Alvian frowned. He checked his stats.

[Physique: 30]

"I can't use it," Alvian realized. "If I activate this now, the transformation will tear my body apart. I have the mana, but I lack the vessel."

He needed to increase his physique. Drastically.

He stored the book back in his inventory. It was a goal. A reason to grind.

"Alvian!" Valeria called out. "The array is ready."

Alvian stepped out from the shadows. The silver circlet on his head glinted in the sun. Valeria noticed it immediately.

"New gear?" she asked, eyeing the crown.

"Souvenir," Alvian said.

They stepped onto the teleportation platform. The runes began to spin, humming with blue light.

As the world dissolved into light, Alvian's mind was already back at the Academy. He had the Key to the Deep Lab. He had the Loot. He had the Knowledge.

But he also had a target on his back.

Magistrate Valen wouldn't give up. The Syndicate wouldn't stop. And the clock was ticking down to the end of the world.

"Six months," Alvian thought as the teleportation took hold. "I need to break the limit."

The light consumed them. They were going back to school. But the lessons were over.

The real test was about to begin.

-----

"You made a lot of noise in Silverwood, Alvian. The Syndicate has put a bounty on your head. A big one."

"Let them come," Alvian said.

"They're already here," Seraphina countered sharply. "Lysander. The Vice-Head of the Arcanist Faction. He's on their payroll. He's going to challenge you to a Duel in the Arena tomorrow."

George paled. "Lysander? He's a Level 38 Pyromancer! A duel is sanctioned murder!"

"Exactly," Seraphina nodded. "He'll claim you're dangerous. Unstable. A threat to the students. He'll challenge you for the rights to Rogge's research."

Alvian processed this. A duel. Official. Public.

"If I refuse?"

"Then they seize the lab. They seize the Key. And you get expelled for cowardice," Seraphina shrugged. "It's a trap."

Alvian looked at the black key in his hand. Then he looked at Seraphina.

"It's not a trap," Alvian said, a cold smile forming on his lips. "It's a delivery service."

"Excuse me?"

"Lysander has High-Grade equipment, right? Being a Vice-Head?"

Seraphina blinked. "Yes. Full Epic set."

"Good," Alvian said. "I need new boots."

Seraphina stared at him. Then, a slow, appreciative smile spread across her face.

"You're insane," she said. "Rogge picked well."

She pushed off the table.

"I'll handle the politics. I'll make sure the duel is approved. But you have to win. If you die, I'm taking your corpse and selling it to pay for my tuition."

She vanished.

Literally. No smoke. No sound. One moment she was there, the next, empty air.

[Shadow Weave] was good. But whatever she used was better.

George slumped into a chair. "Alvian… Lysander is powerful. He has the [Flame of the Red Dragon]. It's a destructive talent."

"I have tonight," Alvian said.

He turned to the workbench. He placed the black key down.

He pulled up his status.

[Daily Charges: 2/2]

He looked at the key.

[Item: Key to the Genesis Forge]

[Grade: Unknown]

[Status: Sealed. Requires Level 40 to activate.]

"Sealed?" Alvian scoffed.

He placed his hand on the key.

"System," Alvian commanded. "I don't care about the level requirement."

[Target: Key to the Genesis Forge]

[Warning! Item is a dimensional anchor.]

"Upgrade it."

[Ding!]

[SSS-Rank Talent Activated!]

[Bypassing Level Restriction…]

[Upgrade Successful!]

The key glowed. The black metal cracked, revealing a core of burning white light.

[Item: Key to the Genesis Forge +1]

[Effect: Level Restriction Removed. User can now access the Forge Remote Interface.]

Alvian grinned. He didn't need to go to the basement. He brought the basement to him.

"George," Alvian said, his eyes reflecting the white light of the key. "Go get some sleep. Tomorrow, we're going to have a barbecue."

"A barbecue?" George asked, bewildered.

"Yes," Alvian said, equipping his [Frost Lance of the Monarch].

"Roasted Dragon."

The Department of Forbidden Arts was silent, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the mana conduits buried deep within the walls. Professor George had retreated to a corner, collapsing onto a dusty cot to catch a few hours of fitful sleep, his age showing in the deep lines of his face.

Alvian stood alone in the center of the chaotic lab, the [Key to the Genesis Forge +1] pulsing with a brilliant white light in his hand.

It wasn't just a key anymore. It was a terminal.

Alvian gripped the jagged black metal tight. He didn't need to descend into the physical depths of the academy to access the Founders' greatest creation. His SSS-Rank Talent had bridged the gap, turning a physical requirement into a digital interface.

"System," Alvian commanded, his voice echoing slightly in the empty room. "Interface Link. Genesis Forge."

[Ding!]

[Verifying Authority...]

[Key Authenticated. User: Alvian (Anomaly).]

[Establishing Remote Connection to Sub-Level 9...]

