CHAPTER 39: ROGGE’S FIRST LAUGH

The private airship provided by Governor Thorne cut through the clouds, leaving Silverwood far behind. The luxury cabin was silent. Valeria and the squad were asleep in the back, exhaustion finally claiming them.

Alvian sat at the main table, staring at a holographic projection. Opposite him sat Professor George.

The old man looked ten years older than he had yesterday. He stared at the data crystal Alvian had retrieved from Malagor’s corpse.

"This... this doesn’t make sense," George murmured, adjusting his glasses with trembling fingers. "The mana signature of the Avatar... it corresponds to the Third Convergence Era."

Alvian narrowed his eyes. "Third Era? That’s impossible. We haven’t even hit the First Convergence."

"Exactly!" George slammed his fist on the table, a spark of his old academic fire returning. "The Convergence—the merging of the game world and reality—is scheduled for one year from now. The monsters we faced, the SnowMages... they are native to the preliminary phase."

He pointed a shaking finger at the holographic readout of the Avatar.

"But Engels... The Frost Monarch is a Calamity. He shouldn’t be able to manifest an Avatar this strong for at least two years."

Alvian sat back, his mind racing.

In his past life, the SnowMage incident happened. But they summoned a Lesser Demon. A Level 40 boss. Difficult, tragic, but manageable by the Academy’s elite.

Here, they summoned a Calamity Avatar.

"The timeline is accelerating," Alvian said.

"Accelerating?" George laughed bitterly. "It’s careening off a cliff! Someone is pushing it. Someone gave the SnowMages the technology to bypass the dimensional restrictions."

He brought up another file. It was a symbol found etched into the base of the Master Seed. A stylized eye inside a triangle, wreathed in thorns.

"The Syndicate," George hissed.

Alvian nodded. He knew the name. In his past life, the Syndicate was a rumor. A shadow organization that profited from the apocalypse. They sold safe zones, hoarded resources, and assassinated potential heroes.

But they were supposed to emerge after the Convergence.

"They are active now," Alvian said. "They aren’t just profiting from the apocalypse, Professor. They are engineering it."

George took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Rogge suspected. He told me, before we left... ’The variables are wrong, George. The math is rigged.’ I thought he was just being paranoid."

"He was right."

"This changes everything," George whispered. "If a Calamity can manifest now... what happens in six months? In a year? The Academy isn’t ready. The world isn’t ready."

He looked at Alvian with a mixture of fear and hope.

"You killed it. Anomaly or not, you killed a timeline-breaking entity. That makes you a target."

"I’m already a target," Alvian said, touching the [Frost Heart] icon in his interface. "The Syndicate knows I stopped their ritual. They know I have the loot."

"They will come for you," George warned. "Inside the Academy. They have agents everywhere. Students. Faculty."

Alvian stood up and walked to the window. Below, the floating islands of Overlords Academy came into view. It looked peaceful. Majestic.

To Alvian, it looked like a battlefield.

"Let them come," Alvian said.

He pulled up his status panel.

[Level 28].

"The butterfly effect," Alvian muttered to himself. "I changed the past. I saved Silverwood. I killed the Alpha early. And in response, the universe pushed back with a Calamity."

He clenched his fist.

"If the world wants to escalate," Alvian’s eyes glowed with a predatory violet light. "Then I’ll just have to level up faster."

He turned back to George.

"Professor. When we land, I need access to Rogge’s lab. He left something for me."

George looked surprised. "He did? How do you know?"

"Because," Alvian said, remembering the manic gleam in Rogge’s eye before he turned into a sun. "He told me to break the rules. And he wouldn’t leave his favorite student without a hammer."

---

The door to the Department of Forbidden Arts did not open for Alvian this time. It was sealed. Locked down by a Level 50 security ward.

The corridor was dark. The usual hum of chaotic energy was gone. It felt like standing in front of a tomb.

Professor George stood beside Alvian. He held up his master keycard.

[Access Denied. Biological Signature Mismatch.]

"The system has locked it down," George sighed. "Upon the confirmed death of a Department Head, the lab enters stasis until a successor is appointed by the Council. It could take months."

