[Chapter 127. Invisible Thief]

He clicked his tongue, the sound sharp and echoing in the cold night air. "And here we go. Another uninvited voice in my head," Searanox muttered. Despite the staggering weight of the massive, black-iron sword, he lifted it with a deceptive, predatory ease, the metal feeling like a frozen anchor against his gauntlets. `This is becoming a fucking habit.`

His fingers remained locked around the hilt, his muscles refusing to obey even as he sent the mental command to release his grip. The necrotic energy from the blade had fused with his own mana channels, creating a bridge between his mind and the lingering ego within the steel.

<I am Lord Marus,> the voice boomed, resonant and dripping with an arrogance that spanned centuries. <I am the architect of the descent, the one who will stand at the apex of this shattered world. You are but a crude vessel for my return.>

`Silence. I’m trying to think here, and your monologue is cutting into my processing power.` Searanox thought, his internal voice flat and unimpressed.

<You cannot silence me, mortal! We are bound. This is the end of your pathetic, singular existence. My will shall overwrite your own.>

`Yeah, yeah. Save it for the memoirs.` Searanox rolled his eyes, adjusting his stance. `If you were actually capable of overwriting me right now, you wouldn't be begging me to 'relinquish' the vessel. You’d just be doing it. You’re a squatter, Marus. Nothing more.`

<I am in your mind! I hear your every thought, your every fear. You will serve me for as long as I desire, or I shall turn your consciousness into a screaming wasteland!>

`I’d love to stay and play your silly little games, but I have a schedule to keep, and I don't have time for a roommate with a god complex.`

As the ancient spirit continued its vitriolic tirade, Searanox summoned an Intermediate Travel Drone. He didn't wait for the engine to fully stabilize before mounting it. The moment he sat, the drone shot upward into the midnight sky, the biting wind whipping past his face and drowning out the physical sounds of the city ruins below.

<I will not be ignored, boy!> Marus shrieked within his skull.

`If you don't shut up,` Searanox thought, a cold, dark edge creeping into his mental tone, `you’ll find out very quickly what happens to objects—and souls—that get on my bad side. I’m not a patient man.`

<Your threats are emptier than your hollow skull!>

Searanox let out a weary sigh as the drone streaked toward the coordinates of the second dungeon portal he had identified earlier. He arrived at the edge of a ruined building where a dark, pulsating rift sat tucked between its broken walls. The transition was so sudden that he hadn't even bothered to check for guards; he simply rode the drone straight into the maw of the dungeon.

The Intermediate Travel Drone dissolved beneath him, returning to his storage the moment he landed on the soft, waterlogged earth. He emerged not into a cave, but a massive underground grotto that felt like a twisted reflection of the Tidal Terrace.

The air here was thick, heavy with the gagging stench of sulfur and advanced decay. Massive, jagged beams of moonlight—or perhaps a magical approximation of it—pierced through natural openings in the high ceiling, illuminating the chamber below. But where the Tidal Terrace had offered crystal-clear waters, this place offered only a nightmare. A vast, bubbling swamp stretched out before him, its surface a churning, milky-green liquid that hissed against the shore.

Searanox summoned a fresh travel drone, mounting it to stay above the corrosive surface, and materialized two Intermediate Offensive Drones and Assault Drone beside him.

"Engage," he whispered.

<You are a fool!> Marus’s voice echoed, now tinged with a strange sort of frantic energy. <You stand no chance against the primordial horrors that dwell within this rot. They will melt the flesh from your bones before I can even claim them!>

`Oh yeah, you’re still here.` Searanox casually swatted a rotting, undead bird from the air with the massive sword, using the legendary blade like a common fly swatter. The creature exploded into a puff of grey feathers and bone dust. `I almost forgot about you. Do you ever take a break?`

His drones moved out, carving through the swamp's inhabitants with systematic, mechanical precision. Crimson and violet beams lanced through the mist, vaporizing bloated bodies that resembled humans and Frog like beasts that were as large as they were ugly before they could even break the surface of the green muck. Searanox floated above the chaos, his eyes scanning the environment with a detached, clinical focus.

The voice in his head continued its endless tirade of insults and prophecies, but Searanox had already begun to filter it out, treating it as little more than background static—unpleasant, but ultimately ignorable.

Minutes bled into an hour of methodical slaughter until finally, a golden system window materialized in his vision.

Searanox glanced at the window, but his brow furrowed. Something felt... off. He commanded his travel drone to execute an instant, 180-degree turn, racing back toward the entrance of the grotto. The tunnel was empty, exactly as he had left it. He dismissed his combat drones and summoned four Intermediate Reconnaissance Drones.

"Search every inch of this entrance," he commanded. "Look for thermal signatures, mana cloaks, or displaced mud. Search."

The single word hung in the damp air as the drones vanished into the shadows of the chamber. While they surveyed the grotto, Searanox focused his gaze on the soft, wet ground directly in front of the exit portal.

<What are you looking for, mortal? Have you finally lost the remains of your mind?>

"I'm not alone," Searanox answered absently, his eyes narrowing. "Someone else is in here. Or someone was."

