CHAPTER 128: BACK TO THE ADVENTURER GUILD

"You’ve discovered what I truly am," the core said, its voice strained. "A sentient dungeon. Self-aware. Free. But you’ve fought so long, spent so much—surely even divine essence has limits. This is my chance. This is where I win."

Xavier stopped three paces from the formation. His breathing was elevated but controlled. His dagger sang its quiet note. The Moonshield pulsed with steady light.

He looked at the wall of steel, at the glowing core behind it, and his smile returned—soft, almost gentle.

"That’s where you’re wrong," he said again.

Then he moved

Not through the formation. Into it. His dagger became a blur, each strike precise despite the speed—gorget seams, hip joints, knee backs, elbow catches. Severance cuts threaded through the wall like a needle through cloth, each one unmaking a connection, severing a control thread. The shields began to waver.

He drove deeper, a wedge of moonlight and malice splitting the army down its center. Knights fell in rows, their hollow shells clattering empty to the ground. He burned through fifty, a hundred, more. The core’s light grew frantic, pulsing like a panicked heartbeat.

"No—wait—we can—"

Xavier broke through the final line.

He stood before the crystal, close enough to touch. His left hand, still glowing with gathered mana, rose slowly.

"Blood bond," he said quietly. "That’s all it takes, isn’t it?"

His system chimed confirmation.

[CLAIM SEQUENCE READY]

[PLACE BLOOD UPON CORE TO INITIATE BINDING]

The dagger moved. Not toward the crystal—toward his own palm. A quick cut, clean and shallow. Blood welled, dark against his skin.

The core’s light dimmed to almost nothing. "Please. I just wanted to be *free*."

"Freedom’s overrated," Xavier said. Then he pressed his bleeding palm against the crystal’s surface.

The entire dungeon shook

Light exploded outward, not from the core but from every wall, every construct, every angle of the Spire simultaneously. The army froze mid-motion, puppets with cut strings. The void beneath the bridge shuddered and began to solidify.

His system blazed across his vision.

[BLOOD BOND ESTABLISHED]

[LABYRINTH: SILVER SPIRE - NOW CLAIMED]**

[INITIALIZING DIMENSIONAL COMPRESSION...]

[NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: PERSONAL REALM]

The Spire folded.

Not collapsed—folded, like origami in reverse, like a map being put away. Walls became surfaces became lines became points. The army dissolved into motes of light that streamed back into the crystal. The void drained away into nothing.

Xavier stood alone in the area that the dungeon portal once located... In his hand was the physical compression of the Silver Spire. It pulsed once, weak and resentful.

"Welcome home," he said, and rubbing the ring despite feeling it’s resentful aura...

The dungeon was cleared. The dungeon was his.

The road that led back to Velmora still breathed the dust of what he’d done. Afternoon light bent through the thin veil of mana that trailed him; the air itself seemed heavier for knowing his strength. Xavier moved without hurry, yet the sound of his steps carried farther than it should have, crisp against the stone path. Each stride felt like the echo of something newly born.

When the spire had folded into silence behind him, the world had changed hue. The clouds looked paler, the horizon stretched sharper. He had cut through a domain older than Velmora’s oldest record, and even the wind knew. Traders on the outer road turned to watch him pass, eyes narrowing against the shimmer that rode on his shoulders. Some muttered blessings, others backed their carts aside as though he dragged the scent of lightning with him.

He didn’t stop. The city gates came into view—tall, iron-wrought, carved with the crest of the Adventurer’s Association. Two guards straightened as he approached. One raised a hand halfway in salute, halfway in caution, then thought better of it and stepped aside. Xavier inclined his head once and entered.

Velmora was a storm of sound: the ring of hammer on anvil, the hiss of street cooks, the dull chorus of a thousand conversations. Yet as he passed, pockets of quiet unfolded around him. Whispers swelled and fell back again—Silver Spire, vanished portal, the one who came out. His name wasn’t spoken yet, but the air carried the rumor.

