The celebration at the Royal Palace was a distant memory. While the nobility of Azureus toasted to their new Eighth Guardian, Alvian was already moving. Titles were useful tools for political leverage, but they offered no protection against a physical blow. The Draconic Legion was still a threat, sleeping behind a wall of ice that would eventually thaw. To kill them, he needed more than a title. He needed a complete arsenal.

Alvian stood at the edge of the Western District, his [Vestments of the Void Monarch] rippling in the deep ocean currents. Beside him, Valeria adjusted the straps of her battered plate armor, her expression grim but ready. Seraphina drifted in the shadows, her mechanical eye whirring as it scanned the formidable architecture ahead.

This was the domain of Guardian Magnus, the Iron Shell.

Unlike the organic, flowing coral structures of the Palace or the chaotic, vibrant slums, the Western District was a brutalist monument to defense. The buildings were blocky bunkers carved from grey stone and reinforced with bands of black iron. There were no windows, only firing slits. The streets were patrolled not by swimming guards, but by heavy, walking tanks—armored Crab-Men and Turtle-Kin carrying tower shields that sparked with defensive enchantments.

"It looks less like a neighborhood and more like a prison," Valeria noted, her hand resting on the pommel of her claymore. "Guardian Magnus doesn't believe in aesthetics, does he?"

"He believes in survival," Alvian corrected, his violet eyes analyzing the mana density of the walls. "Every brick here is infused with [Earth] and [Water] mana. The entire district is one giant fortification. Inefficient for daily life, but perfect for a siege."

He checked his map. The Iron Citadel, Magnus's personal stronghold, lay at the center of the district. It was the only place in the city that had never been breached during the Sea King Wars.

"Let's go," Alvian said. "We have a teacher to meet."

They moved through the streets. The locals—mostly crustaceans and shelled humanoids—watched them with suspicion. Surface dwellers were rare in the deep ocean, and even rarer in the Iron Shell district. The pressure here was immense, a deliberate choice by Magnus to weed out the weak.

[System Warning: Environmental Pressure Increased.]

[Passive [Terra-Form] mitigating physical stress.]

Alvian walked effortlessly, his enhanced physiology ignoring the crushing weight of the water. Valeria trudged forward, her [Titan's Bloodline] flaring with a faint golden light to push back the pressure.

They reached the gates of the Iron Citadel. It was a massive wall of black steel, thirty feet high, with no visible seams or hinges. Standing guard was a solitary figure—a massive Hermit Crab-Kin, easily ten feet tall, wearing armor that looked like it had been salvaged from a battleship.

[Target Identified: Citadel Gatekeeper]

[Level: 45]

[Status: Elite / Guarding]

"Halt," the Gatekeeper rumbled, his voice vibrating through the water. He crossed two massive halberds in front of the gate. "The Iron Citadel is closed to outsiders. Especially soft-skinned surface dwellers."

Alvian stepped forward. He didn't draw his weapon. He didn't unleash his killing intent. He simply held up the badge of the Eighth Guardian.

"I am Alvian," he stated, his voice amplified by a mana pulse. "The Eighth Guardian. I am here to speak with Magnus."

The Gatekeeper peered down at the badge. His multifaceted eyes narrowed. "We heard about the new Warden. The boy who froze the Dragon. But titles mean nothing to the Iron Shell. Guardian Magnus does not grant audiences to those who rely on flashy tricks and speed. He respects only durability. Strength. The ability to endure."

"Endurance?" Alvian repeated. A cold smile touched his lips. "Inefficient criteria. A wall that never moves is just a target waiting to be broken."

"Is that a threat?" the Gatekeeper growled, leveling his halberd.

"It's an observation," Alvian replied. "Tell Magnus I'm here for the Fourth Art. [Tidal Barrier]. If he refuses to see me, I will assume his defense is flawed and demonstrate why."

The Gatekeeper hesitated. The aura radiating from Alvian was not that of a soft surface dweller. It was the heavy, suffocating pressure of a predator.

"Wait here," the Gatekeeper grunted. He placed a claw on the gate, sending a mana pulse through the metal.

Minutes passed. The water around the citadel grew colder.

Suddenly, the massive steel gates groaned. They didn't open outward. They sank into the floor, revealing a long, dark hallway lined with statues of fallen warriors. At the end of the hall sat a throne made of jagged iron scraps.

And on the throne sat Magnus.

He was a giant of a man, his skin the color of slate, his body encased in layers of heavy, scarred plate armor that seemed fused to his flesh. He wore no helmet, revealing a face that looked like it had been chiseled from granite. His eyes were hard, grey flint.

[Target Identified: Guardian Magnus (The Iron Shell)]

[Level: 56]

[Class: Bastion of the Deep]

[Status: Unimpressed]

Alvian walked into the hall, his footsteps echoing on the metal floor. He stopped ten meters from the throne.

"So," Magnus rumbled, his voice deep and grinding, like tectonic plates shifting. "The 'Godslayer' comes to my house. You look fragile, boy. Like a piece of driftwood."

"Appearance is irrelevant," Alvian said calmly. "I came for the Art. Thorne said you hold the [Tidal Barrier]."

Magnus laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Thorne is a fool who got his legs bitten off because he was too slow. And Kaelen? He's a coward who runs from a fight. You think because you impressed them, you impress me?"

He stood up. He was enormous, towering over Alvian.

"My Art is not for offense. It is not for glory. It is for those who can take the weight of the ocean on their shoulders and not break. You surface dwellers… you break too easily."

"Try me," Alvian challenged.

Magnus sneered. "I don't duel children. But if you want my respect, earn it. My district is bleeding. People are vanishing. Fishermen. Patrols. Entire families. They disappear in the night, leaving no trace, no struggle."

He pointed a massive, armored finger at a map etched into the wall.

"The Western Sector. The Kelp Forests. Something is taking my people. Something that bypasses my walls and my wards. I cannot leave the Citadel unguarded to hunt ghosts. You want the [Tidal Barrier]? Find out what is taking them. Stop it. And bring me the head of whatever is daring to hunt in my territory."

[Quest Generated: The Missing of the Iron Shell.]

[Objective: Investigate the disappearances in the Western Sector.]

[Difficulty: Level 46 Elite Investigation.]

[Reward: Access to Guardian Magnus's Teachings.]

Alvian looked at the map. The disappearances were clustered near the edge of the district, where the heavy fortifications gave way to the wild kelp forests.

"A stealth predator," Alvian analyzed. "Bypassing walls. Taking targets without a struggle. It suggests paralyzing agents or high-level spatial magic."

"Just get it done," Magnus grunted, sitting back down. "Or die trying. Either way, stop wasting my time."

Alvian turned on his heel. "Valeria. Seraphina. Let's go."

"He's a ray of sunshine," Seraphina muttered as they walked back out into the street.

"He's a tank," Alvian said. "Tanks are stubborn. But once you get them moving, they're unstoppable. We just need to clear the road."

He looked toward the dark, waving fronds of the distant kelp forest. The hunt was on.

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