Chapter 51
Far from the residential towers, deep within a sealed sector of the island where even most instructors were not permitted to enter, the two figures reappeared in silence. The dimensional fold closed behind them without a trace, restoring the stillness of the chamber.
The fox-masked woman lifted her hand and removed the mask.
Revealed beneath it was Asakura Setsuko, her age impossible to determine, her presence refined beyond time itself. Her expression was calm, but her eyes carried a depth that suggested centuries of observation. Her power, measured and classified at Level 70, was not merely strength, it was precision. Setsuko was known as a master of Dimensional Weaving, capable of creating, stabilizing, and collapsing enclosed domains at will. Her Enclave mastery surpassed standard constructs, allowing her to manipulate layered realities, isolate targets within controlled spaces, and even overwrite environmental rules within those domains. Beyond that, she possessed Perception Dominion, an ability that allowed her to read intent, suppress hostile manifestations, and distort sensory interpretation without direct confrontation.
Beside her, the tiger-masked figure remained still for a moment longer before removing his own mask, Osamu Tsukuyomi, the Patriarch of the Tsukuyomi Clan, Age, unknown. Power Level is also 70.
His presence alone altered the atmosphere of the chamber. Unlike Setsuko's refined control, Osamu's power was absolute and oppressive in nature. He was a wielder of Lunar Dominion, a rare shamanic authority tied to perception, gravity, and the manipulation of spiritual mass. Within his influence, he could compress or expand energy density, immobilize opponents through sheer pressure, and distort the boundary between physical and metaphysical existence. His second known ability, Abyssal Manifestation, allowed him to summon constructs born from ancestral memory—entities that were not illusions, but echoes of lineage given temporary form. These manifestations carried both offensive and suppressive capabilities, often overwhelming opponents before direct combat was even necessary.
Osamu exhaled slowly, a faint smile forming.
"So… he rejected it," he said.
Setsuko nodded once, her gaze distant, not toward the present, but toward what they had just witnessed.
"Not power," she replied. "Authority."
A brief silence followed.
Then Osamu added, almost amused,
"And yet… the bloodline answered."
That truth lingered between them.
Because Nille was not just a candidate, the Tiger dean was elusive and hardly shows and participate in any academic activities, but when they saw the assesment video gone wrong at the japanese embassy in the Philippines and saw the details of the young man recomended by their medical head . everything was falling into place.
Osamu is not a simple individual defined by a single identity or origin, he is someone shaped by complexity, inheritance, and something deeper that is only beginning to surface. Through his father's lineage, he carries the name Tsukuyomi, a name that likely holds weight, history, and expectations far beyond ordinary understanding. But Osamu is not just a bearer of that name; he is becoming something influenced by it. There is an unseen force or dormant power within him, something tied to that heritage, and it has already started to awaken and respond. This suggests that Osamu's journey is not just about discovering who he is, but confronting what he is slowly turning into, something shaped by legacy, yet potentially far greater than it.
Setsuko let out a quiet breath, her gaze still lingering on the space where the enclave had collapsed.
"Well," she said calmly, a faint smile forming, "it seems congratulations are in order, Osamu."
He did not respond immediately.
She turned slightly toward him.
"Your great-grandson," she continued, voice measured but unmistakably impressed, "carries a remarkably stable strong core. To produce a bloodline like that… even after generations… is no small outcome."
Osamu remained still, his expression unreadable.
Then he exhaled once.
"You see it as achievement," he said flatly. "I see it as deviation."
Setsuko's eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued.
Osamu continued, his tone calm but carrying weight beneath it.
"Among all branches of the Tsukuyomi lineage… he comes from the one we , or I had to erase."
A brief silence followed.
Not confusion,
Recognition.
" your eldest Takeshi," Setsuko said quietly.
Osamu nodded once.
"Takeshi Tsukuyomi," Osamu repeated, his voice quieter now, carrying a weight that did not need emphasis. "Deployed during the Second World War. He was marked to succeed me… disciplined, precise, everything the clan required."
He paused.
Setsuko did not interrupt.
Osamu's gaze lowered slightly, as if revisiting a decision long buried.
"But he broke protocol," he continued. "Not out of weakness… but choice."
A faint tension entered his voice.
"And he left something behind."
His gaze shifted slightly, distant, not in uncertainty, but in memory.
