Following the gala, the girls received a rare Imperial waiver to remain on-site. The process was rigorous; they had to register with the Palace Guard's elite division, swapping their Academy IDs for temporary silver-grade permits that allowed them passage through the annex's restricted wards.
To the guards, these weren't just guests—they were four Tier-2 combatants being integrated into the palace's defensive grid. As the paperwork was finalized, the annex ceased to be a training hall and became a secure military barracks for the Blackwell's hand-picked squad.
While the girls broke bread in the annex—enjoying a quiet, hearty breakfast delivered by a silent fleet of attendants—Markus was summoned to the gilded heart of the mansion. The journey through the estate felt like navigating a treasure-vault; the halls were still choked with the previous night's tribute, the air heavy with the scent of expensive cedar crates and mana-rich silks.
At the royal table, the atmosphere was a sharp contrast to the team's easy camaraderie. Here, every clink of silver against porcelain was a rhythmic reminder of the decorum Markus was about to strip away in the name of the Princess's survival.
Valerian set down his cup, his expression unreadable but focused. "The roster for Phase Three is optimal. The girls have the Tier-2 stability required to mitigate any unforeseen surges within the Rift. They are a suitable unit to guide and temper Rosalind for the reality of portal diving." He looked Markus directly in the eye, the Emperor and the Master reaching a silent understanding.
"Deep beneath the foundations of this estate lie several anchored Rifts," Valerian said, his voice lowering as he spoke of the palace's most classified assets.
"They are the teeth upon which the Swiss Guards are sharpened, kept hidden to ensure our core security remains battle-hardened. I am granting you access to the Tier 1 sector for her first excursion."
With a flick of his wrist, he transmitted a high-clearance file to Markus's device—an encrypted manifest of the dungeon's layout, its creature density, and its current mana-fluctuation levels. "The gateway is yours, Markus. See that she respects the danger it holds."
With the classified file already being processed by his internal interface, Markus finished his meal in a few practiced bites. He didn't wait for the usual courtly dismissals; he had the Emperor's word, and that was all the clearance he required.
He headed back to the annex, his mind already overlaying the dungeon's floor plan onto the palace's topography. As he pushed through the annex doors, the girls looked up, sensing the shift in his aura.
Markus uploaded the classified file into the annex's terminal, the blue light of a sprawling 16K holographic display illuminating their faces. He gestured toward the flickering data points of the various Palace Rifts. "The Emperor has opened the gates," he said, his voice dropping into a low, tactical hum.
"I want your analysis. We aren't looking for a tour; we're looking for a forge. Which of these environments will push Rosalind to the razor's edge of her current limits while maintaining a viable safety margin? Scrutinize the spawn rates and the terrain—I want a consensus on her excursion."
The girls scrolled through the available portals.
Lower Tier 1: The Foundations (Levels 1–3)
The Gilded Aviary: A high-ceilinged dome filled with floating marble platforms and aggressive, winged serpents.
The Silent Orchard: A foggy grove of petrified trees where camouflaged feline predators wait to pounce.
The Sun-Drenched Catacombs: Well-lit, wide corridors inhabited by slow-moving obsidian golems.
The Whispering Cistern: A flooded sewer system where movement is slowed by waist-high water.
Mid-Tier 1: The Tactical Crucible (Levels 4–7)
The Azure Grotto: A cavern of bioluminescent crystals that pulse with mana, occasionally disrupting sensory skills.
The Rust-Belt Labyrinth: A shifting maze of ancient, moving gears and steam vents that deal environmental damage.
The Ironwood Thicket: A dense forest where the trees themselves lash out if mana is released too explosively.
The Amber Hive: A claustrophobic tunnel system filled with rapid-fire insectoids that attack in swarms.
Peak Tier 1: The Sovereign's Forge (Levels 8–10)
The Echoing Chasm: A series of floating islands over a bottomless void. The "mana-shadows" here mimic the player's last move.
The Verdant Maw: A sentient jungle where the air is toxic and the predators utilize primitive camouflage magic.
The Frost-Bound Spire: A frozen tower where the temperature saps mana and the floor is perpetually slick.
The Void-Stained Arena: A shifting pocket dimension where the walls shift every three minutes.
"Brother, do we have your authorization to push her to the absolute breaking point?" Rosanne asked, her playful demeanor replaced by a sharp, professional edge. She tapped the holographic map of the tenth Rift.
"If the goal is to forge a Warrior, we've reached a consensus: The Verdant Maw is the only choice. It's a sentient ecosystem that hunts back. It will force her to stop thinking like a student and start reacting like a predator. We won't just be testing her blade; we'll be testing her will to survive when the very air turns against her."
"My recovery spells are primed," Rosanne stated, her tone professional. "I can stabilize her vitals and mend fractures in seconds, keeping her combat-effective regardless of the Maw's brutality. Furthermore, the girls and I can rotate a high-tier protective perimeter to ensure her 'rest phases' remain undisturbed by the pack-hunters. We'll be her guardian angels, watching from the periphery while she dances with the unknown."
Markus offered a slow, deliberate nod, a rare warmth flickering behind his silver eyes. In the months he had been away, the girls had transcended the role of mere soldiers.
They were no longer just reacting to his orders; they were analyzing variables, predicting outcomes, and strategizing with the cold, clinical precision of seasoned generals.
They had learned to see the battlefield not as a place of chaos, but as a puzzle of mana and momentum. He realized then that he wasn't just leading a team of Tier-2s anymore—he was leading a vanguard of thinkers who understood the true weight of the Blackwell legacy.
Markus nodded, his interface already drafting the high-clearance notification. "I'll inform the Emperor and the Palace Guard of our decision. We'll stand by for the official deployment codes and the Rift's current stability report."
He looked at each of the girls in turn, his gaze pinning them with expectation. "We wait for their green light, but in this annex, the mission has already begun. Check your supplies, we move the moment the chime sounds."