"We don’t have months," Alvian said.

He stepped forward. He pulled out the black, modified student ID Rogge had given him on his first day.

He held it up to the scanner.

The scanner beeped red.

[Access Denied. Student Clearance Insufficient.]

Alvian didn’t flinch. He remembered Rogge’s words. "The System is a cage. Logic is a shackle."

He channeled mana into the card. Not normal mana. He pushed the [Frost Heart] essence into the chip.

The card vibrated. It grew cold.

[Anomaly Detected.]

[Parsing...]

[Voice Authorization Required.]

A holographic interface popped up. It wasn’t the standard Academy blue. It was a chaotic, scribbled red.

"Say the password," a mechanical voice requested.

George frowned. "Password? Rogge never set passwords. He said they were for people who couldn’t remember complex rune sequences."

Alvian stared at the prompt. He thought back to their first meeting. To the battle. To the final shout.

"Break the rules," Alvian said clearly.

[Access Denied.]

Alvian frowned. "Burn the variables?"

[Access Denied.]

He thought harder. What would a madman use as a key?

He remembered the very first thing Rogge said to him when he walked into the lab.

"Bring me the boy who broke my toy."

Alvian looked at the scanner.

"Bring me the boy who broke my toy," Alvian deadpanned.

[Access... GRANTED.]

[Welcome home, Anomaly.]

George stared, mouth agape. "That was the password?"

The heavy iron doors groaned open.

The lab was exactly as they had left it. Chaotic. Cluttered. But silent. The golems were powered down. The constellations in the air were frozen.

It was haunted by the absence of its master.

Alvian walked straight to the main workbench. In the center, amidst the scattered tools and scorch marks, sat a single, heavy metal box. It had a sticky note on it.

"For Alvian. (If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead or ascended to a higher plane of pure energy. Hopefully the latter, but statistically the former.)"

Alvian opened the box.

Inside was a single data crystal and a heavy, jagged key made of black metal that seemed to absorb the light.

Alvian picked up the crystal and slotted it into the console.

A hologram of Rogge flickered to life. He looked tired, less manic than usual. He was holding a cup of coffee that was smoking suspiciously.

"Hello, student," Hologram-Rogge said. "If you’re watching this, then the SnowMage situation went FUBAR. I assume I did something heroic and incredibly flashy. Did I explode? I bet I exploded."

Alvian felt a lump in his throat. He crushed it down.

"Listen, kid," Rogge continued, leaning into the camera. "The Academy... it’s compromised. The Council is blind. They look at the stats and the rules. They don’t see the bugs in the code."

Rogge’s face turned serious.

"There is a hidden layer to this school. A basement beneath the basement. I call it the ’Genesis Forge’. It’s where the Founders built the first System Interface."

He pointed to the black key in the box.

"That key opens the door. But it’s not just a door. It’s a test. The Forge can upgrade anything. Equipment. Skills. Even... talents."

Alvian’s eyes widened. Upgrade talents? That was impossible. Even his System couldn’t directly upgrade his Talent rank.

"But be warned," Rogge said. "The Syndicate wants it. That’s why I hid it. Keep it safe. Use it to break the game, Alvian. Break it before they do."

The hologram flickered.

"Oh, and one more thing. I left a babysitter. She’s annoying, she’s quiet, and she’s probably standing right behind you."

Alvian spun around, dagger in hand.

George jumped.

Standing in the shadows of the bookshelf, where there had been nothing a second ago, was a figure.

She wore the uniform of a Senior student, modified for stealth. A hood obscured her face, but two piercing green eyes shone from the darkness. She held a pair of curved daggers, and her presence was completely erased from Alvian’s senses.

If Rogge hadn’t warned him, she could have slit his throat.

"You have good reflexes," the girl said, her voice cool and smooth like polished glass. "For a freshman."

She stepped into the light. She was tall, lithe, with silver hair tied back in a combat braid.

"Who are you?" Alvian demanded.

"Seraphina," George gasped. "You... you’re the head of the Phantom Faction."

"I was," Seraphina said, twirling a dagger. "Now, I’m a Silent Watcher. And unfortunately for me, Rogge made you my assignment."