"A Filipina woman," he added. "A union that was never sanctioned. Never acknowledged."
Setsuko crossed her arms lightly. "And yet… not undone."
Osamu let out a faint, humorless breath.
"No," he said. "It was buried. Removed from records. Considered irrelevant to the continuity of the clan."
He paused.
Then added,
"Until now."
Setsuko's expression softened, not with sympathy, but with curiosity sharpened by experience.
"And what does that make him?" she asked. "An anomaly… or a correction?"
Osamu did not answer immediately.
His presence shifted slightly, as if weighing something beyond simple classification.
"Neither," he said at last. "He is proof."
"Proof of what?"
Setsuko spoke again " you cant deny it, the moment you saw him unconscious as they brought him here in that sleeping state you felt it , the blood that the moon goddess blessing runs in his veins.
Osamu's eyes hardened slightly, not in hostility, but in realization.
"but their is another bloodline that do not obey authority,"
Silence settled between them again.
Then Setsuko gave a small, knowing smile.
"And now?" she asked.
Osamu's gaze lifted, steady.
"Now," he said, "we observe."
A pause.
Then, quieter,
"Because whatever he becomes… will not follow our design."
Nille opened the phone and accessed the academy's internal network. The system immediately loaded his profile, class assignment, and a notification informing him that classes had already started, he was five days late.
A registration form appeared next, requiring him to use a nickname instead of any real identity, as all family lineage was hidden for protection once students re-entered the human world. After a brief pause, he entered "Nille" and submitted it.
A digital map of the island followed, along with his evaluation results and point balance. At first, he was shocked to see he had earned nearly a million points, but the number was immediately reduced into a heavy debt, more than double his earnings.
Confused, he opened the attached explanation and found a short CCTV clip. When he played it, he saw the embassy assessment room, and then the moment everything exploded. In the footage, something surged out of him in a single instant, destroying the entire area before it could stabilize.
The system confirmed the damage had to be reconstructed at his expense, while also noting that the evaluators had survived. Nille lowered the phone slowly, realizing for the first time that whatever had happened that day was real, and it had come from him.
Nille glanced at the device in his hand, then shifted his focus inward.
"Can you interface with this?" he asked quietly.
The scarf responded almost immediately. "Analyzing."
A brief pause followed as it scanned the phone's system architecture, its awareness threading through the device's internal network without triggering any visible reaction.
"Confirmed," it said. "The system operates on a hybrid structure—technological interface supported by localized energy nodes. Direct integration is possible."
Nille nodded once. "Do it. I don't want to carry this around."
"Understood."
The scarf adjusted subtly around his neck, its fibers tightening just enough to establish a stable link. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen.
Then—
The phone screen dimmed.
Its interface flickered once before stabilizing again, now functioning as a relay rather than a primary device.
"Integration complete," the scarf reported. "Core functions have been transferred. Notifications, navigation, and data access will now be relayed directly to your perception field."
Nille looked down at the phone one last time, then set it back on the table.
"You may proceed without physical interaction," the scarf added. "All relevant information will be provided upon request or triggered by proximity."
Nille exhaled lightly.
"Good."
Without another word, he turned back toward the window, not to observe this time, but to prepare.
Because now, for the first time since arriving,
He could move freely within the island.
And whatever this place was hiding…
Nille stood quietly as the scarf continued its explanation, its voice calm but precise inside his mind.
"The phone is not only a device," it said. "It is also a key. A tracking and authorization medium tied to your identity within the Institute's internal system."
Nille glanced at the phone resting on the table.
"So I can't ignore it," he said flatly.
"Correct," the scarf replied. "It is required for access, assignment updates, and point conversion. It also records debt repayment progress."
A brief pause followed before the scarf continued.
"Your current debt status is the result of structural damage during the embassy assessment. Without that incident, your standing would have placed you in a stable academic and financial tier."
Nille exhaled slowly, not reacting emotionally—just absorbing the reality.
"But that is no longer your condition," the scarf added. "To stabilize your status, you must earn points."
The system on the island began to make sense in fragments.
Survival.
Training.
Economy tied directly to performance.
"Malignants are the primary method of point recovery," the scarf continued. "They are subterranean mutated entities that feed on blood and flesh. They exist across ten known underground zones distributed throughout the island."
Nille's eyes narrowed slightly.
"So hunting them is part of the curriculum," he said.