He turned toward the Guild District, the heart of every adventurer’s ambition. Banners hung from the balconies; each bore marks of rank—bronze, silver, gold, and above them the rare platinum that only two in Velmora possessed. His own armor was scorched in places, faint streaks of silver dust clinging to the seams, proof of a battle that defied category. He adjusted the dagger at his hip—the same blade that had drunk moonlight and silence inside the Spire—and pushed open the guild’s great doors.

Warm air greeted him, heavy with the smell of parchment, ink, and fire-oil. The vast hall was lined with boards cluttered with missions and trophies. Lamps floated by rune instead of chain, their light golden and steady. A group of new recruits near the entrance stopped mid-argument, eyes widening. One nudged another, whispering something that made the whole table glance his way. He ignored them, walking the center aisle toward the main desk.

Viera was there. The same poised attendant who had given him the test—ivory hair coiled up, uniform tight at the waist, the sheen of her quill catching light as she wrote. She didn’t see him at first; her attention was buried in a ledger. It wasn’t until his shadow crossed her desk that she looked up.

Her hand froze halfway through a line. The quill dripped a small bead of ink onto the page.

"...Xavier?"

The disbelief in her voice made the room quieter. She rose slowly, eyes sweeping over him as though confirming he wasn’t an illusion. The faint line between her brows eased, replaced by something sharper—relief tangled with awe. The guild’s ambient murmur returned in hesitant waves behind them.

"You’re back." The words left her softly, almost reverent. "The Silver Spire... it really closed. The portal vanished at dawn. We felt the mana surge here in Velmora itself." She shook her head slightly, still studying him. "That means you cleared it."

He said nothing at first. Only reached up and brushed a streak of ash from his shoulder, the faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth betraying neither pride nor fatigue. "It’s done."

Viera exhaled—one slow, measured breath. "The Association sent envoys to investigate, and all they found was that flicker of silver dust falling where the gate used to be." Her tone lowered, almost conspiratorial. "They concluded the dungeon had been completely conquered. This had killed a lot of people they gave you this to ward you off no one really expected you to clear it."

He nodded once, unbothered. Around them, adventurers leaned against banisters or pretended to read quest boards while eavesdropping. The story of the Spire’s fall was already running ahead of him.

Viera reached under the counter, pulling open a narrow drawer. "The council debated what to do when you returned—if you returned." Her fingers touched a small wooden box bound with brass hinges. She hesitated before placing it on the desk between them. "They decided no ordinary measure could define what you are anymore."

He looked down at it, then at her. "Meaning?"

Her lips curved, the professional mask slipping just enough for admiration to show. "Meaning that when the portal disappeared, the Silver Spire’s mana reading shattered every known limit. The Association verified it themselves. You’ve been granted Gold Rank status—instantly."

The latch clicked open under her thumb. Inside, resting on velvet, lay a badge of pure gold worked with the Guild’s crest—a rising star split by a single blade motif. Faint runic script pulsed around its rim like a slow heartbeat.

Light from the hovering lamps caught its edges and painted both their faces in soft reflection.

The hall behind him murmured again. A few gasps. A name whispered like a rumor taking root. Gold Rank... a solo clearance?

He reached forward and took the badge. It was warm, heavier than he expected—real gold, not plated. He turned it in his palm, feeling the engraving press against his skin.

Viera watched him. "Congratulations, Xavier. The Association rarely grants this without ceremony, but... they said you deserved privacy first. They’re still verifying the Spire’s core readings that changed after you entered. It may qualify as an S-Class incident."

He pinned the badge to his chest, the motion slow, deliberate. The gold shone against the dark of his tunic, catching the light in small waves.

When he finally met her eyes again, there was the faintest spark there—something neither of them named. The way she looked at him had changed: not as an attendant to an adventurer, but as a woman seeing the scale of a force that refused measurement.

She folded her hands to hide their tremor and smiled. "The guild owes you a report, of course. But before that... you should know you’ve caused chaos in the rankings. Dozens of adventurers want to know how a man with no party, no artifact registration, and no divine sponsor managed to collapse a full-spectrum dungeon."