CHAPTER 222: THE GOLDEN VINE

Chapter 218: The Golden Vine

[Rolune Region – The Verdant Hollow (D-Rank Dungeon)]

The air inside the dungeon was thick with the scent of damp moss and ozone.

It was a standard D-Rank instance—a sprawling network of natural caverns overgrown with bioluminescent flora and inhabited by Stone-Skin Bears and Moss Crawlers.

Chairman Denzo Smith wiped the grime from his face shield, his breath fogging the glass.

His heavy boots squelched in the mud as he stepped over the carcass of a bear the size of a carriage.

"Sector 4 cleared," Mike Pegu reported, sheathing his daggers. He looked bored.

"Chairman, with all due respect... why are we here? We have the capital now. We should be bidding on B-Rank gates, not trudging through mud for D-Rank scraps."

Denzo straightened his back, his joints popping. He looked at his team—twenty fresh recruits, eager and armed with high-grade gear purchased with Michael’s investment. They looked sharp, but they were untested.

"We are here," Denzo rumbled, his voice echoing off the wet stones, "because the Shareholder advised us to secure the rights to this specific dungeon. He called it a ’strategic asset’."

Mike scoffed, kicking a pebble. "The kid is a genius with money, sure. But a strategist? This place is a bust, Chairman. The mana density is low. The drop rates are garbage. We’ve been here for six hours and found maybe ten thousand Ren worth of herbs."

"We finish the survey," Denzo said, his tone brooking no argument. "We check the lower strata. If Michael said there’s value here, we look until we find it."

They pushed deeper. The tunnel narrowed, sloping sharply downward. The bioluminescence faded, replaced by a crushing darkness that their mana-lamps barely pierced.

They reached a dead end. A solid wall of grey rock, covered in thick, thorny vines that looked dead and brittle.

"End of the line," Mike said, tapping the wall. "Solid bedrock. See? A waste of ti—"

Thrum.

Denzo froze.

"Did you feel that?"

Mike paused. "Feel what?"

"The vibration." Denzo took off his gauntlet and placed his bare hand against the rock face. It was cold, but deep within the stone, there was a rhythmic pulse. A heartbeat.

And the mana... it wasn’t low here. It was dense. Suffocatingly so. It was seeping through the microscopic cracks in the stone.

Denzo drew his heavy mace. "Everyone back."

"Chairman?"

"I said back!"

Denzo channeled his aura. It wasn’t the flashy, elemental power of an Academy student. It was the blunt, brute force of a veteran mercenary. He swung the mace with a roar.

CRACK.

The rock face didn’t just break; it shattered like a thin shell.

A blinding, violet light exploded from the breach, washing over the team.

The wind howled, rushing out of the hole, carrying a scent so sweet and potent it made Denzo’s head spin. Pure, concentrated mana.

As the dust settled, the Dawn Guild hunters lowered their arms, blinking spots from their eyes.

They weren’t looking at a cave. They were looking at a garden.

The cavern beyond was colossal, stretching for miles under the earth. And it was filled, floor to ceiling, with vines. But these weren’t plants.

The vines were made of crystalline emerald, pulsing with light. And growing from them, hanging like heavy, ripe fruit, were crystals.

Thousands of them. Millions.

They ranged from the size of a fist to the size of a man. Deep sapphire, burning ruby, vibrant emerald. They weren’t just mana stones. They were Mana Vine Crystals—a naturally occurring, self-regenerating mana source that was theoretically impossible in modern geology.

In the center of the cavern, a massive central vine pulsed, its roots drinking directly from a ley line of the planet.

Mike dropped his daggers. His knees hit the mud.

"Chairman..." he whispered, his voice trembling. "That... that blue one over there. That’s an A-Grade refined crystal. Just one is worth fifty million Ren."

He pointed a shaking finger at the ceiling, where clusters of S-Grade crystals hung like chandeliers.

"There are... there are mountains of them."

Denzo stepped into the cavern. He felt the mana washing over him, healing his old aches, revitalizing his blood. This wasn’t a mine. It was an engine. A perpetual mana generator.

He did the math in his head. A standard mine yielded maybe a billion Ren over its lifetime before drying up.

This?