"Correct," the scarf confirmed. "It is standard for low and high-tier classes. You have been placed in the highest section due to your assessment results."
A pause.
"However," it added, "your debt forces immediate participation requirements. Delayed engagement will result in increased restriction of resources."
Nille looked toward the window again, the distant mountains still silent and unmoving.
"So I don't have a choice," he said.
"You always have a choice," the scarf replied. "But consequences are structured."
That line lingered for a moment.
Nille understood it clearly now.
This wasn't just an academy.
It was a system where power, survival, and responsibility were all measured in the same currency.
And because of what happened at the embassy,
He had started this system already in debt.
He turned slightly, his expression calm but focused.
"Then I'll pay it off," he said.
Not because he liked the system.
Not because he accepted it.
But because staying still was not an option.
And somewhere beneath this island,
Something was already waiting for him to begin.
Nille paused for a moment, processing the scarf's explanation.
"Can I start earning now?" he asked directly.
"Yes," the scarf replied without hesitation.
Nille blinked slightly. "Even if I haven't entered class yet?"
"You were in a suspended recovery state," the scarf explained. "The instructors have already been informed of your condition. Based on your assessment results, you are classified as high priority. They expect your formal attendance to begin tomorrow."
A brief pause followed.
"However," it continued, "you are not restricted from field activity. Many lower-tier students already engage in hunting assignments due to financial necessity and training requirements."
Nille exhaled lightly, absorbing the structure of it all.
"So I can work before class starts," he said.
"Correct," the scarf confirmed. "You may begin earning immediately."
Then it added, shifting tone slightly.
"But first, you need to survive."
Nille glanced toward the side of the room.
"Check the clothing cabinet," the scarf instructed. "Your uniform is prepared there. Standard academy issue has already been assigned based on your classification."
He moved toward it and opened the cabinet.
Inside was a neatly arranged uniform set, simple but refined in design, clearly functional for both movement and field activity rather than appearance.
The scarf continued.
"Additionally, all core materials obtained from mutated entities, Malignant harvested core beads , can be sold through HALFLING merchant store buyers distributed across the island city network. Transactions are logged automatically through your device."
Nille looked at the uniform for a moment, then back at the system in his mind.
So everything here had value.
Everything had a price.
Even survival.
He closed the cabinet slowly.
"Understood," he said.
And for the first time since arriving, the path ahead was no longer just something he was being tested within,
It was something he could actively move through.
Nille stood by the cabinet for a moment, still processing the structure of everything he had just been told.
"How much time do we still have?" he asked.
The scarf responded without delay. "There is no strict time limit. You are officially enrolled as a student. Your absence is recorded as five days of recovery status. Functionally, your situation mirrors a working student arrangement in the human world."
Nille exhaled lightly, almost approving. "That's better. Working hard and earning something with my own effort is worth it."
Then a thought struck him, and his expression shifted slightly.
"Wait," he asked, more focused now. "What about my hunts? Will they be documented? Will everyone see them?"
There was a brief pause before the scarf answered.
"Yes," it said. "All sanctioned field operations are recorded through the island network. Results are logged, evaluated, and ranked. However, visibility depends on classification tier and permission access."
It continued, more precise.
"Basic data, kills, points earned, and resource extraction, will be displayed in your student number and that is 7211977 . Full visual documentation is only given to instructors, evaluators, and designated monitoring staff."
A pause.
"High-profile performance may be circulated within academic channels for ranking comparisons, but identities of lower-tier viewers are filtered."
Nille nodded slowly, absorbing it.
"So it's controlled visibility," he said.
"Correct," the scarf confirmed. "Your actions will be documented, but not universally exposed unless you reach higher recognition tiers."
That made sense.
It wasn't total exposure.
But it wasn't complete privacy either.
A system of observation, grading, and controlled recognition.
Nille looked toward the window again, then spoke quietly.
"So I work… I earn… and I get ranked."
"Yes."
"And if I perform well?"
The scarf's tone remained steady.
"You advance in rank, "
A simple answer.
But one that made the structure of this place even clearer.
Nothing here was hidden.
Everything was measured.
And everything,
moved forward based on what you could prove.
Nille slipped back into his old clothes, the familiar fabric settling against him like something grounding. He tucked the phone into his jacket, no longer treating it as a burden but as a tool. The debt still lingered in his mind. less like a number now, and more like pressure he intended to remove.
