The return to Silverwood City was a spectacle of joyous ignorance.

The blizzard had ceased. The sun, a stranger to the region for weeks, bathed the snow-covered streets in blinding light. The magical frost that had encased the buildings was melting, dripping from the eaves like tears of relief.

Governor Thorne had arranged a triumph. The gates were thrown open, and the survivors of the city lined the streets, cheering as Squad Alpha-9 rode in on their Frost-Runners. Flowers—hothouse blooms preserved by magic—were thrown in their path.

"Heroes! The Heroes of Silverwood!"

"They killed the Winter!"

Alvian rode at the front, his face an impassive mask. To the cheering crowds, this was a celebration of life. To him, it was a grim reminder of how close they had come to extinction. They cheered because they didn't know. They didn't know that their salvation had cost the life of one of the world's greatest minds. They didn't know that the entity they had faced was just a scout, a mere finger of a god that was still out there, waiting in the void.

He hated it.

He dismounted in the courtyard of the Governor's mansion. Governor Thorne rushed forward, looking ten years younger than he had that morning.

"You did it! By the Founders, you actually did it!" Thorne grasped Alvian's hand, shaking it vigorously. "My daughter is awake. She's eating. The frost marks are gone. You have saved my family, and you have saved my province."

[Ding! Hidden Quest Complete: The Frozen Heart]

[Objective: Stop the Sequence and Save Alice.]

[Performance Rating: SSS (Calamity Averted)]

[Rewards:]

[1. 500,000 Experience Points.]

[2. +2,000 Reputation with Silverwood.]

[3. +1,000 Reputation with Overlords Academy.]

[4. Title: [Hero of Silverwood] (Increases Charisma by 20).]

[5. Item: [Key to the Governor's Vault].]

Alvian accepted the rewards with a mental swipe. The experience pushed him halfway to Level 29. The vault key was promising. But the title... he toggled the display off. He didn't need Charisma. He needed firepower.

"We did what was necessary," Alvian said, pulling his hand away. "But Governor, you need to maintain the lockdown. The Syndicate has cells here. Malagor wasn't working alone."

Thorne's smile faltered. "But… the Lord is dead. Surely the cult is broken?"

"Cut off the head of a hydra, and two more grow," Valeria interjected, stepping up beside Alvian. She looked battered, but she stood tall. "Alvian is right. We need to root out every sympathizer, every acolyte. This city needs a purge, not a parade."

Thorne paled, but nodded. "I… I understand. I will mobilize the guard."

Later that evening, while the city celebrated with a feast Alvian refused to attend, he found Professor George on a balcony overlooking the melting city. The old scholar was staring at the moon, a glass of wine untouched in his hand.

"You're not celebrating," Alvian said, leaning against the stone railing.

"There is nothing to celebrate," George replied quietly. "We bought time. That is all."

He turned to Alvian, his eyes sharp behind his spectacles. The grief was still there, but beneath it was a steely resolve. Rogge's death had changed him.

"I analyzed the readings from the Sanctum," George said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The Avatar… it shouldn't have been able to manifest. Not yet. The dimensional barriers are too thick. The Convergence is scheduled for… later."

"One year," Alvian corrected. "Three years in the original timeline. One year in this one. Or so I thought."

George froze. "You know about the Convergence?"

"I know enough," Alvian said evasively. "What did the readings say?"

George took a shuddering breath. "The mana density required to summon an Avatar of that level… it implies the barriers are dissolving faster than our worst models predicted. Someone is accelerating it from the other side. And from this side."

He looked Alvian dead in the eye.

"Based on the energy signature of the Master Seed… we don't have a year, Alvian. We might have six months. Maybe less."

Alvian felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. Six months. His plans, his roadmap for power leveling, his carefully constructed timeline… it was all burning up.

"The Syndicate," Alvian spat the name. "They aren't just worshiping the demons. They're opening the door for them."

George reached into his robes and pulled out a heavy, black iron key. It pulsed with a faint, chaotic red light—the same energy Rogge used.

"Rogge knew," George said. "He suspected the acceleration. That's why he was so reckless. He was trying to find a counter-measure. This key… it opens his private vault in the Academy. The Deep Lab. Not the one you visited. The one off the records."

He pressed the key into Alvian's hand.

"He told me, if anything happened to him, to give this to the 'Anomaly'. He said you were the only one crazy enough to use what's inside without blowing up the planet."

Alvian closed his fist around the key. It was warm, almost hot.

"He left a weapon?" Alvian asked.

"He left a legacy," George corrected. "And a warning. He said the Academy is compromised. That there are eyes everywhere. Even in the walls."

Alvian pocketed the key.

"Let them watch," Alvian said, looking up at the moon. "I'll give them a show they won't survive."

Returning to the Overlords Academy felt like stepping into a different reality.

The floating islands were bathed in perpetual, golden sunlight. Students laughed as they flew on their griffins, discussing homework and duels, completely oblivious to the fact that a god had almost eaten a province a few hundred miles away. The peace felt fragile, artificial. Like a thin sheet of glass over a pit of vipers.

News of the Silverwood incident had arrived before them, but the details were redacted. The official story was that Professor Rogge had sacrificed himself to stop a "High-Level Dungeon Break." Alvian, Valeria, and the others were listed as "distinguished support."

It was exactly what Alvian wanted.

He separated from the group at the arrival plaza. Valeria tried to say something, perhaps to invite him for a drink, but he vanished into the crowd before she could speak. He had no time for bonding. He had a key burning a hole in his pocket.

He followed the ethereal path projected by his student ID, but this time, he deviated. He didn't go to the main lab tower. He went deeper.

The coordinates George had given him led to the Undercroft of the Academy—the massive, floating foundation of rock beneath the main islands. It was a labyrinth of service tunnels, mana conduits, and forgotten storage rooms. It was dark, damp, and silent.

Ideally suited for a rat. Or a ghost.

Alvian moved with [Prowler's Boots] silencing his steps. He reached a dead-end corridor that ended in a blank stone wall. According to the key, the door was here.

He pulled out the black iron key. As he brought it close to the wall, runes flared to life—not the blue of the Academy, but the chaotic red of Rogge's magic.

"Access requested," a mechanical voice echoed. "Scan… Anomaly confirmed. Welcome, Alvian."

The wall groaned and slid open, revealing a dark stairwell spiraling down into the darkness.

Alvian stepped inside. But before the door could close, a voice cut through the shadows.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Alvian spun around, his [Wyrm-Tooth Dagger] appearing in his hand instantly.

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