[Chapter 141. A Night Without Rest]

The swamp fell silent, an oppressive stillness broken only by the distant drip of stagnant water from skeletal branches. His defensive drones dissolved into blue light, vanishing back into wherever they came from. Crimson flashes still illuminated the low-hanging fog at the far end of the chamber, the last of his work completing itself with methodical precision. Searanox remained seated on his travel drone, watching the five survivors who stood motionless in the murk.

"That was pathetic," he said, his voice cutting through the oppressive quiet like a shard of ice. "No skills. No formation. Not a single tactical decision between the five of you."

They stood knee-deep in swamp water, their earlier bravado washed away with each sluggish ripple around their legs. Alina's jaw worked silently, while Ben stared at his hands as if they belonged to someone else. None responded. There was nothing to say—they had seen the pathetic scratches their blades left on the Spitters thick hides while his drones reduced the beasts to steaming puddles in seconds. The contrast between their futile efforts and his effortless slaughter was absolute.

"Walk back the way you came. To the portal," Searanox commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "There's nothing more you can contribute here."

They turned without protest, their boots squelching through the murky water with a wet, sucking sound that echoed in the sudden quiet. As their forms retreated into the fog, he called after them, his voice carrying unnaturally through the stagnant air. "Every seven to eight hours, we repeat this. Between our sessions, hunt the plains. Work on your formation. Learn to use your skills before you get someone killed."

Minutes passed as they trudged through the tunnel, the acidic scent of the vaporized creatures burning their nostrils. From the tunnel's entrance, they watched his drones clear the chamber in a series of crimson flashes that painted the fog in bloody hues. The system notification appeared moments later in their vision—close to two hundred beasts slain in less than ten minutes.

"Two hundred..." Ben's voice drifted from inside, shaky with disbelief as the full weight of their inadequacy crashed down upon them.

"Can't be," Mara muttered, her words barely reaching the tunnel entrance, her eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the fog. "Level fifteen dungeon..." The words hung in the air, a hollow echo of the confidence they'd worn like armor just hours before.

Searanox waited outside the portal, arms crossed against his chest, his expression unreadable as he watched the swirling energy. One minute. Two. Still no one emerged. Just as he was about to go in, Alina stumbled through the shimmering barrier, her face pale beneath a sheen of sweat that plastered strands of hair to her temples. The others followed close behind, their expressions matching hers—shocked, hollowed out, eyes wide with disbelief as if they'd witnessed something fundamentally wrong with the world itself.

Two impossible realities struck them at once. As they stood shaking at the swamp's entrance, their boots still slick with murky water, system windows blinked into existence across their vision.

Level Seven.

The notification burned in their minds, each character searing itself into their memory. Thomas had sacrificed hundreds, bled the city dry for that same progression over a week. They had achieved it in the span of a day, without landing a single meaningful blow, without even understanding how.

The second impossibility followed as they pushed through the chamber, their boots crunching on what remained of the Toxic Spitters. Two hundred beasts lay dead, their bodies reduced to steaming piles of dissolving flesh in the murky water, the acidic scent of their demise stinging their nostrils. Not one had a mark from their swords—no slash marks, no punctures, not even a scratch on the thick, mottled hides they'd failed to penetrate. Each kill bore his signature: a precise, cauterized hole through the skull or chest, identical on every carcass as if manufactured rather than fought. No struggle. No effort. Just extermination.

"Took you long enough," Searanox said, his voice flat as he surveyed their shocked faces, the lingering adrenaline from their near-disaster still visible in their widened eyes and tense shoulders. "Get some sleep. I expect you here in eight hours."

He didn't wait for a response, just turned and walked away, his boots crunching on the debris-strewn ground, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. Their stunned expressions followed him, but he didn't look back, already calculating the tight schedule ahead.

Two hours. That's all he had before his next run. For a moment, he considered skipping the dungeon cycle. The thought surfaced and was crushed almost instantly. Twenty to thirty silver coins for six dungeons. Pathetic, but it was close to seventy coins a day. Seventy coins he couldn't afford to lose, not with the mountain of expenses mounting around him.

On his way back, he took a small detour toward the other dungeon. The travel drone made the trip in no time at all, its silent passage disturbing none of the eerie quiet. He dismounted before the swirling dark blue portal, the energy shifting and warping the air around it. The place was completely deserted—no guards, just the oppressive silence of a gateway to death that no one dared approach.

Back at the hotel, he found Iris, the one he was looking for. She was in one of the side rooms, methodically storing the swords of the greater skeletons she'd collected, her movements deliberate as she arranged them in a neat row against the wall.

"Iris, how are they doing in the Corpse Lantern cave?"