"So I can hunt as much as I can," he said quietly. "Having that debt is annoying. I need to clear it. Scarf, do you have details on Malignant that pay well? And where they actually are?"
The scarf responded immediately, shifting into its analytical tone.
"Yes. Malignant classifications exist across ten underground sectors on the island. Each sector contains different mutation tiers, with corresponding payout values based on core purity and danger level."
A brief pause followed, as if organizing the data.
"High-yield targets are concentrated in Sector 3, Sector 6, and Sector 9 to Sector 12"
It continued.
"Sector 3: 'Old Drain Network' beneath the eastern academic perimeter. Medium-high density. Fast reproduction cycle. Moderate risk."
"Sector 6: 'Collapsed Sub-Strata Mines.' High-value cores. Stronger entities. Requires advanced containment awareness."
"Sector 9: 'Deep Root Hollow.' Highest payout. Extremely unstable environment. Entry restricted for first-tier students, but not physically blocked."
Nille listened carefully, absorbing every detail.
"The cores extracted from higher-tier Malignant's yield significantly more points," the scarf added. "However, risk of injury or spiritual contamination increases proportionally."
Nille exhaled slowly.
"So the more dangerous they are… the more I earn."
"Correct."
He nodded once, his decision forming naturally rather than emotionally.
"I'll start clearing it," he said.
The scarf responded after a brief pause.
"Recommendation: begin with Sector 3. It provides sufficient earnings while allowing adaptation to combat conditions within the island's ecosystem."
Nille adjusted his jacket, his expression calm but focused now, not overwhelmed, not hesitant.
"I prefer to test Sector 9 instead," Nille said calmly, its just a few minutes from were we ate located now,"
The scarf paused for a fraction of a second. "Acknowledged. Route recalculated. Warning: Sector 9 is classified as extreme instability zone."
Nille didn't answer. He simply moved.
He left his room without ceremony.
The hallway outside was part of a massive vertical dormitory complex—ten floors of unaffiliated student housing stacked inside the academy's outer residential ring. The corridors were clean but utilitarian, lined with numbered doors, faint glowing markers replacing traditional signage. Other students moved through the halls in silence or low conversation—some clearly human, others not entirely so.
Nille noticed them immediately.
Awakened individuals passed by with subtle differences in presence: some carried restrained spiritual pressure, others had visible contracted entities. small Abyans or bonded spirits resting on shoulders or trailing behind like living extensions. No one looked surprised at anyone else. Here, difference was normal.
The scarf guided him through the system.
"Proceed to ground transit node, every payment is credit base", just tap your phone." it instructed Nille,
He followed.
The descent into the underground transit system felt longer than it should have, not because of distance, but because of the change in atmosphere. The moment Nille stepped onto the platform, the air itself felt different—structured, filtered, and alive with movement.
The train arrived with a low mechanical hum, and Nille boarded with the flow of workers and students already inside. It wasn't chaotic, but it wasn't quiet either. People stood, sat, and shifted in steady rhythm, each one moving with their own destination in mind.
Nille glanced around and spoke under his breath, almost observing more than commenting. "So it's similar to an ordinary metro rail transit."
The scarf responded calmly. "Are you referring to the one in Manila?"
"Yeah," Nille replied. "This is actually very convenient and simple. The train circles the entire city, and each station is only a few meters away from the hunting sectors."
The scarf processed the statement. "Correct. The system was designed to allow rapid deployment and evacuation between sectors."
The train began to move.
With each station it passed, the environment outside the windows subtly shifted. At first, it was dense urban infrastructure, residential blocks, markets, training hubs, and energy conduits woven into the city's foundation. Then, as they moved farther along the loop, the structures became more specialized, more reinforced. Security checkpoints appeared more frequently, and the density of monitoring systems increased.
Nille watched quietly as the train continued its circular route around the island city, each stop marking a transition between civilian space and regulated combat zones. Conversations inside the train faded into background noise as the meaning of the system became clearer—it wasn't just transport. It was control, access, and readiness.
By the time they reached the outer arc of the network, the scenery outside the window changed again. The buildings thinned out, replaced by reinforced barriers and segmented entry points leading toward the island's perimeter. Beyond that, faint outlines of the interconnected mountain ridge could be seen encircling the entire city like a natural wall.
"Sector Nine approaching," the system announcement chimed.
