Interlude: While the CEO Was Away, 1

After Mordecai's departure, Pyroas stood in the quiet, carpeted hallway of Fort Blackstone's executive wing.

For a long moment, she simply looked down at the left lapel of her pristine black business suit.

Pinned securely to the dark fabric was the [Platinum Pin of the Vanguard] that gleamed with a subdued, authoritative luster, the purple gemstone catching the ambient magical light.

She pressed her fingertips against the cool metal, feeling the passive +500% boost to her Administrative Authority humming through her mana circuits.

'I will not fail you, Mordecai.' She thought, feeling the love inside her heart.

The CEO had entrusted her with his empire and left her in charge of the fortress, the staff, and corporate logistics while he went to Oakhaven to conduct his hostile public-relations takeover. She was no longer just the First Flame, a mere elemental summon bound by mana. She was the Chief of Staff.

Pyroas took a deep breath, her fiery hair settling into a calm, fiercely focused red braid. Her eyes hardened into the sharp, uncompromising gaze of a top-tier executive.

"Let's get to work," she whispered to the empty hall.

She tapped her enchanted clipboard, bringing up the glowing itinerary Mordecai had outlined. First on the agenda: strategic deployments.

Pyroas strode purposefully through the labyrinthine stone corridors of Fort Blackstone, her high heels clicking rhythmically against the newly polished floor tiles as she made her way out of the main keep and stepped into the expansive Western Courtyard.

The scene that greeted her was not one of rigorous martial training or dark rituals, as one might expect from a Dark Lord's stronghold.

Instead, sitting cross-legged on the paved stones, bathed in the gentle morning sunlight, was Sun Wukong. The Great (waifu) Sage, Equal to Heaven, a hyper-lethal monkey deity who had once waged war against entire pantheons, was currently holding a small, white microfiber cloth.

Sitting on either side of the Monkey Queen were Larry and Carry, the skeletal janitorial team, wearing their matching blue coveralls and yellow rubber gloves.

Between the three of them lay a massive, glittering pile of stainless-steel spoons.

"I have to admit," Wukong was saying, her wild, static-charged hair tied back in a messy bun, her golden eyes totally relaxed as she expertly buffed a spoon to a mirror shine. "In all my thousands of lives, I've done a lot of things. I've eaten the Peaches of Immortality, I've erased my name from the ledgers of Hell, and I've fought armies of celestial generals. But this? This is incredibly zen. It's surprisingly meditative. Look at the reflection on the convex side. Flawless."

Larry nodded vigorously, his jaw clattering in agreement.

Clack clack.

He gave Wukong an enthusiastic thumbs-up 👍.

Carry, mirroring her mentor perfectly, also offered a thumbs-up and let out a soft scrik scrik of approval.

Pyroas approached the trio, her clipboard tucked under her arm. She didn't sigh, and she didn't roll her eyes. She maintained her absolute, professional composure.

"Good morning, Larry, Custodial Assistant Carry, and... Wukong," Pyroas greeted smoothly.

Larry and Carry immediately stood up at attention, holding their polished spoons like military rifles.

"Larry, Carry," Pyroas instructed, looking at her notes. "The CEO has authorized a field operation for the logistics department. Please report to Ugo's office on the second floor. He will provide you with the teleportation coordinates for two newly spawned, uncharted dungeons in the Northern Sector. Your objective is maximum sanitation and total EXP absorption. The loot goes to Vault 2."

Larry’s eye sockets flared with starry, joyful light. A field trip! With his new friend!

He turned to Carry, pumped his fist in the air, and pointed toward the fortress doors. The two skeletons turned to Pyroas, delivered a perfectly synchronized double thumbs-up 👍👍, and immediately marched off toward the keep, their footsteps echoing happily. Clack, scrik, clack, scrik.

Wukong watched them go with a fond, toothy smile, leaning back on her hands. "Good kids. Best polishing technique I've ever seen. So, Firecracker, what do you want? I'm on my mandated union break."

Pyroas bristled slightly at the nickname, but the Platinum Pin kept her temper entirely in check. She looked down at the monkey deity.