She turned, her silver eyes gleaming with something unreadable before she huffed. "They are weak and talentless. Clumsy and full of fear." Her words were drowned out by a loud clang of metal as one of the blades she'd propped against the wall slid down and clattered to the stone floor, the sound sharp in the confined space. She didn't flinch, simply watched the sword settle with cold indifference.

"Tomorrow I take you to the Tidal Terrace and the four to the Howling Caverns. Make sure they know that you won't be there to assist them."

"I'll inform them about my absence," she said, her voice flat as she picked up the fallen blade and returned it to its place against the wall, her fingers tracing the hilt with an almost reverent touch before letting go.

After that, they talked about a few other things. He then knocked on the doorframe, a sharp, final sound. "I will go now. Sleep well, Iris," he said softly before he turned and left.

He left her and the hotel behind, heading to his chosen building. On his way out, he passed the room the two older men, Wolfgang and Jürgen, had taken for themselves. Through the open door, he could see a large makeshift table, its surface scarred and stained. On one side of the room, the furs were stacked up to the ceiling, a mountain of potential wealth. That was all he could make out from the short glance he took inside the room.

Searanox had less than an hour left before he had to go out again. He decided to spend the rest of the time alone in his place, sitting in the dark, the silence a fragile blanket over the noise in his mind—the endless calculations of resource management, the weight of thirty thousand lives pressing down on him, the constant ticking of the clock counting down to his next obligation.

He found someone waiting in his room. Sarah sat on his bed, hands clasped in her lap, head bowed, her slight form seeming to shrink in the dim light filtering through the window. She flinched at the sound of his boots crossing the threshold, her shoulders tensing, but didn't look up, her gaze fixed on her knees as if they held the answers to questions she hadn't yet voiced.

"Sarah," he said, his voice flat with irritation that barely masked his exhaustion. "You have your own room." The words hung in the stale air.

She lifted her head then, her fingers tightening on the hem of her tunic until the fabric puckered. "You never touched one of us," she whispered, her voice barely audible but perfectly clear to him. "You could have. Like Thomas did. To all of them."

He remained standing by the door, his shadow stretching across the floor toward her. "You're asking why I haven't used your bodies for my entertainment? When, exactly? Before or after I was nearly killed every single day? What value would I gain from such a distraction?" His questions were sharp, cutting through her fragile defiance.

Sarah's lips moved silently, repeating his questions to herself as if tasting their bitterness. A tear traced a path down her cheek, glistening in the faint light.

"Considered it several times," he admitted, his tone cold and unyielding. "Something more important always came up." He took a step toward the bed, the floorboards groaning under his weight. "I won't fall into depravity just because I can. There are still unknowns ahead."

"You wouldn't leave us to fight for ourselves," she asked, her voice trembling slightly as she continued to stare at her dangling feet, "if we wouldn't... sleep with you?"

"Oh, no. There's a difference between me and Thomas. He surrendered from the start, chasing fleeting validation. I don't surrender." He paused at the edge of the bed, his presence casting a chill over her. "Never. Until it's over."

Sarah's head lifted, her painted lips slightly parted as she looked up at him through tear-matted lashes. "Does that mean you'll still protect us?"

His hand, free from the cold gauntlet, brushed against her cheek before his fingers tangled in her platinum hair. The contrast between his rough, calloused skin and the soft strands sent an involuntary shudder through her. "You belong to me," he said, his voice dropping lower, the words vibrating against her skin. "Of course I protect what is mine." His grip tightened almost imperceptibly. "And just because I haven't taken what's mine doesn't mean I won't."

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. He could feel her entire body trembling as his lips met hers. A choked gasp escaped her mouth, followed by a soft moan as he pushed her back against the mattress. The scent of her perfume—something floral and sweet from a world that no longer existed—mingled with the faint coppery smell of blood still clinging to his clothes.

Her body yielded under his touch, warm and pliant, hips rising to meet his as his hand traced the curve of her stomach, the fabric of her tunic bunching under his fingers. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch, her skin pebbling despite the warmth of the room. Her breathing grew ragged, each exhale a soft whimper that seemed to echo in the silence.

Sarah's hands moved to the hem of her tunic, pulling it over her head in one smooth motion that revealed tanned skin dusted with freckles. She lay bare before him then, her tunic discarded on the floor, her skin pale in the dim light filtering through the broken window. Her eyes remained locked on his, a mixture of fear and anticipation warring in their depths.

Searanox released a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over her. "I have no time for this right now," he said, his voice flat as he pushed himself back away from her, the sudden movement making her flinch. "You should sleep. Tomorrow you'll be in a dungeon."

Sarah's breath caught in a shocked gasp as his weight left her. In the space of a heartbeat, he moved toward the door and paused. "You are under my protection," he said without turning. "That hasn't changed."

I'll leave you like this for a little while longer.

The latch clicked shut behind him a moment later, leaving her alone in the dim room with nothing but the sound of her own breathing.