Nille straightened slightly.
This was it, the edge between structured civilization and the hunting grounds.
As the train slowed near the station closest to Sector Nine, the atmosphere shifted once more. The hum of city life behind him felt distant now, replaced by the quiet tension of the frontier.
The doors opened.
And Nille stepped toward the hunting ground.
The academy's internal city was vast, structured like a controlled metropolitan zone embedded within the island itself. Wide pedestrian lanes, undergrounds transit rails, and merchant shops stretched across interconnected districts. The population here was approximately three thousand residents, students, instructors, merchants, forgers , security , workers and awakened civilians who maintained the island's economy.
Nille stepped into the streets.
Immediately, he noticed the system.
This was not a normal city.
It was a hybrid economy of spiritual currency and physical trade.
Vendor stalls displayed both ordinary goods and sealed containment items, Malignant cores preserved in rune-stabilized containers, enchanted tools, and spirit-reactive materials. Transaction counters were embedded directly into kiosks linked to the academy network. Points and debt values were exchanged instantly upon verification.
Shamans moved through the crowd like professionals in a regulated industry.
Some wore combat gear.
Others wore formal academy attire.
A few carried visible Abyan contracts, small creatures or spirit forms reacting subtly to their surroundings.
Among them were "Encanto-class civilians" humanoid spiritual beings living integrated lives within the city. They looked human at a glance, but their presence carried faint irregularities in aura structure. They worked as merchants, instructors, and intermediaries between human students and deeper system functions.
No one treated them as unusual.
Everything here was normalized.
Business was structured.
Ranking was visible in subtle ways, badge tiers, aura indicators, and access privileges determined who could enter certain districts or buy certain materials.
Nille continued walking.
The scarf guided him beyond the city perimeter.
"Exit city urban boundary," it said. "Proceed toward the mountain range , just follow my instruction you will soon reach the hunting ground of Sector 9 access gate."
The environment shifted again. the area was filled with dense natural spiritual energy, the area was filled with many lesser Encantos that mind their own , and never interacted with anybody, from pixies , gnome, kobold, Nymph, Ainu and a Brownie ,
The structured streets gave way to reinforced transit corridors carved into natural terrain. Security barriers lined the path, not blocking movement but observing it, reacting to authorized presence rather than stopping it.
The population thinned near the hunting area , while the energy density increased.
By the time Nille reached the outermost boundary, the city was no longer behind him, only distant lights embedded in the island's interior remained visible.
Ahead lay a massive natural formation.
A mountain-linked cavern maze system embedded into the island's outer geological spine.
Sector 9 entrance,
The entrance was not a simple cave, it was a reinforced rupture in the land, sealed partially by old academy markings and layered containment arrays. The air around it felt heavier, like pressure held back by unseen force.
and the guards were on routine watch, but they didn't stop anybody , because its not their mission to do so
Nille stopped at the edge, observing the darkness beyond.
The scarf's voice remained steady.
"Sector 9 entry confirmed , its open and accessible," it said. "Debt clearance potential: extremely high."
A pause.
"Survival probability: unstable."
Nille looked forward.
Not hesitating.
Not retreating.
Just assessing the space in front of him like a path already chosen.
Then he stepped closer to the entrance. he step and entered the cave maze.
Across the academy city, massive floating digital bulletin boards flickered into existence above key intersections, transit hubs, and merchant districts , and at the Sector entry gate, The displays were not decorative, they were live ranking systems, constantly updating the status of every registered student engaged in field activity.
the challengers were free to enter, as the 2 authority ruling over this hidden island view experience is the best teacher, sentry guards were place on the gate and elite guards with a level of 15 are monitoring these sectors their task was to secure the area for any Malignant break
A new update scrolled across all screens.
LAST REGISTERED STUDENT UPDATE
ID: 1145651
SPIRITUAL LEVEL: 4
Total Points: 20,077
Rank: 100 (Lowest Recorded Tier)
A smaller line beneath it blinked in faint red.
Nille saw the Bulletin board, as his scarf continue to explain, certain detail of the place, it was calculating any possibilities, and because the rule on its function seems to be limited and fluctuating it mush provide its host all assistance with the highest outcome, because even if was nearing level 4 it still need to be in direct contact with its host, meaning it will remain inactive is Nille removes him or it was remove when the host is unconscious.
his scarf scan any imprint and information that is left and open to the public, that can help his host grow stronger.
