The broadcast crystal flickered to life, projecting the dimly lit entrance of the Veridian Grotto onto every monitor across the Perunova Institute. Spectators, mostly B-rank hopefuls and jaded F-rank veterans, hushed as the first team materialized. Kazimir Orlov, his silver armor polished to a glare, strode in with the confidence of a man who believed the world owed him its attention. His two companions, a lanky archer named Serhiy and a stocky battle-mage called Bogdan, moved in perfect sync, their faces grim. “The ‘Crimson Harpies’ are off to a swift start,” the commentator, a perpetually enthusiastic gnome, chirped. “Orlov already engaging the first wave of Gloom-Worms!” Indeed, Orlov’s blade carved through the shadowy creatures with practiced ease, each strike precise. Serhiy’s arrows found their marks with unerring accuracy, while Bogdan conjured a small, contained firestorm that incinerated a cluster of worms into harmless ash. Their progress was seamless, almost clinical. “As expected from an A-rank team,” the broadcaster continued, his voice echoing through the lounge Zoryan watched from. “They’ve already cleared the first three zones in under five minutes! A new record seems likely!” Zoryan merely sipped his herbal infusion, observing the glowing status windows that shimmered around Orlov’s team on the crystal. He dismissed them as particularly vibrant dust motes. His gaze, however, lingered on Orlov’s movements, noting the rigid posture, the slightly too-quick reflexes. The young man moved like a well-oiled machine, efficient but lacking the intuitive grace of a truly exceptional predator. Adequate, Zoryan decided. For an ordinary mongrel, perfectly adequate. Then, the next team appeared on screen, prompting fresh murmurs and outright snickers. Anka, her battered plate armor clanking, tripped over her own bootlaces just as they stepped onto the spectral platform. Stasiek, already fiddling with a crackling orb of uncontrolled lightning, nearly zapped Mila, who was meticulously dusting a stolen porcelain bird figurine. “Ah, the ‘Rusty Spoons’!” Grisha announced, his cheer noticeably strained. “An F-rank team… a rather experimental entry, if I do say so myself. Let’s see how they fare against the… *checks notes*… the Sludge-Sprinters of the Lower Corridors!” Zoryan, witnessing Anka’s stumble, furrowed his brow. “Her gait is still uneven. Perhaps a re-evaluation of her core nutrient intake is required.” He made a mental note to adjust her next ‘supplement’ dosage. He glanced at the Obsidian Fetch-Sphere, still clutched in Anka’s hand. “They appear to be holding their chew toy correctly, at least.” The Rusty Spoons' progress was, charitably, less than stellar. Anka’s shield bashes often missed their mark, her sword swings too wide. Stasiek’s fireballs, when they actually launched in the intended direction, were potent, but more often than not, they detonated harmlessly against a distant wall or, once, singed Anka’s hair. Mila, meanwhile, moved with surprising stealth, not to engage enemies, but to deftly extract loose gems from the cavern walls. [ANNOUNCEMENT: Stasiek Piorun has acquired ‘Lesser Ore of Primal Chaos’ (Stolen)] “Mila, darling,” Zoryan murmured, a faint smile touching his lips. “You retrieve the shinies with such dedication. An excellent instinct for resource gathering.” He interpreted her actions as a sophisticated form of foraging, vital for a developing pack. They blundered, they stumbled, they argued, but somehow, they kept moving forward. Anka’s clumsiness occasionally led to accidental dodges. Stasiek’s wild magic sometimes caught a hidden enemy. Mila’s stealth allowed her to bypass entire sections, though she often looped back to snag a particularly sparkly pebble. Then came the mid-boss. The ground shook as a colossal figure, comprised entirely of gleaming black rock, lumbered into view. Its form was crude but undeniably imposing: the Ironbound Colossus, famed for its impenetrable hide and crushing blows. “Oh dear,” the gnome's voice dipped into genuine concern. “The Adamant Golem! A true wall for many mid-tier teams. Its outer shell is virtually impervious to all but the most focused S-rank attacks!” On the screen, Orlov’s team had paused their triumphant march, watching from a higher ledge. Orlov’s sneer was clearly visible. “Watch them fail, the pathetic wretches,” he muttered, loud enough for his companions to hear. “Even with whatever illicit boost that freak gave them, they’ll break here.” The Golem roared, a grinding sound of stone on stone, and swiped a massive fist at Anka. She barely rolled away, her armor scraping against the dungeon floor. Stasiek panicked, his hands glowing erratically. “Stasiek,” Zoryan’s voice was calm, a low rumble that cut through the lounge's ambient noise. “Focus your intent into the chew toy. Imagine the desired outcome. Project it with clarity.” Stasiek, hearing Zoryan’s instruction, didn’t quite understand it. He simply gripped the Obsidian Fetch-Sphere with both hands, his mind a panicked jumble of fire, lightning, and a desperate desire not to be squashed by a rock monster. He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed, inadvertently channeling every ounce of his burgeoning, chaotic demonic energy into the artifact. The Obsidian Fetch-Sphere pulsed, not with its usual faint thrum, but with a searing, blinding light that flared like a collapsing star. A vortex of pure, untamed chaos magic erupted from Stasiek’s hands, a twisting spiral of crackling purple and black energy that warped the very air. It didn’t merely strike the Adamant Golem. It *devoured* it. The 'impervious' black rock fizzled, steamed, and then melted like butter in a dragon’s forge, dissolving into a puddle of shimmering, inert goo within seconds. The sound was a horrific, sucking hiss, followed by an unnerving silence. [ADAMANT GOLEM – DEFEATED] [Stasiek Piorun has manifested ‘Chaotic Dissolution’ (Unique Skill)] [Party: Rusty Spoons – First Mid-Boss Defeat Bonus Applied!] The hall erupted. Grisha choked on his own words. Orlov, on screen, stumbled back, his face a mask of shock and disbelief, his sneer utterly vanished. “See?” Zoryan said, a proud glint in his eyes. “He played with his toy quite effectively. Good boy, Stasiek. That’s how you retrieve the obstacles.” Deep beneath the academy, in a chamber forgotten by time and shielded by layers of ancient enchantments, the earth itself groaned. A surge of raw, unfiltered magical energy, a chaotic echo of Stasiek’s accidental feat, slammed into a colossal construct. The Silent Sentinel, a being of living granite sculpted into a watchful, humanoid form, had stood motionless for millennia. Its purpose, etched into its very core by Zoryan Veles himself, was to guard the First Seal of Silence – a dormant, world-purging spell, meant to ensure eternal peace through eternal stillness. The guardian had never needed to move. Never needed to react. Until now. The stone eyes of the colossus, dark and lifeless for countless ages, began to glow. A faint, crimson light pulsed from within the unblinking pupils, then brightened, painting the shadows of the forgotten chamber in an ominous, blood-red hue. A low, grinding hum resonated through the silent stone, a sound that had been dormant since the dawn of the world. From the Warden’s unmoving lips, a voice, deep and resonant like tectonic plates shifting, echoed in the empty chamber: “Protocol breach detected. Activating purification sequence.”

The Guardian of Unwanted Things