He materialized the Corpse Lantern from his storage, the massive sword still fused to his right hand. He held the lantern low, scanning the soft earth with the eerie cyan light. Only his own footprints marked the ground. There were no signs of a struggle, no tracks from a hidden person—nothing.

<Of course you’re not alone, you idiot! I am in here with you!> Marus roared, his psychic presence pulsing with a sudden, sharp glee.

The moment the weight of Marus's words and the missing Clear notification registered, Searanox's thoughts shifted like grinding tectonic plates. He looked at the empty space where a 'First Clear' chest should have been—or rather, where it was, but its contents felt hollowed out in his perception.

"You robbed me..." Searanox’s voice cut through the swamp’s oppressive silence. It was a sound cold enough to freeze the moisture in the air.

<I robbed you of what? I am your salvation!>

"My reward. My peace of mind. You’ve been interfering with my progress," Searanox said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. He shot back toward the center of the swamp, his drones following in silent compliance. He landed his drone beside a half-sunken, ornate chest. "You will suffer for that. You will suffer greatly."

Marus suddenly recoiled within Searanox’s mind as an overwhelming, crushing force pushed back against the spirit. It was an abnormally strong mental surge for someone of Searanox's level—a byproduct of his Progenitor status, the amount of stats that were beyond reason for someone of his level. The ancient spirit had expended the vast majority of its remaining power just to lodge a splinter of its ego into Searanox’s consciousness, but this was a different kind of power. It was as if a massive dam had broken, transforming the once-controlled river of Searanox’s mind into a raging, violent torrent.

<What... what is this?! You think your feeble, mortal mind can eject me so easily? I am a Lord of the Withered Throne!>

Searanox's response was a guttural, primal sound of fury, not words. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

He summoned two Cargo Drones—one basic and one intermediate. Under his mental command, the intermediate drone began to draw the corrosive, milky-green swamp water into its reinforced storage space with a low, rhythmic gurgle.

Searanox then turned his attention to his right hand. He thrust the massive, possessed sword toward the basic cargo drone.

`You will regret this day, Marus. I am going to teach you the meaning of 'obsolescence.'`

The sword vanished in a flash of blue light, finally ripped from his hand as the drone's storage system forcibly swallowed the item, breaking the physical connection.

Searanox turned back to the ornate chest. He didn't open it gently. He delivered a heavy, armored kick to the lid. The dark wood, polished and ancient, splintered under the force, crashing into the swampy muck. Inside lay a coin pouch, two E-Grade Skillstones, and a single silver earring. He swept them into his storage, a system window flashing the details of a Minor Earring, before he dismissed it without a second thought.

The intermediate cargo drone continued its work, siphoning the toxic swamp water until it held enough of the ghastly liquid. Searanox mounted his travel drone, his expression a mask of cold, calculated intent.

Outside the portal, he shot straight upward, the two cargo drones following at their reduced, lumbering speeds. The journey back to the tower consumed nearly three hours, the landscape passing below in a moonlit blur of ruin, grasslands, water and forest.

During the entire flight, Searanox didn't say a word. Only one thought consumed his mind, burning like concentrated acid: he was going to build a cage.

He landed in the tower's atrium in total silence. It was well past midnight; the others were long asleep, tucked away in their respective quarters. Searanox didn't head for his bed. He ascended to the first floor, his boots making no sound on the stone. He accessed the tower’s administration panel with a thought, the blue holographic light casting long, sharp shadows across the corridor.

After navigating through the sub-menus to modify the layout of the unoccupied rooms, he stopped in front of a blank section of wall. With a flick of his wrist, a door materialized.

The room behind it was small, windowless, and paved in non-reactive stone. In the center was a sunken depression—a bathtub carved seamlessly from the rock itself, deep and wide, with no drains and no plumbing.

The intermediate cargo drone floated over the tub. A thick, corrosive, milky-green liquid flooded the depression, filling it to the very brim with the toxic heart of the Rotting Swamp. The drone retreated, and the basic cargo drone took its place, hovering over the hissing, bubbling surface.

Searanox gave a single, silent nod.

The massive, black-iron sword was released. It splashed into the toxic brew, a cloud of noxious gas rising as the acid began to eat at the metal. Because the sword was a sentient, self-repairing 'Special Item', the metal began to corrode and dissolve, only to forcefully reform itself moments later in an endless, agonizing cycle of destruction and regeneration.

<NO! WHAT IS THIS?! STOP THIS MADNESS!> Marus’s voice screamed, now faint and muffled, transmitting through the link between the item and its owner. <IT IS UNBEARABLE! RELENT, MORTAL!>

Searanox looked down into the tub, his face illuminated by the sickly green glow of the acid. "You wanted a vessel, Marus. You wanted to be part of my world. Now, you are the centerpiece of a chemistry experiment."

"You will suffer for all eternity," Searanox said, his voice flat and final. "Or at least until I find a use for your scrap metal."

He turned and walked out of the room. As he stepped back into the hallway, the door sealed shut with a heavy thud. A second later, the door vanished entirely, leaving nothing but a blank, seamless stone wall behind.

Searanox walked toward his own quarters, the silence of the tower finally feeling peaceful again. The voice was gone, replaced by the quiet hum of the tower’s core and the distant, muffled sound of his own heartbeat.