[Chapter 253. Grand Disappointment]

He executed each one himself. A single shot from the weapon in his hand was all it took. The magitech rifle emitted a soft hum as energy pulsed through its crystalline ports, each pull of the trigger releasing a silent violet beam that struck with lethal precision. The air crackled with residual energy as bodies slumped into the blood-soaked mud, their faces frozen in expressions of eternal disbelief.

His summons were already gone by the time the last of them hit the wet ground—dismissed as they were no longer of any use. Ethereal blue particles dissolved into the night air, leaving behind only the metallic scent of magic and the coppery tang of fresh blood. The only construct remaining was a metal cube hovering over the gear, collecting it.

The equipment was damaged and in terrible shape, but doctrine demanded having some kind of repair kit on hand at all times. That meant it could be repaired without a problem if he wanted to. The item Searanox was most excited about, however, was already resting in his palm.

`That is fucking insane. It's gigantic.`

The thought exploded in Searanox's mind as his consciousness brushed against the vast space contained within the ring. His fingers traced the cool, seamless metal while his eyes darted between the plain silver band and the System window hovering before him.

`That's a small warehouse, not just a ring.`

A wild grin spread across his face—the kind he hadn't worn since his early days of power acquisition, back when every new discovery felt like stepping closer to godhood.

Kylith watched his expression before her gaze drifted to the blood-soaked field where, moments ago, nine bodies lay broken but alive. Now, only the metallic cube hovered over the damp earth, collecting the scattered gear with methodical efficiency. "Where are the bodies?" she asked, her voice flat despite the tremor running through her small frame.

"They are inside my storage unit," Searanox said. His attention was still half-fixed on the ring in his palm as he began working at the gauntlets of his magitech armor. "I will dispose of them properly. I can't have rotting corpses lying in front of my city." The words were casual, almost conversational, as if discussing mundane maintenance rather than the aftermath of an execution.

The mention of his city struck Kylith like a physical blow. Color drained from her amber-flecked cheeks as the pieces clicked into place: the fortress walls, the power, the absolute authority he commanded without question.

"A City Lord," the words escaped her lips as a barely audible whisper, each syllable laced with dawning horror and a strange, reluctant respect.

He ignored her muttered comment entirely, carefully switching the two storage rings. His fingers trembled with anticipation as he slipped the new Epic-tier ring onto his finger, dropping the old minor ring into his palm. For a moment, he simply stood there, savoring the weight of the object. The promise of fifty cubic meters of space was now at his disposal—enough to store entire vehicles, hoard months worth of supplies, and change everything.

A second later, his brow furrowed, and he froze mid-motion. His breathing grew heavy as his consciousness pressed deeper into the ring's pocket dimension. His eyes squeezed shut, focusing all his mental energy on the storage space that supposedly contained the commander's gear.

"Why is it empty?"

The question was barely a whisper in the still night air, so faint it almost seemed part of the wind rustling through the nearby grass. But Kylith heard it perfectly clear. The tone wasn't angry or frustrated, but surprised, with an undercurrent of disbelief suggesting something had gone terribly wrong with what should have been a straightforward transfer of items.

The air shifted, becoming heavy and dense. A small tremor began in the ground as Searanox clenched his fists, the knuckles turning white. The sudden pressure change made Kylith's ears pop, and the scent of ozone tickled her nostrils. The fine hairs on her arms rose as if charged with static electricity, and the grass around Searanox began to droop under an invisible weight.

Kylith stumbled back the moment she noticed the shift in the air, her boots sliding in the mud. "That can't be," she whispered, pulling back further, her amber eyes wide with primal fear.

`This world is too young to have someone on that level.`

Her demonic heritage screamed at her to flee from whatever power was awakening before her, but her vampiric nature held her in place, transfixed by the sheer magnitude of the energy coalescing around the City Lord.

The muscles in his arm flexed, the skin straining against the surge of power coursing through him. "WHY IS IT FUCKING EMPTY!"

His voice was no longer a quiet whisper but a roar that filled the air, the sound waves visibly distorting the space around them. The mud beneath his boots began to vibrate as small pieces drifted up just over the blades of grass, defying gravity as if caught in an invisible force field. Nearby, the metal cube wobbled precariously before stabilizing, its systems struggling against the anomalous energy flooding the area.