"The CEO has issued your deployment orders as well," Pyroas stated crisply. "You are to report to Ugo to receive the coordinates for a third SSS-Rank uncharted dungeon in the Northern Sector. You are to enter alone, clear it of all hostile entities, and claim the territory in the name of Ravenloft Holdings."

Wukong snorted. She picked up a spoon and balanced it perfectly on the tip of her nose.

"Yeah, no," Wukong said lazily, crossing her arms behind her head and lying back on the sun-warmed stones. "I don't think so."

Pyroas’s fiery eyebrow twitched. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Wukong grinned, her golden eyes flashing with their signature, mischievous rebellion. "I'm the Great Sage. I'm a free spirit. I don't take orders from secretaries, middle management, or anyone else. I only listen to my Buddha. If Mordecai wants me to go smash up a dungeon, he can come down here and tell me himself. Preferably while adjusting this collar. Until then, I'm going to take a nap."

It was the classic, trope-heavy defiance of an overpowered, untamed familiar. In the past, Pyroas would have summoned an [Administrative Flare] and engaged in a devastating, fortress-destroying catfight.

But, on the other hand, Pyroas also had the strange feeling that the monkey in front of her was too powerful.

So, the Chief of Staff simply adjusted her suit jacket, looked down at her clipboard, and read the exact, pre-calculated bait Mordecai had provided.

"That is unfortunate," Pyroas sighed softly, turning as if to leave. "I suppose I will have to inform the CEO that you refused the SSS-Rank challenge. I will tell him that the rumor was false, and that the Lord of Death who wrote your name in his ledger will simply have to wait."

The spoon balancing on Wukong’s nose clattered to the ground.

The lazy, mischievous grin instantly vanished from the monkey deity's face. She sat up so fast the air cracked around her.

"What... did you just say?" Wukong whispered.

The courtyard's ambient temperature plummeted. The golden aura that usually radiated from Wukong shifted, darkening into a heavy, oppressive, terrifyingly dense martial pressure. It was the aura of a being who had literally marched into the underworld and beaten the Judges of the Dead into submission.

"I said," Pyroas replied, keeping her voice perfectly level despite the crushing pressure, "that intelligence reports indicate a newly spawned Lord of Death in the Northern Sector has added your name to his Book of Mortality."

Wukong’s golden eyes narrowed to lethal slits, and her fangs bared in a feral snarl. Nobody—nobody—wrote her name in a ledger of death. She had earned her immortality the hard way.

But Pyroas wasn't finished. She delivered the killing blow, exactly as Kaito had planned.

"And to make matters worse," Pyroas added, her voice dropping into a deadly, serious register, "he also dared to add the name of our beloved CEO, Mordecai, to his hit list."

BOOM.

The stone pavement beneath Wukong’s feet instantly cratered, shattering into a spiderweb of deep fissures. A shockwave of pure, unadulterated murderous intent blasted outward, making the very walls of Fort Blackstone tremble.

Wukong was no longer a playful waifu. She was a weapon of mass destruction whose trigger had just been pulled. The magical collar around her neck hummed, struggling to contain the sheer volume of Chi flooding her system.

"He wrote my Buddha's name in a book?" Wukong growled, her voice vibrating with a demonic, echoing resonance. She reached into her ear, pulling out the golden needle that expanded instantly into her legendary, world-breaking staff. She slammed the butt of the staff into the ground, cracking the bedrock. "I'm going to rip his spine out through his throat and beat him to death with it."

"Ugo has the coordinates in his office—" Pyroas began.

"I don't need coordinates," Wukong snarled, tilting her head back and taking a massive, chest-expanding breath.

Her golden eyes glowed blindingly bright as she activated her divine senses.

Wukong clearly didn't need a map. She could smell the arrogant stench of death magic lingering on the Northern winds and feel the precise location of the entity that had dared to threaten her Master.

"NIMBUS!" Wukong roared at the sky.

The clouds above Fort Blackstone violently parted. A streak of golden, crackling energy shot down from the heavens, stopping inches above the courtyard. It was her legendary cloud, pulsating with storm-level electricity, responding to her fury.

Wukong leaped onto the cloud, her staff resting on her shoulder, her red cape billowing fiercely in the wind generated by her own power.