"Twelve trillion," Denzo breathed, the number feeling heavy and dangerous on his tongue. "At a conservative estimate. This place is worth twelve trillion Ren."

It was enough to buy a small kingdom. It was enough to start a war.

"Seal it," Denzo ordered, his voice harsh and urgent. "Seal the breach. Now! No one speaks of this. No one sends a message. If the Association finds out, they will seize it. If the Iron Syndicate finds out, they will kill us all to get it."

He turned to Mike, grabbing him by the collar.

"Get the heavy wards. The S-Class dampeners we bought. We lock this place down. And get me a secure line to Arcadia. I need to speak to the Shareholder."

[Sky Island – Sector 4 Alleyway]

The sun had set over Sky Island, leaving the floating city bathed in the soft, artificial twilight of the street lamps. But here, in the maintenance district, the shadows were deep and cold.

I crouched on the edge of a rooftop, watching the warehouse where the disguised High Priest had vanished.

My comms-stone vibrated against my chest. A triple pulse. Priority One.

I pulled it out, shielding the screen.

[Victor: Boss. Do you have a secure line?]

[Me: I’m in the middle of an infiltration, Victor. Make it quick.]

[Victor: Denzo just called. From a hardline. He... he found it. The ’Golden Vine Event’ you predicted.]

I paused. My breath hitched slightly. I knew it was there. I knew the dungeon contained it. But hearing it confirmed...

[Me: The yield?]

[Victor: He estimates twelve trillion. Minimum. Boss... he’s terrified. He says he’s sitting on a nuclear bomb made of money.]

I closed my eyes for a second, letting the number sink in. Twelve trillion Ren.

My financial worries were over. Forever. With that kind of capital, Aegis Holdings wasn’t just a company anymore; it was a superpower. I could fund private armies. I could buy S-Rank artifacts at auction just to disassemble them for parts. I could bribe gods, if they took cash.

But with that wealth came a target the size of the moon.

[Me: Tell him to lock it down. Physical barriers. No digital records. He is to extract nothing until I return to Rolune. If he sells even one crystal, the market will flag the purity and the sharks will come.]

[Victor: Understood. He’s sealing the entrance. Boss... we won. The game is over.]

[Me: No, Victor. The economic game is over. The survival game just got a lot harder.]

I put the stone away.

Twelve trillion.

It was a staggering amount of power. But right now, it didn’t help me. It couldn’t stop a blade. It couldn’t banish a demon.

I looked down at the warehouse.

The priest was inside. And he wasn’t alone.

My [Quantum Analysis Mind] picked up the signatures. Twelve heat sources. And one cold, empty void that registered as a tear in the fabric of the world.

They were opening something.

I stood up, drawing Draken. The dragon within the blade growled, sensing the nearby void energy.

...Enemy... close... break...

"Yeah," I whispered. "Let’s break them."

I dropped from the roof.

I landed silently in the alley, my [Shadow Stalker’s Cloak] blurring my outline. I moved to the side door. It was warded, of course. A complex locking rune of the Holy Church.

If I broke it, the alarm would sound in the Honour Hall.

But I didn’t need to break it.

I pressed my hand against the lock.

"Nox."

In my dimensional pocket, the Wyrmling woke up. He sensed the holy magic—his natural enemy—and hissed.

I channeled his aura through my hand. A tiny thread of Abyssal mana.

It touched the Holy rune.

The rune didn’t break. It rotted. The golden light turned grey, then black, and crumbled into dust. The door clicked open.

I slipped inside.

The warehouse interior had been gutted. The floor was etched with a massive summoning circle, glowing with a sickly purple light. In the center stood a pedestal, and on it, the Horn of Behemoth.

It was pulsing.

Around it, twelve cultists in grey robes were chanting. Their voices were a low, dissonant drone that made my teeth ache.

And standing before the Horn was the High Priest.

He had shed his benevolent disguise. His robes were torn at the shoulder, revealing skin etched with black, moving tattoos. His eyes were entirely black.

"The vessel is ready," the Priest intoned, his voice layering over itself. "The sky shall fall."

He reached out to touch the Horn.

I didn’t wait for a dramatic moment. I didn’t wait for them to finish their chant.

I moved.

