strange glow that seemed to trap her in the pain. 

Her body writhed and jerked, her cries scraping the alley walls like blades.

He’d tried to fight back, claws flashing from his fingertips, but he didn’t last a second.

 One slap. Just one.

And his body slammed into the wall, limp and cracked, his arm bent at a wrong angle.

From start to finish, the armored figure had said only that one line before striking.

As for how he escaped?

The figure let him.

Deliberately.

He didn’t know why. 

But the moment he was spared, he felt it, an icy weight pressing into the back of his mind.

A hunter’s stare. Like a cat toying with its prey.

Now, even with the pain twisting through his body, even with the grief boiling in his chest, he ran.

Blindly.

Chasing the last flicker of memory, somewhere in that maze of alleys, where he hoped to hide.

But even he knew it was already too late.