"Tell my Buddha I'll be back for dinner," Wukong yelled down to Pyroas. "And tell the goblin chefs to fire up the ovens. I'm bringing back fresh boss meat!"

With a sonic boom that shattered three windows in the East Wing, Wukong shot into the sky, leaving behind a trail of golden lightning as she rocketed toward the Northern Sector at Mach 5.

Pyroas stood in the settling dust of the courtyard, watching the golden streak disappear over the horizon. She calmly reached up and brushed a speck of dust off her lapel.

"What a peculiar, easily manipulated being," Pyroas sighed, making a neat checkmark on her clipboard. "Deployment successful."

With the heavy hitters officially dispatched, Pyroas began her management tour of Ravenloft Holdings' internal operations.

She walked back into the main keep, taking the grand staircase down to the fortress lobby. Mordecai had once explicitly ordered the first floor to be renovated, demanding it reflect the prestige of a multinational corporation rather than a damp, evil lair.

The lobby was now a stunning, expansive space with polished marble floors, comfortable leather waiting chairs, and soft, ambient mana-lighting. Behind a sleek, semicircular reception desk made of dark mahogany stood Niel.

The blonde elf who was in Nick's party was now wearing a tailored, stylish business blazer over her green dress. Her hair was pinned up in a neat, professional bun, and she wore a pair of stylish, magical blue-light glasses to prevent eye strain.

She was currently stamping a tall stack of requisition forms with rapid, rhythmic efficiency. Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Head of Front Desk Operations and Junior Public Relations intern," Pyroas greeted, approaching the desk. "Report."

Niel looked up, pushing her glasses up her nose with a bright, confident smile. "Pyroas! Good morning! Everything is proceeding optimally. I just concluded a rather intense negotiation with the Local 404 Goblin Union."

Pyroas raised an eyebrow. "A union dispute?"

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Niel beamed, holding up a heavily annotated contract. "The Northern Cave goblin squads were filing grievances regarding the lack of proper ventilation and inadequate break room facilities in the lower dungeon levels. They argued that poor lighting was affecting their ambush efficiency metrics. They said that Brenda had authorized their presence here."

"And your resolution?"

"I authorized the installation of low-heat mana torches every fifty feet," Niel explained proudly. "And I repurposed the old torture chambers on Level 3 into goblin dormitories, complete with bunk beds and a communal stew pot. In exchange, the Union agreed to a 20% increase in daily patrol rotations and a strict 'Leave No Adventurer Un-Looted' policy. I have the signed agreement right here. And they also promised not to physically hurt adventurers. They'll just give them to us in exchange for some chicken leg and gold."

Pyroas looked at the elf. She remembered when Niel had joined and was too scared of her job. Now, she was negotiating labor contracts and optimizing dungeon mob efficiency. Mordecai’s corporate restructuring was working miracles on the staff's self-esteem.

"Exemplary work, Niel," Pyroas nodded approvingly. "File the paperwork with Ugo, later. I will ensure the CEO sees your initiative during the next quarterly review."

Niel’s eyes sparkled with joy. "Thank you, Chief of Staff!"

Leaving the lobby, Pyroas made her way toward the Eastern wing, where the heavy, rhythmic sound of metal striking wood echoed down the corridor.

'It seems like the voices about my promotion spread way too fast...' She thought.

She pushed open the heavy iron doors to the indoor training grounds.

The room was vast, filled with weapon racks, sparring rings, and heavily reinforced magical training dummies. In the center of the room, a lone figure was attacking a dummy with relentless, terrifying intensity.

It was Nyalen, the poor 001 reanimated adventurer.

Once, Nyalen had been a generic, mid-tier adventurer who had broken into the dungeon looking for easy loot. His career had ended abruptly, hilariously, and pathetically when he literally hit his head against a sarcophagus that cracked his skull, and died instantly. Mordecai had resurrected him via necromancy with the use of a heroic toenail.

But Nyalen hadn't accepted his fate as a mere logistic intern with Larry. He was fueled by the absolute, crushing humiliation and trauma of his death.

He was assigned to a new, particular role.