The information was broadcast without emotion, as naturally as weather data. Students walking below barely reacted, some glanced up briefly, others ignored it entirely. In this world, ranking was not commentary. It was structure.
The scarf's voice echoed quietly in Nille's awareness as he moved toward Sector 9.
"This record will be removed if another student surpasses the value."
"Clarification," it said. "All registered phones issued to students are enchanted tracking artifacts. Each successful elimination of a Malignant is automatically recorded and converted into point value."
A pause.
"However, core bead extraction is a separate process. It requires physical retrieval and verification before conversion to currency units."
Nille listened while walking.
"So people don't even collect everything themselves," he said.
"Correct," the scarf replied. "Many students outsource harvesting tasks to Pixies, Gnomes, or contracted minor entities. They specialize in extraction efficiency within contaminated environments."
Nille didn't respond immediately.
He looked down at his phone briefly, now fully integrated with the system. It wasn't just a tool—it was a constant evaluator, silently recording everything he did.
"And I have nothing," he said flatly.
"Correction," the scarf responded. "You have debt."
That earned a brief, dry exhale from Nille.
Elsewhere in the academy city, unseen by most students, the structure supporting Nille's existence was quietly maintained.
His room, the cheapest tier available in the ten-floor unaffiliated dormitory—had been assigned under a "temporary recovery assumption." No student registration had been expected to activate so quickly. The system had flagged him as dormant, not absent.
Haruka Senzaki had personally ensured his housing, provisions, and minimal integration were handled. Not as part of routine assignment, but because she had seen something during his assessment that did not match standard classification metrics.
Raw output.
Uncontrolled potential.
Something the system could not fully categorize.
And now, that same student was walking toward Sector 9 with zero accumulated currency, negative stability in ranking, and no support infrastructure beyond a scarf-linked system and his own judgment.
Back in the city, the massive digital bulletin board flickered once more, updating its silent record across every district. The rankings remained unchanged at the top, but deep within the system, a new anomaly had appeared, an new registered combat signal originating near Sector 9. the academy's monitoring network began to recalibrate, quietly flagging the movement for higher observation priority.
Inside Sector 9, the air was already different.
Heavier.
Denser.
Alive in a way that felt like the underground itself was breathing.
Nille moved through the cavern labyrinth without hesitation. The tunnels were vast, branching in undocumented layers that extended deeper than any official map recorded. The stone walls were marked by old residue, signs of previous hunts, collapsed engagements, and forgotten expeditions that never returned to report.
Then the first wave came.
Spider-class Malignants are level 5 enemies.
They stand about three feet tall and have bodies that look like a mix between a spider and a corrupted mutation. There are two main types:
The lighter ones are thin and fast. They move quickly across walls and ceilings, attacking from unexpected angles.
The heavier ones are slower, but much stronger. Each step is heavy, and their tough exoskeleton makes them harder to kill.
Each kill gives points based on their level. A level 1 Malignant is worth 100 points, so a level 5 Spider-class Malignant is worth 500 points.
When they are killed, they drop core beads. These beads can be sold in regulated markets. A level 1 core bead is usually worth around 10 dollars, and higher-level cores are worth more depending on their strength and energy value.
But Nille wasn't thinking about pricing.
Not anymore.
The first hour inside Sector 9 became something else entirely.
Frustration, held back since the embassy blackout, since the debt reveal, since the feeling of having something inside him act without his consent, finally found direction. The idea of a 2 million debt pressed heavily on his mind, not as fear, but as irritation that demanded release.
And so he moved.
Fast.
Sharp.
Unrestrained.
His butterfly knife flashed through the dim cavern light, cutting through advancing spider forms with precise, repeated strikes. He pierced joints, severed limbs, and drove blade clean through core points with mechanical efficiency. When clusters rushed him, he didn't retreat—he stepped into them.
His knuckles crushed skull-like exteriors, sending reinforced creatures collapsing into fractured remains. When distance opened, he released Fire Orbs, compressed bursts of controlled flame that detonated against groups of Malignants, scattering burning fragments across the tunnel floor.
The cavern echoed with impact after impact.
Still, they kept coming.
More than expected.
Sector 9 was not structured like a normal hunting zone. It was a labyrinth of continuous emergence, where creatures seemed to cycle in without clear origin points. No patrol rhythm. No predictable wave structure. Just pressure.
