The sleek new phone felt like a key to a world he was only just beginning to map. With S.A.R.A. acting as a flawless digital bridge, Noctar swiftly downloaded and encrypted the contact information for Ardyn, Garner, and Fell, his perpetually anxious real estate handler. The convenience was intoxicating, a direct line to the few nodes in this world that mattered. A modern tether.
A minor, irritating inconvenience surfaced during his mental inventory check: his car keys, along with the rest of his personal effects from the dungeon entry, were still logged at the Hunter's Authority security desk.
A quick cross reference of timing, logistics, and Garner's thinly veiled paternal threats led Noctar to a single, accurate conclusion: this was a deliberate, petty power play. A test of patience, or a reminder of who controlled the infrastructure. Fine. He could walk. The city grid was just another system to navigate.
He hailed a taxi, a vehicle powered by a muted elemental core humming under its chassis, and spent the ride scrolling through his new device, absorbing data streams. S.A.R.A. provided a concise, scrolling demographic and geopolitical breakdown of Ethron, overlaying maps on his visual field.
// PRIMARY CONTINENT: ETHRON.
// MAJOR GEOPOLITICAL & CULTURAL DIVISIONS: 5.
// WEST: AMERISYA. Technological hegemony. Magi-tech fusion, corporate guild dominance. Export: innovation, arrogance.
// NORTH: URPOL. Frozen reaches. Clan-based, survivalist culture. Export: rare minerals, grim endurance.
// SOUTH: ARIFA. Your current administrative zone. Agricultural and arcane heartland. Balanced development. Export: mana-crystals, tradition.
// EAST: JIPON. Island nation. Spiritual focus, master craftsmen. Export: refined artifacts, profound isolation.
// YOUR PRECISE LOCATION: STONEARX CITY, NORTHERN ARIFA. PROXIMITY: URPOL BORDER. POLITICAL CLIMATE: STABLE. ANOMALY CONCENTRATION: ELEVATED.
// Correct. The 'Death Dungeon' incidents, while concentrated here due to better reporting, have been logged on every continent. Your duties as a debugger will likely be… well-traveled. I recommend we eventually upgrade your wardrobe's translation protocols.
The taxi deposited him at the soaring, imposing edifice of the Stonearx Hunter's Authority Headquarters. It was less a building and more a statement carved in granite and warding runes: order, power, permanence. His stride across the expansive plaza was purposeful and strong, the last vestiges of hospital weakness utterly vanquished by clean air and simmering intent.
He ignored the stares and whispered calculations that followed him the man in the stylish, unfamiliar blacks who moved with the quiet gravity of a predator. His destination was singular, burned into his mental map: Ardyn's office on the third tactical floor.
The interior was a cathedral of bureaucratic efficiency. The air smelled of ozone, polished stone, and anxiety. He took the stairs, bypassing the mana-lift, each step cementing his return to operational status. He reached her door a slab of dark oak reinforced with steel bands, bearing a simple plaque: A-RANK KNIGHT ARDYN VERMONT, SIGMA-7 TACTICAL LIAISON.
He knocked. Twice. Firm, measured raps that should have brooked no delay.
No answer.
Only the faint, muffled cadence of a voice from within a male voice, speaking with rushed, pressurized emotion. He waited precisely three point seven seconds. A lifetime for his accelerated cognition.
// Conducting sub-aural and thermal scan. Audio analysis indicates a male subject, early thirties, elevated heart rate (128 BPM), and… a declarative sequence consistent with a proclamation of romantic intent. Stress markers in primary subject Ardyn's vocal tone. Visual scan via seismic resonance incomplete, but… Yes. Confirmation: a male subject of distinct Amerisyan phenotypic descent is currently within 0.5 meters of Ardyn, holding her hands in a grasping manner. Her posture is rigid. She is attempting to disengage.
The data streamed into his mind: a tall man, blonde, dressed in the tailored, tech-weave fashion of Amerisyan elite, gripping Ardyn's hands across her desk as she tried to pull away, her expression a tight canvas of profound annoyance held in check by professional restraint.
Something inside Noctar fractured.
It wasn't a logical process. It wasn't a calculated response to a threat against an ally. It was a seismic event in the bedrock of his being, a primal fault line shaking loose something far older and darker than code. A possessive, violent certainty obliterated all higher functions.
He didn't turn the knob. He didn't announce himself with words.
He simply took one half-step back, shifted his weight with the fluid efficiency of a combat algorithm, and drove his shoulder into the door just beside the lock. The reinforced wood, the steel bands, the warding runes meant to deter lesser forces, all of it met the focused kinetic fury of a man who had recently rewritten local reality.
The sound wasn't a knock. It was a deafening, catastrophic CRACK of shearing metal and splintering oak as the door burst inward, slamming against the stone wall with enough force to shake the framed maps on the opposite side.
The scene inside froze, a diorama of shock.
The Amerisyan man jolted as if electrocuted, his hands flying away from Ardyn's as if burned. Ardyn's eyes widened, her professional mask shattering. Shock first, then a flash of alarm that morphed rapidly into something else a fierce, blazing recognition as her gaze landed on him.
Noctar stood in the ruined doorway, a silhouette backlit by the hallway's cold light, his presence sucking the oxygen from the room. His ice-blue eyes were glacial daggers, fixed unblinkingly on the blonde man. His lips curled into a smile that held no warmth, only the sharp, elegant promise of dismantling violence.
"Amerisya," he greeted, his voice a low, predatory rumble that vibrated in the sudden silence. "Hello."
In his hand, materialized from his inventory with thought-quick ease, was his Perdition pistol. The worn, dark metal gleamed dully. He didn't aim at the man's chest or leg. The barrel was leveled with unwavering, surgical precision directly at the exact center of the Amerisyan man's forehead.
The world had narrowed to a front sight and a target. And for the first time, Noctar understood a command that didn't come from a god or a system, but from a place deep in his own, newly awakened soul.
Delete.