"HYAAAH!" Nyalen roared, his shonen protagonist's annoying voice echoing hollowly from his shonen features. He swung a massive, two-handed broadsword, cleaving the reinforced magical dummy clean in half. Dark, necrotic energy flared from the blade, scorching the wooden floor.

[SYSTEM ALERT: Familiar 'Nyalen' has reached Level 45!]

[Class Evolution Unlocked: Clumsy Undead -> Vengeful Revenant of the Abyss!]

Nyalen stood panting, leaning heavily on his sword, the dark blue flames in his visor burning with obsessive determination.

"Are you satisfied with your progress, Nyalen? I was told that you received a new role." Pyroas asked, stepping into the ring.

Nyalen turned, plunging his sword into the ground and dropping to one knee in respect.

"Chief of Staff," Nyalen rasped. "I am getting stronger. But it is not enough. The Master gave me a specific Key Performance Indicator."

"I am aware," Pyroas said, pulling up his file on her clipboard. "Your KPI states you must become powerful enough to serve as a Final Dungeon Boss."

"I refuse to be remembered as the idiot who died by fall damage!" Nyalen growled, clenching his fist, the necrotic energy sparking violently around him. "I will become a nightmare! I will become a legend of terror! When novice adventurers hear my name, they will not laugh! They will tremble in fear of my blade! I will grind until my stats shatter the System's limits! And I will see my mother again!"

It was a profound, traumatizing dedication to 'The Grind.'

Pyroas couldn't help but respect it. A highly motivated employee was a productive employee, regardless of whether their motivation stemmed from loyalty, greed, or an ego-shattering sense of absolute embarrassment.

"Your dedication is noted, Revenant," Pyroas said, making another checkmark on her clipboard. "I will authorize a requisition for better armor plating. Continue your training. And mind your footwork."

Nyalen flinched slightly at the mention of footwork, but he nodded firmly, retrieving his broadsword to attack a fresh dummy. "HYAAAAA!" He exclaimed, while attacking again with a lot of rage, probably fueled by the power of plot-driven flashbacks.

After that, Pyroas left the training grounds, her clipboard slowly filling up with positive reports. The fortress was running like a finely tuned clock, but there was only one department left to inspect. The one where the alchemist sealed herself.

The Research and Development Division.

Pyroas walked down the spiraling stone stairs that led deep into the sub-basements of the fortress.

As she descended, the clean, polished air of the upper levels faded, replaced by the pungent, eye-watering scent of acidic chemicals, bubbling sulfur, and heavily concentrated mana potions.

Warning signs, hastily written in glowing red ink, plastered the stone walls: [CAUTION: HIGHLY VOLATILE SUBSTANCES], [DO NOT ENTER WITHOUT ARCANE HAZMAT GEAR], [IF YOU HEAR GIGGLING, RUN.], and [BRO, IF YOU COME HERE, TELL ME THREE DAYS BEFORE. I'M SCARED OF MY HORMONES.]

Pyroas reached the bottom of the stairs. She stood before a massive, heavily reinforced iron door, magically sealed from the inside.

This was the alchemical laboratory of Jeanette, the obsessive and stunningly beautiful demonic alchemist, and the woman who had recently locked herself away because the System was making her feel "bad things."

Pyroas raised her hand and knocked sharply on the heavy iron door.

"Head of R&D," Pyroas called out, her voice muffled by the thick metal. "This is the Chief of Staff. I require a status report on your current alchemical projects. Open the door."

For a long moment, there was only silence.

Then, from deep within the laboratory, a sound echoed through the heavy iron. It wasn't the sound of bubbling potions or clinking glass.

It was a low, ragged, distinctly unhinged giggle.

"Chief of Staff..." Jeanette’s voice filtered through the door, thick, slurred, and terrifyingly manic. "You... you shouldn't be here. The concoction... it's almost ready. The System... it tried to change me... but I found the recipe. Oh, yes... I found the absolute, perfect recipe..."

Pyroas frowned, her flames flaring slightly in a defensive posture. "Jeanette. Disengage the locks. What exactly are you brewing in there?"

Another giggle echoed from the dark.

"Something... wonderful," Jeanette whispered, the sound followed by the terrifying, distinct noise of a high-pressure glass vial cracking under immense stress.