"They will die. All of them will die," he muttered, looking toward the mountain range. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly light illuminating his face in the darkness. "I am coming for you. The House of Talian will burn."

His voice shifted from a roar of rage to a deep rumble of vengeance that Kylith did not fully understood. The words were clear, but she could not fathom the why.

The air calmed, becoming lighter again as his gaze bored a hole into the distant mountain range. The shifting of the ground faded as everything settled back to normal. The floating mud particles fell back to earth with soft splats, and the grass slowly righted itself. The energy receded as if it had never been, leaving only the lingering scent of blood and the memory of overwhelming power that made Kylith's knees feel weak.

He had just robbed and killed the youngest son, and now he was on a warpath against the entire house. In her mind, there was nothing that justified something like that. The sheer scale of his vengeance—against an entire noble house over what should have been a simple theft—revealed a level of power and ruthlessness that defied all logic she had ever known. Houses like Talian had ruled for centuries, their influence spanning multiple worlds, their power backed by pacts and accumulated might spanning generations.

"Kylith. Tell me everything you know about House Talian. Where are they located, how big is it, how strong are they? I want to know everything."

Searanox spoke as his hand clenched into a fist, squeezing the storage ring, the metal groaning under the pressure. His voice was deceptively calm now, but beneath the surface, Kylith could sense the tempest still raging—a controlled fury far more terrifying than his earlier explosion of power.

Kylith stood rigid as she processed the monumental display she had just witnessed. The air still carried remnants of that unnatural weight, her sensitive demonic senses tingling with the aftershock. She was certain he had just influenced the world around him, bending reality to his will in a way she'd only read about in texts—though the effect had been localized and contained. It was a display that should have been impossible for someone of his apparent age and standing in this young world.

She shook herself out of it like a wet animal.

"The House of Talian is a minor noble house. They are primarily located in the capital city of the Empire." Her voice was carefully measured, each word chosen with the precision of a blade dancer assessing her footing. "I was never inside the capital city myself..." She fell silent for a moment, raising a hand to massage her temples—a subconscious gesture of self-soothing. "...since half-breeds like myself are not permitted inside the walls unless they are slaves."

The words tasted like ash in her mouth, but her expression lightened as if a burden had lifted. "I had only spent two harvests with him before the patriarch sent him here. I never learned much about the extent of his house. I was held captive as a concubine in name only." She paused, her amber eyes distant as if recalling memories she'd rather forget. "They are a minor noble house with more than one domain to their name. As for their strength, I can only assume that he, with his level in the early twenties, was one of the weaker ones in his family."

Searanox turned toward her, his movements unnervingly smooth despite the blood and mud staining his armor. The eerie calm had returned to his demeanor; the earlier eruption of power was now contained beneath an expressionless mask that somehow felt more terrifying.

"If that is all you know, then that is all I will ask of you," he said, his tone devoid of emotion. The words hung in the air like a final verdict. "You will head toward the north entrance of the city. You may join the others nearby. I will let you all in when I have disposed of these corpses." His gaze swept over the blood-soaked field as if it were merely an inconvenience requiring cleanup.

As he spoke, the metallic cube hovered closer, its internal mechanisms humming softly. In pale blue flashes of ethereal light, the nine corpses materialized before him, their bodies arranged in neat rows as if by invisible hands. The cube then banked sharply, rising silently into the air before flying off toward the black tower piercing the night sky like a monolithic needle.

Searanox crouched down, his armored joints cracking softly. He placed his hands on the dead bodies, his fingers sinking slightly into flesh still warm despite the life that had fled moments before. With a thought, they vanished into the storage ring he had just acquired—the Epic ring that now felt like a cold weight of betrayal on his finger. Without another word to Kylith, he mounted his travel drone.

In a burst of unreal acceleration, he shot into the darkness, becoming a speck that vanished within seconds, leaving only a faint residual glow that quickly dissipated.

Left all alone in the cool night air, Kylith stood frozen, her mind struggling to process the whiplash of events. She was surrounded by blood-soaked mud on her left, the coppery scent of death thick in her nostrils, and the towering smooth walls of his city to her right. The walls now seemed less like fortifications and more like the boundaries of an entirely different realm, ruled by a man who could execute nobles without hesitation and declare war on an entire house over an empty ring.