Silence settled over the gala hall like lead. The gala hall, moments ago a scene of carnage and chaos, now felt unnervingly still. Corpses lay strewn amidst shattered crystal and overturned tables, forgotten. All eyes were on Bramir, who, without a trace of his usual limp, walked purposefully towards Korshan, a casual smile playing on his lips. His movements were too smooth, too confident for a man who had feigned infirmity for years. “Nilya,” Korshan rasped, his voice raw, struggling to rise from the blood-slicked marble. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Nilya was still unconscious, her breathing shallow, her soul-timer a phantom weight in his peripheral vision. Bramir laughed softly, the sound flat and hollow. “Ah, Nilya. The purest node in a world choked with corruption. An oversight, really, leaving such a pristine conduit to fester. Don’t worry, her purpose will be fulfilled.” Korshan’s stomach churned. “Purpose?” “The empire of Pyrrhen is a rotting corpse, Korshan,” Bramir said, stopping just a few paces away. His gaze swept over the opulent hall, then to the bodies, a look of profound disgust on his face. “A failed experiment. It needs a hard-reset. An apocalypse, if you will. And for that, I need power. A clean, untainted source.” His eyes, now cold and calculating, fixed on Nilya. “Her soul, once purified, will be the battery. The core of the new world.” [ERROR 501: MALICIOUS ACTOR DETECTED. CORE INTEGRITY COMPROMISED.] [WARNING: INVENTORY ACCESS REVOKED. CRITICAL ASSETS LOCKED.] Korshan felt a sudden, sickening void in his mind. The subtle hum of his glitched artifacts, the stored item slots, the nascent connection to his dread-wyrm—all were gone. Cut off. He frantically tried to summon a potion, a scroll, anything. Nothing. His hands felt empty, useless. “A simple precaution, Korshan,” Bramir said, his smile widening as he watched Korshan’s futile attempts. “You have a nasty habit of breaking things, and I can’t have you breaking my world before I’ve even built it. Your little pet wyrm, too. Too volatile. I’ll extract it later.” Korshan lunged, fueled by a surge of pure, unadulterated fury. His mana-blocked fists were useless, but he fought with the desperate, raw strength of a cornered animal. Bramir pivoted cleanly on his heel, driving a rigid palm strike into Korshan’s neck that drove him dark into the floorboards beside his sister. “Sleep, little speedrunner,” Bramir murmured, his voice echoing in the now silent hall. “When you wake, the game will truly begin.” Bramir turned, his gaze sweeping over the remaining figures in the hall—Iscara, Kyradis, the few loyal guards. He gave them a dismissive nod. “The countdown starts now. Enjoy your final moments.” With that, he strode out of the hall, the massive doors swinging shut behind him with a resonant thud. Hours later, Korshan awoke in the hushed quiet of a private infirmary chamber. His skull throbbed, and the severance from his system caches left an ache behind his ribs. Nilya lay on an adjacent cot, still pale, but a healer, her face etched with exhaustion, was applying a shimmering salve to her temples. Korshan pushed himself up, his eyes scanning the room. Iscara Vondra sat on a plush chair beside Nilya’s bed, meticulously polishing a crystal dagger. Her posture was regal, but her eyes, usually a tempest of ice, held a simmering, almost predatory intensity. Across from her, perched elegantly on a windowsill, was Kyradis Olyn. Her usual dignified facade was chipped, revealing a raw, possessive worry as she watched Korshan. She held a small, ornate fan, but it lay forgotten in her lap. Their gazes met Korshan’s simultaneously, a silent, charged moment. “You’re awake, villain,” Iscara said, her voice a low purr. “Just in time to witness the fallout of your recklessness.” She glanced at the healer, who quickly retreated with a bow. Kyradis scoffed, her fan still. “Recklessness? He saved us all from Verek’s petty schemes. Unlike some who only put on a show of power.” Her eyes flicked to Iscara, a sharp glint in their depths. Iscara’s lip curled. “My ‘show,’ as you call it, ensured the Headmaster’s immediate incapacitation, allowing Korshan to deliver the killing blow. A far more effective contribution than lingering safely on the balcony, Elven Dignitary.” “He is *my* vassal,” Kyradis retorted, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. “A bond forged in shared peril, not in… dramatic displays.” She emphasized ‘dramatic displays’ with a withering look. Korshan ignored their bickering, his mind racing. Bramir. Nilya. The 'Endgame'. He tried to recall his notes, to search for any mention of this, but the empty void where his storage grid once rested mocked him. “The capital will be in an uproar,” Iscara continued, turning her full attention back to Korshan, her eyes softening to a dangerous degree. “They will brand you a regicide, a threat to the entire magical hierarchy. But I will stand with you. My family’s influence, my power—it is all yours. We will shatter their false idols. We will burn this realm to ash for you.” Her words were not a promise, but a chilling vow. Kyradis rose from the windowsill, her expression hardening. “Such melodrama. My clan, the Sylvannir, holds sway over the elven territories, a force even the Hegemony fears. I can offer you sanctuary, protection. We will tear down anyone who dares to touch you, Korshan. Even if it means open rebellion against Pyrrhen itself.” Her voice, though quieter than Iscara’s, carried a steel that left no room for doubt. Korshan assessed them with cold calculation. His 'aggro radius,' as his past-life self would call it, was out of control. Two of the most powerful women in the Hegemony, both ready to commit treason over him. It was a messy, unpredictable advantage. Suddenly, a low, guttural roar vibrated through the stone walls. The infirmary chamber was plunged into an eerie, blood-red glow as crimson light filtered through the high windows. The very air grew heavy, thick with oppressive mana. Korshan dragged himself to the sill, gripping the cold sill stone. Outside, the sky had transformed into a swirling vortex of violent scarlet, streaked with veins of obsidian. Jagged fissures, like cracks in reality, tore across the celestial expanse, spewing forth an ethereal, suffocating mist. The Bastion of Kryll, usually a beacon of cold stone, now looked like a doomed island adrift in an ocean of blood. From the horizon, a shimmering, translucent barrier began to descend, an impossibly vast dome of crackling energy, slowly, inexorably, tightening its grip around the entire academy. [EVENT: ‘ENDGAME PROTOCOL’ INITIATED. STAGE 1: AGGRO RADIUS DEPLOYMENT.] [WARNING: IMPERIAL CONTAINMENT BARRIER ACTIVE. ESCAPE ROUTE: 0%.] [TIMER: 72 HOURS UNTIL COLLAPSE.]

Aggro Radius