[Location: Sector 0 – The Crimson Ridge]

The view from the top of the ridge was breathtaking.

From here, one could see the sprawling expanse of the crimson jungle, the purple sky, and the distant, ominous mountains.

It was the perfect spot for a picnic.

Damien sat on a flat rock, his silver mask removed and resting on his knee.

He held a crystal glass of red wine vintage 2028, saved from the Royal Cellar before the Revolution.

To his left, Leona sat on the ground. She didn't need a chair; she was a mountain herself.

She was currently tearing into a massive roasted turkey leg she had pulled from her spatial storage, bones crunching loudly in her jaws.

To his right, Lyra perched on a dead tree branch, her spectral grey skin blending into the shadows.

She was cleaning her daggers, her violet eyes scanning the jungle below.

Down in the valley, Class F was screaming.

"RUN!" Lukas shrieked, sprinting through the mud as a massive boar with glowing red eyes tore through the trees behind him.

"Maintain formation!" Alaric yelled, trying to rally the terrified students.

"Elena! Wind shield! Now!"

Up on the ridge, Damien took a sip of wine.

"They're sloppy," Leona commented, chewing a mouthful of turkey.

" The fire boy runs like a headless chicken. And the elf princess is hesitating. She doesn't want to get dirty."

"They've been students for two days," Damien replied calmly. "Give them time. Fear is a slow marinate."

He looked at his generals. It had been sixteen years.

In the original story, Leona would be dead by now, having died of exhaustion in a noble's coliseum after slaughtering a thousand gladiators.

Lyra would have become the 'Dark Elf,' a tragic rebel leader consumed by hatred, destined to be betrayed by her own subordinates.

Now, they were the secret rulers of half the continent.

"Report," Damien said softly.

Leona swallowed the turkey meat.

"The North is secure, Young Lord," she rumbled. "

The White Lion Army is fifty thousand strong. The Wolf and Bear tribes have submitted to my banner."

"We have enough Magitech armor from the Dwarven Forges to march on the Human Capital whenever you give the word."

She raised her right arm. The Void Gauntlet, a massive prosthetic made of black abyssal metal, hummed with power.

"And Hephaestus outdid himself," Leona grinned, flexing the metal fingers. "This arm just seems to get betteer and better"

Damien nodded. "Good. Keep the army on standby. The Empire isn't our target yet. The Abyss is."

He turned to Lyra.

"And the West?"

Lyra stopped spinning her dagger. Her expression darkened.

"I didn't just hunt Cultists, Boss," Lyra said quietly. "I found something weird."

Damien raised an eyebrow. "weird?"

"Failed subjects," Lyra clarified. "From the Flesh-Crafter labs. Similar to the original twelve I saved in Sector 7. Elves. Beast-kin. Humans. Broken minds, leaking mana cores."

She looked at Damien, her violet eyes intense.

"I found fifty of them. The stabilization serum I stole from the mines kept them alive, but it's wearing off. They are dying."

Damien swirled his wine. Fifty unstable, void-touched soldiers? That wasn't a burden; that was a spec-ops team waiting to be forged.

"Bring them to me," Damien said.

"I'll stabilize their cores using the Contract Gem. If they survive, they join Unit Zero."

Lyra let out a breath she had been holding. "Thank you."

"Where your maid?" Leona asked, looking around. "It's too quiet without Isabelle complaining about the lack of dessert."

"Isabelle is at the Golden Coin Guild headquarters," Damien explained.

"She is currently liquidating our assets to fund this operation. She will arrive in two days with supplies and heavy weaponry."

BOOM.

A massive explosion rocked the valley below.

Damien put his glass down and looked over the edge.

Down in the clearing, the battle had turned.

The Iron-Hide Boar, a beast the size of a carriage with skin as hard as steel, had cornered Alaric.

The boar pawed the ground, its snout exhaling green steam. It charged.

"He has no mana," Leona noted, leaning forward. "He's going to die."

"Watch," Damien commanded.

Down below, Alaric didn't run. He stood his ground, gripping his rusty iron sword.

"Lukas!" Alaric screamed. "Now! The left shoulder! Heat it up!"

Lukas, who was hiding behind a rock, popped up.

"Eat this, you bacon-breath!"

Lukas threw a fireball. It wasn't large, but it was concentrated. It hit the boar's left shoulder plate. The iron hide glowed cherry-red.

The boar roared, ignoring the burn.

Alaric stepped forward.

He remained calm, he recalled the lesson.

'Physics. Thermal Shock. Rapid heating expands the metal. A sudden impact causes catastrophic failure.'

Alaric inhaled.

He swung.

Channeling the kinetic force of his entire body into the rusty blade.

CLANG.

The sword struck the superheated shoulder.

The sound was like a church bell ringing underwater.

The boar's iron hide instantly shattered. The thermal shock caused the armor plate to explode outward, exposing the soft flesh beneath.

The force of the blow drove the shards deep into the beast's heart.

The boar squealed, stumbled, and crashed into the dirt, sliding to a halt inches from Alaric's boots.

Alaric fell to his knees, panting. His rusty sword was bent at a forty-five-degree angle, ruined. But he was alive.

"Impressive" Lyra whispered, impressed. "He's quite Clever."

"He learns fast," Damien smiled. "5,000 Destiny Points well spent."

Suddenly, Lyra stood up on the branch. Her ears twitched. Her nose flared.

"Boss," she hissed. "The wind changed."

Damien stood up, putting his mask back on. "What is it?"

"I smell... rot," Lyra said, disgusted. "Rotting lilacs and chemical sweetness."

Damien froze. He knew that smell.

Lyra pointed down at the dead boar.

"Look at the blood."

Damien zoomed in with his enhanced vision.

The blood pooling around the dead boar wasn't red.

It was a sickly, glowing green. And one of the boar's eyes... it wasn't biological. It was a mechanical lens stitched into the flesh.

"Flesh-Crafters," Damien whispered.

"Someone is running a lab here," Lyra confirmed, drawing her second dagger.

"Beneath the Restricted Zone."

Damien's smile returned behind the mask. But this time, it was sharp.

The Twilight Association. The cultists who had tortured the Valkyries. The ones creating artificial monsters.

They were here in this dungeon.

"Well," Damien dusted off his suit. "It looks like the field trip just got upgraded."

He turned to Leona and Lyra.

"Ladies, put your hoods up. We're going on a Raid."

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