The silence atop the Frost Sanctum was heavier than the crushing gravity of the Avatar's presence had ever been. The storm had broken. The violet clouds that had choked the sky for days were dissolving into wisps of harmless grey vapor, revealing a pale, indifferent sun.

Alvian sat amidst the wreckage of the dais, his chest heaving as he stared at the spot where the Avatar of Engels had shattered. The god was gone, reduced to a lingering, shimmering mist of high-density mana that tasted of ozone and ancient ice.

But so was Professor Rogge.

There was no body. No dramatic final words. Just a pile of grey ash drifting across the black ice, swirling in the wind before being scattered into the void. The man who had treated the apocalypse like a science experiment, who had turned himself into a sun to melt a god, had been erased from existence.

Alvian felt a hollow ache in his chest. It wasn't grief—he had buried the capacity for such a debilitating emotion in the blood-soaked trenches of his past life. It was annoyance. It was the cold, pragmatic frustration of a general losing his most valuable siege weapon.

'Inefficient,' Alvian thought, though his grip on the stone floor was tight enough to crack it. 'You were supposed to teach me how to break the system, old man. Not how to die for it.'

He forced himself to stand. His body screamed in protest, every muscle fiber torn, his mana channels burned dry by the backlash of the [Runic Aegis] cascade. He ignored the pain. Pain was just data.

His eyes locked onto the loot.

Where the Avatar had died, a pillar of orange light—the color of Legendary-tier drops—pulsed rhythmically.

Alvian limped toward it. He didn't rush. The battle was over, and the spoils belonged to the victor.

[Ding! Detecting High-Grade Loot...]

He reached into the light. The first item was cold, a jagged crown made of absolute zero ice that smoked in the ambient air.

[Item: Crown of the Frost Monarch]

[Grade: Legendary (Orange)]

[Type: Headgear]

[Attributes: +50 Energy, +30 Physique]

[Effect 1: [Winter's Authority] - Reduces mana cost of all Ice-type skills by 40%.]

[Effect 2: [Glacial Aura] - Passive. Slows all enemies within 10 meters by 20%.]

[Description: The shattered regalia of a fallen Avatar. It still whispers with the voice of the void.]

Alvian equipped it instantly. The jagged crown materialized on his brow, feeling weightless. A surge of cool, stabilizing energy flooded his ravaged mana channels.

He reached in again. A tome. Bound in white dragon scales.

[Skill Book: Frost Heart Transformation]

[Rank: S (Unique)]

[Description: Allows the user to assume the form of a Frost Avatar for a limited time, granting immense defensive stats and converting all damage dealt into Ice Damage.]

Alvian stowed the book in his inventory. He would learn it later. Right now, he had to manage the living.

"He's… he's really gone."

The whisper came from Professor . The elderly scholar was on his knees near the pile of ash, his hands trembling as he reached out, afraid to touch the remnants of his colleague. Tears streamed down his face, soaking into his beard.

"He was a madman," George choked out. "reckless. Arrogant. He risked the entire Academy every week with his experiments." looked up at Alvian, his eyes red-rimmed. "But he was brilliant. And he was my friend."

Alvian looked down at the old man. In his past life, George had died during the Convergence, shielding students from a dragon's breath. He was a man of peace in a world of war.

"He didn't die for friendship, George," Alvian said, his voice flat and hard. "He died because the equation required a variable removal. He balanced the scales. Don't waste his sacrifice by crying over dust."

flinched at the harshness, but he nodded slowly, wiping his face. He knew Alvian was right. In this new world, grief was a luxury they couldn't afford.

Valeria limped over, using her chipped claymore as a crutch. Her armor was dented, her shield shattered, but her eyes were clear. She looked at Alvian with a mixture of awe and fear that hadn't been there before.

"The Academy reinforcements are inbound," she said, pointing to the south.

In the distance, a fleet of Griffin Riders and Mana-Skiffs was approaching, their banners snapping in the wind. They were fast, efficient, and completely useless. They were arriving ten minutes too late to save the world, just in time to claim the credit.

"Typical," Alvian muttered.

"They'll want a report," Valeria said. "They'll want to know how a squad of students and two professors killed a Calamity Avatar. They'll want to know about… you."

Alvian turned to her. The Crown of the Frost Monarch glinted on his head, making him look like a tyrant king of the wasteland.

"Tell them Rogge did it," Alvian ordered. "Tell them he used a Forbidden Art to destroy the god and himself. I was just support."

"Why?" Arin spoke up from where he was huddled, nursing a broken arm. "You dealt the final blow! You're the Godslayer! You could be the most famous student in history!"

Alvian walked over to Arin, looming over the mage until Arin shrank back.

"Fame puts a target on your back," Alvian hissed. "The Syndicate is watching. If they know I'm the threat, they won't send an Avatar next time. They'll send an assassin while I sleep. Rogge is dead. He can take the glory. I just want the rewards."

He looked at the approaching fleet.

"We survived. That is the only victory that matters."

As the first Griffin touched down, carrying a frantic-looking High Mage, Alvian turned away, activating his interface to check his new stats. He had leveled up five times. He was Level 28.

But as he looked at his hand, he saw a faint, black vein pulsing under the skin of his wrist. A remnant of the Avatar's energy? Or a mark from the Syndicate?

.

.

A/N: Creation is wild, exhausting, and sometimes my brain wants to run away. Power stones are my only bargaining chip to drag it back. If you liked this chapter, toss me one or a few, it helps more than you think.

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