Michael did not respond immediately.

The elder's words were not entirely foolish. Michael understood that much.

He had known from the beginning that his situation was too unusual. Unlike Brian with his dual classes or Rynne with her frightening comprehension, rare body, and perfect class fit, his existence operated on a different level entirely. Both of them were special, but their special traits could still be rationalized.

Michael was different. He could create special beings.

One look at his undead army was enough to prove it.

If he were honest, he had always held back because of this. His power was not something the world could digest easily. His caution did not come from cowardice but from reason. Being trapped between a half step Rank four demon on the twentieth floor and surrounded by demonic supernaturals on the first floor had forced his hand. It was not a plan he considered ideal, only the easiest at the time. He had believed the worst outcome would be increased attention from the federation.

Instead, this old man had turned him into the center of the entire event.

Even so, Michael did not regret his actions.

He understood the possibility that the federation might one day attempt to control him, but he did not believe they would silence him. He had not done anything wrong. Everything he had done was for survival, and the world had witnessed it.

Michael lifted his spear slightly. His voice was steady.

"Then I only need to become too powerful to chain."

Michael believed this. He could achieve this. After all, this was not his limit. Perhaps even if he ascended to Rank three and still could not resist the federation, he could at least flee with his family into the universe and settle on another planet until he was stronger.

This thought came because his mind, though calm, was still slightly chaotic after the old man's repeated words.

The old man froze for a moment. His lips curled into a cold, pained smile as more black blood ran down his chin.

"Arrogant child."

The old man's shoulders shook with another dry, broken laugh.

"I almost admire it," he said. "That thought of yours. To become too powerful to chain. If nothing else, your arrogance suits your strength."

His eyes narrowed, the poisonous light in them sharpening.

"And do not mistake me. I may hate the federation, but I will not call them weaklings. They are anything but that. They survived things you have not even imagined. They fed geniuses like you into wars long before you were born and ground them into dust. You think you are the first monster they have seen?"

"You think being strong will keep you free?" he rasped. "That is when they tighten the leash. One misstep, one refusal, and suddenly you are branded a threat. Then you will stand where we stand, hunted, painted as demons so everyone can sleep at night."

His lip curled.

"In the end, you are no different from us. We clawed for power and called it freedom. You will do the same. The only difference is which side of the story you believe."

Michael listened in silence.

He understood that some of what the elder said was not wrong. He also felt that it was incredibly biased.

Even so, Michael did not flinch.

"You are wrong about one thing," Michael said.

The old man raised an eyebrow, blood still running down his chin.

"I am not the same as you," Michael continued. "You and the demonic supernaturals are not the same as me."

He took a slow step forward, spear never leaving the elder's chest.

"You tried to seize freedom. You attacked, slaughtered, tore at everything around you, then called the cage that came after unfair when the world pushed back. You chose that path and lost. That is your story."

The elder's eyes chilled.

Michael's voice remained calm.

"I was never trapped to begin with. I did not rebel against the federation. I did not try to tear down the world that raised me. I simply survived what was in front of me and built what I could with my own hands. My path is not something they gave me. It is mine."

He tilted his head slightly.

"Just because you failed to reach freedom does not mean I cannot. Just because you ended up here does not mean I will follow."

The old man's expression twisted.

"You really think you are above it all?" he hissed. "You think they will not come for you when you grow a little more, when your army fills the sky, when your name spreads beyond this little base?"

Michael did not look away.

"If they try to chain me, I will break the chains," he said. "If they try to kill me, I will survive. And if that is impossible, I will leave. This universe is wide. I am not the one stuck on the first floor of Hell, calling it a prison."

The words sank in.

For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of the wind across the ice.

Then the elder's face contorted.

Rage and humiliation twisted his features. His chest heaved violently.

"You arrogant…" he spat.

His body trembled.

A huge mouthful of black blood erupted from his throat, spraying across the ice in a jagged arc. The poison that had been barely contained surged through his weakened frame like a flood.

His gaze, still filled with hate, met Michael's one last time.

Michael felt the air tighten around him and immediately got in a stance. He was just about to stab the old man when he spoke again.

"You will learn…" he rasped. "One day… you will…"

The words dissolved into a harsh, ugly cough that continued for several seconds.

The old man's eyes rolled back.

He did not move again.

For a moment, Michael simply stared.

The old man had collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

For a heartbeat, Michael believed he had died.

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