The air in front of him distorted. It wasn't a hologram like Rogge's message; it was a spatial tear. A rectangular window into a realm of pure, molten creation opened before him. Through the rift, Alvian could see a massive anvil floating in a void of liquid gold, surrounded by hammers that moved on their own, striking with the force of collapsing stars.

The heat radiating from the rift was intense, smelling of burning metal and ancient magic.

[Welcome to the Genesis Forge.]

[Current Status: Standby.]

[Available Functions: Reforge, Fusion, Deconstruction.]

Alvian's eyes narrowed as he scanned the options. His [Super Upgrade System] allowed him to force upgrades on skills and items, ignoring logic. The Genesis Forge, however, was different. It was a crafting station designed to alter the fundamental nature of an object using raw materials.

It was the perfect complement to his talent. His talent could break the limits, but the Forge could change the base material to withstand the strain.

He opened his inventory. His eyes fell on the [Frost Lance of the Monarch].

It was a Legendary weapon, yes. But it was a drop from an Avatar. It was attuned to the Frost Monarch, not to Alvian. Every time he held it, he felt a slight resistance in the mana flow, a subtle rejection from the weapon's ego.

"Inefficient," Alvian muttered. "A weapon shouldn't argue with its master."

He pulled the Lance from his inventory. The temperature in the room dropped instantly, frost creeping across the floorboards.

He tossed the Legendary weapon into the spatial rift. It floated toward the anvil.

[Item Detected: Frost Lance of the Monarch (Legendary).]

[Operation?]

"Reforge," Alvian stated. "Strip the Monarch's ego. Realign the mana matrix to [Frost Heart] specifications."

[Warning! Removing the ego of a Legendary Weapon may degrade its grade. Material catalyst required to maintain stability.]

Alvian didn't hesitate. He reached into his inventory again. He pulled out the [Corrupted Sap Crystal] he had looted from the Treants in Silverwood, and the [Shard of the Avatar's Mask] he had picked up from the debris of the Frost Sanctum but hadn't inspected yet.

"Use these," Alvian ordered, throwing the materials into the rift.

The Sap Crystal would provide a binding agent, and the Avatar's Mask shard contained the raw divine authority he needed.

[Catalysts Accepted.]

[Commencing Reforge Sequence...]

"CLANG!"

The sound of a hammer striking the anvil echoed from the rift, shaking the bottles on Rogge's shelves. George stirred in his sleep but didn't wake.

"CLANG! CLANG!"

Inside the rift, the Frost Lance was glowing white-hot. The blue aura of the Frost Monarch was being hammered out of it, replaced by a darker, more predatory violet light—the color of Alvian's own corrupted mana signature.

Alvian watched the process with cold, analytical eyes. He wasn't just fixing a weapon. He was claiming ownership.

[Ding!]

[Reforge Complete.]

[Item Evolved.]

The Lance shot out of the rift, hovering in front of Alvian. The design had changed. The shaft was now a matte black metal that seemed to absorb light, while the blade was a jagged shard of absolute zero ice that smoked with violet mist.

Alvian grabbed it.

There was no resistance. No hesitation. The mana flowed from his arm into the weapon instantly, creating a perfect loop.

┏━━━━━━[ Weapon Updated ]━━━━━━┓

│ Name: Lance of the Void Winter

│ Grade: Orange (Legendary - Perfected)

│ Type: Spear / Polearm

│ Requirement: Alvian (Soulbound)

│

│ Attack: 1,200 - 1,450

│

│ ▷ Effect 1: [Void Freeze]: Attacks inflict [Void Frost]. Enemies afflicted cannot heal

│ and take 30% increased damage from all sources.

│ ▷ Effect 2: [Predator's Hunger]: The weapon absorbs 5% of damage dealt as Mana

│ for the user.

│ ▷ Active Skill: [Glacial Void Pierce] - Unleash a beam of frozen void energy.

│ Ignores 50% of Target's Magic Resistance.

│

│ Description: A weapon stripped of its god and reforged by an Anomaly. It does not

│ rule; it devours.

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

"Mana absorption," Alvian noted, a cruel smile touching his lips. "Now I can sustain [Frost Heart] indefinitely in combat."

He dismissed the rift. The Genesis Forge closed, leaving the smell of ozone in the air.

He checked the time. It was dawn.

Today was the day Lysander would make his move. The Vice-Head of the Arcanist Faction, a Level 38 Pyromancer wielding the power of a Red Dragon. A man who thought he was the apex predator of the Academy.

Alvian equipped the [Lance of the Void Winter] on his back. He smoothed out his [Robes of the Void Walker].

"Time for breakfast," Alvian said to the empty room.

He walked to the heavy iron doors. They opened automatically for him now.

He stepped out into the hallway, his boots making no sound. He was ready to turn a dragon into a stepping stone.

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