Nille sustained minor wounds, scrapes, punctures, shallow cuts, but nothing that stopped movement. Each time damage accumulated, he countered with Healing spells, stabilizing himself mid-combat without breaking rhythm.
His breathing stayed controlled.
His body adapted.
But his mind remained focused on one thing, output.
The system registered each kill instantly. Points accumulated in the background, silently rising with every core extraction and confirmed elimination.
Yet after the first hour, something in Nille's expression shifted.
Not exhaustion.
Not fatigue.
Expectation.
Because it was too simple.
The spiders didn't coordinate.
They didn't adapt.
They didn't hesitate.
They just came.
Again and again.
Like a system running on repetition rather than intelligence.
Nille stopped for half a second, glancing down a tunnel filled with approaching movement.
Then he exhaled slowly.
"…this isn't enough," he muttered under his breath.
And stepped forward again.
Deeper.
Into the labyrinth.
Where the true density of Sector 9 had yet to reveal itself.
Three hours had passed. It was now 8 PM.
Across the academy city, the massive bulletin board continued its silent updates, refreshing rankings as students in other sectors completed hunts, returned with cores, or failed to survive their assignments. Sector 9, however, remained largely unoccupied in the system logs, classified as a multi-combat zone, never intended for a single individual to push through alone.
But Nille had already gone far beyond what the system considered "intended."
Inside the labyrinth, he moved through the fourth underground level.
By now, the environment had shifted. The tunnels were darker, more compressed, the air thicker with residual Malignant presence. The spider-type entities still emerged in waves, but their density had increased, forcing constant engagement without rest intervals.
Nille's stomach growled loudly, the sound cutting through the low echo of the cavern. Hunger had finally begun to register, not as a distraction, but as a physical reminder that time outside this place still existed.
The scarf remained active, silently working in the background.
"Core bead extraction in progress," it stated. "Current tally: three hundred fifty-one Malignant Spider-class eliminations confirmed."
A brief pause.
"Point conversion complete. Total ranking updated: Rank 95. Current points: 175,500."
Nille exhaled through his nose.
"Still low," he muttered.
"Correction," the scarf replied. "Progress is statistically significant relative to entry baseline."
Nille didn't respond.
The number meant little in the moment. It wasn't the value, it was the gap between what he had, and what still needed to be cleared.
Then the scarf added another update.
"Core bead value accrued: 17,550 USD equivalent pending exchange authorization."
That made Nille glance down slightly.
"The amount won't even dent that 2 million debt," he muttered under his breath, more annoyed than discouraged.
A pause followed as he adjusted his stance, rolling his shoulder once to ease the strain from continuous combat.
"But at least I can finally eat something," he added.
"Yes," the scarf confirmed. "Liquid currency conversion is separate from point ranking. Both systems operate independently."
A brief silence settled between them, broken only by the distant, shifting movement deeper inside the cavern.
Nille exhaled slowly, looking down the tunnel where the next wave of Malignant spiders was beginning to form again.
"So this is just the start," he said.
"Affirmative," the scarf replied. "Current location represents only a mid-tier density layer of Sector 9. Deeper levels contain significantly higher-value entities and increased hazard frequency."
Nille tightened his grip on the knife again, his expression steady despite the hunger pressing at him.
"…then I'll push a little further," he said calmly.
The scarf did not object.
It simply processed the statement.
"Understood. Monitoring your physiological limits. Healing capacity remains stable. Stamina threshold approaching moderate depletion."
Nille stepped forward.
Not stopping.
Not hesitating.
Just continuing, deeper into the labyrinth where the real value, and the real danger, had yet to fully reveal itself.
The tunnel ahead shifted again, another wave forming in the distance, but slower now. Less chaotic than before, more structured. Almost like the deeper levels were beginning to respond differently to his presence.
Nille tightened his grip on the jungle bolo, while his hovering butterfly knife, with the use of his telekinetic powers and his ability to cast explosive orbs
Three hours of continuous combat had not broken him.
But it had changed something in the environment around him.
Sector 9 was no longer just a hunting zone.
LAST REGISTERED STUDENT UPDATE
ID: 721197700
SPIRITUAL LEVEL: 16
Total Points: 220,000
Rank: 100 (Lowest Recorded Tier)
KILLS: 441
AMOUNT: 44.100
RANK: 95