[Skill: Swift Step] + [Attribute: Lightning]

I crossed the warehouse floor in a blur of ozone and shadow.

The Priest turned, sensing the displacement of air. "Who—"

My knee slammed into his face.

CRACK.

The Priest flew backward, crashing into the circle of chanters. The chanting broke.

I landed in a crouch between them and the Horn. Draken hummed, black lightning arcing along the blade.

"Sorry to interrupt the party," I said, straightening up. "But I’m afraid this exhibit is closed."

The cultists scrambled back, drawing jagged daggers. They looked at me, then at the Priest, who was picking himself up, blood streaming from a shattered nose.

The Priest stared at me. He didn’t look angry. He looked... delighted.

"You," he rasped, spitting out a tooth. "The Anomaly. The one the Dragon rejected."

He laughed, a wet, gurgling sound.

"We were wondering when you would show yourself. The Master has been watching you."

"Is that so?" I asked, keeping my blade leveled. "Tell him to get a better hobby."

"He wishes to meet you," the Priest said.

He raised his hand.

The circle didn’t deactivate. It flared.

The cultists didn’t attack me. They turned their daggers on themselves.

In unison, twelve blades plunged into twelve chests.

Blood sprayed, hitting the glowing runes.

"Sacrifice," I realized, my eyes widening. "It wasn’t a summoning circle. It was a catalyst."

The blood rushed toward the Horn. The relic drank it greedily.

The air in the warehouse screamed. A rift tore open above the pedestal—not a gate for a demon, but a window.

Through the tear, a giant, unblinking eye stared down.

It was the size of the warehouse itself. Pupil like a vertical slit. Iris the color of a dying star.

[Warning: Entity Detected. Rank: Unmeasurable.]

[Entity: Demon Prince Beelzebub (Avatar Projection).]

The pressure slammed me into the floor. It was heavier than Luminos. Heavier than Drakerlor. It was the weight of a world.

"MICHAEL WILSON," the voice boomed, not in the air, but inside my skull.

I struggled to stand, my knees shaking. My Aura Dominion shattered instantly.

The Priest laughed, spreading his arms. "Behold! The truth!"

The eye focused on me.

"YOU CARRY THE SCENT OF MY BROTHER," the Demon Prince spoke. "DRAKERLOR."

Draken vibrated violently in my hand.

"GIVE HIM TO ME."

The Horn pulsed. A beam of purple energy shot from the relic, aiming straight for my chest.

I couldn’t dodge. I was pinned by the pressure.

But I wasn’t alone.

...Annoying... eye...

Nox.

My shadow exploded.

The Abyssal Wyrmling, now the size of a dire wolf, burst from my dimensional pocket. He didn’t cower. He didn’t freeze.

He roared.

It was a sound that defied his size—a sound that carried the authority of a Mythical beast.

Nox leaped, intercepting the beam.

He opened his maw and ate it.

The purple energy vanished down his gullet. Nox landed, burped a cloud of black smoke, and glared at the giant eye in the rift.

...Mine... Master... Mine...

The Demon Prince’s eye widened slightly.

"A HATCHLING? HERE?"

The Priest stared, his mind unable to comprehend what he was seeing. "A... dragon?"

I forced myself to stand, using the distraction. I grabbed Nox by the scruff of his neck..

"Time to go," I grunted.

I grabbed the Horn of Behemoth from the pedestal.

"NO!" The Priest shrieked, lunging.

I kicked him in the chest, sending him flying into the unstable rift.

He screamed as the energies tore him apart.

"Close it!" I shouted to Draken.

I slammed the Divine Weapon into the center of the blood circle. The blade drank the energy, disrupting the flow.

The rift wavered. The giant eye narrowed.

"WE WILL MEET AGAIN, JAILER."

Drakenlor Said sarcastically.

The rift snapped shut with a thunderclap that blew out the windows.

Silence returned to the warehouse.

I stood there, holding a stolen demonic horn, a mythical dragon, and a sword that had just disrupted a Demon Prince.

My phone vibrated.

[Victor: Boss? Why did the mana readings in Sector 4 just spike to S-Class?]

I looked at the mess.

"Vacation is definitely over," I muttered.

(To be continued)