Morning broke with a thunderous stillness over the Dragoon field.
The sun rose clear and proud, casting golden rays over rows of polished armor, swords mounted in perfect sync, and three hundred Dragoons standing tall, their new divine-tier equipment gleaming with light that shimmered like living flame.
At the front, Alter stood, arms folded behind his back. His eyes were sharp again—rested, centered, and free of the exhaustion that had nearly consumed him days before. The Still World had done its job. He looked every inch the sovereign commander once more.
He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.
"Begin," he said simply.
What followed… was not simple.
The first Dragoon stepped forward, energized by anticipation, focused as always. A basic strike against the reinforced wooden puppet before him.
One clean punch.
Just one.
The puppet didn't crack. It didn't splinter.
It vaporized.
The ground beneath it cratered.
A shockwave burst outward, knocking dust into the air in a circular plume. Half the nearby practice dummies fell over from the residual impact alone.
The Dragoon stared at his fist. "...I didn't hit it that hard."
Another tried a spin-kick. The target exploded into a flurry of wooden chunks that embedded themselves halfway into a stone wall twenty feet away.
"I JUST TOUCHED IT."
Then came a sword swing.
A casual one.
It cleaved the air—and the training construct—and the five practice walls behind it.
The wind pressure alone knocked over two other squads.
Talia blinked. "I WAS JUST STRETCHING!"
Elira leapt onto a platform and released a light burst of stealth aura—only to find the platform she landed on was now missing.
Jaris murmured, "Uh… is it supposed to detonate my chi markers just by thinking about them?"
A corner of Alter's mouth twitched.
Then the entire left side of the training field collapsed as a group of enthusiastic Dragoons tried group combat formations.
Explosions. Rune shockwaves. Glowing afterimages. Trees splitting in half. Mana gusts toppling towers.
In five minutes, the field resembled the aftermath of a divine-tier warzone.
Alter stood completely still, watching a puppet dummy cartwheel into the sky.
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
"…I forgot to tell them to watch their strength."
All heads turned slowly toward him.
The field froze.
Somewhere, Rhed shouted from under a pile of broken stone, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU FORGOT?!"
Alter raised both hands innocently. "Right. Sorry—uh. Let me explain."
He pointed at the glowing gem embedded in each of their chestplates.
"The Resonating Crystal. It amplifies your combat power by 50% when you're within 500 meters of another Dragoon wearing the same armor. It enhances aura flow, muscle synergy, and elemental resonance."
Some jawlines dropped.
"But—" he added, glancing casually around the crowd, "—the effect stacks."
A pause.
"...It what?" someone whispered.
"The effect stacks," Alter repeated. "So if ten of you are close together, your output rises exponentially. With three hundred of you clustered here…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't have to.
The mental math hit them all like a divine lightning bolt to the frontal cortex.
Three hundred people... each gaining 50% per connection...
All standing within the same radius.
A silence so profound descended, it was as if all thinking ceased at once.
Then—
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"
"MY BRAIN!!"
"I BECAME A NUCLEAR WEAPON!!"
"WE'RE NOT A UNIT—WE'RE A NATURAL DISASTER!!"
"I SNEEZED AND BLEW UP A BENCH!!"
Talia fell onto her back, wheezing. "I could hug someone and it would count as a war crime—"
One poor recruit lifted his foot and accidentally stomped a crater into the earth. "I—just—wanted to adjust my stance!"
Explosions continued in the distance as a squad of overenthusiastic rookies tested an aura combo and launched a training tower halfway across the valley.
Soryn, arms crossed on the platform, turned his head ever so slightly toward Alter.
"…You really needed that rest, huh."
Alter gave a sheepish grin and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah. My bad."
A massive burst of energy detonated in the far side of the field, sending a rain of wooden swords into the air like confetti.
"I mean… I was going to explain it. Eventually."
More debris crashed behind them.
Rhed appeared from the rubble. "I recommend explaining from inside the Still World for your safety!"
Selin calmly walked by with a training log impaled on her blade.
Vellmar laughed wildly, accidentally snapping a steel dummy in half while clapping.
Alter finally sighed.
"…Alright. That's enough for today."
He raised his hand and sent a pulse of suppressing aura outward, stilling the crystal resonance across the field.
"Effective immediately: Training is suspended for one day. I need time to reinforce and upgrade the entire field. Maybe… the entire continent."
The Dragoons slumped in relief and exhaustion.
Alter turned and began walking away.
Behind him, the field smoldered.
The platform cracked.
The trees were gone.
And the once-proud training ground had officially been promoted to demolition site.
The next day, the Dragoon Dungeon Initiative was launched.
Three hundred elite warriors—fully clad in divine-tier armor, resonating in synced waves of power—were deployed across Drakareth to clear localized dungeon zones. Designed as tactical field training missions, the goal was simple:
Enter in squads of four. Clear the dungeon. Report findings. Repeat.
Standard protocol.
In theory.
In execution… it was something else entirely.
The first reports came in before midday.
"Squad Twelve completed the Emberfang Catacombs in 2 minutes and 47 seconds," one scribe read aloud. "Boss encounter collapsed under synchronized marker detonations. Entire underground chamber structurally unstable. Dungeon collapsed."
Alter blinked. "...They weren't even supposed to reach the boss that fast."
Another messenger stepped forward, scroll trembling.
"Squad Twenty-One entered the Cryospire Ruins. Upon activating the entry sequence, a Dragoon sneezed—walls cracked. One Dragoon kicked open a sealed vault door. Vault… collapsed."
Soryn, seated beside Alter at the round table in the operations tent, pinched the bridge of his nose.
A third runner arrived, this one pale and covered in soot. "Squad Nine entered the Mirage Labyrinth. One of them used Sky Piercer inside a reflection hallway. All twenty mirrored clones exploded. Maze collapsed. The boss tried to surrender. Then exploded."
Silence.
Soryn looked sideways. "I told you this would happen."
"I thought smaller squads would regulate their output," Alter muttered, staring at the battlefield map in front of him. "The groups were tiny. They should've been tactical."
More reports poured in:
Squad Thirty-Two leveled an entire cursed monastery.
Squad Eight vaporized a toxic swamp dungeon with one coordinated Flame Marker Burst.
Squad Forty-One performed the full combo chain of the Demon God Killing Martial Arts inside a Trial Arena, triggering a tectonic shift.
And then came the final straw.
A letter—charred at the edges—was hand-delivered from the Drakareth Dungeon Registry Office.
To the Esteemed Commander of the Dragoon Corps,
We humbly and officially request that your soldiers STOP entering public dungeons.
Entire zones are no longer recognizable. Entry markers no longer function. Bosses are in hiding.
Our insurance fund is depleted.
Yours in desperation,
Guildmaster Pharlen, Registry Overseer
Alter slumped forward, hands on the table, face blank.
Soryn stirred his tea and spoke without looking up.
"So."
"Yes."
"Any ideas?"
Alter sat upright, expression haunted. "They're too strong. The gear works too well. The resonance is… synergizing faster than expected."
Soryn leaned back, eyes half-lidded. "You gave three hundred people divine weapons, resonance amplification, and runic combat mastery. Did you not see this coming?"
Alter rubbed his temples. "I thought the dungeons would scale."
"They did," Soryn said, raising a brow. "They scaled to dust."
From a side table, one of the royal scribes whispered, "There are rumors that dungeon cores are now... ejecting themselves to avoid confrontation."
"The dungeons are sentient now?!" Alter blurted.
"No," Soryn said dryly, "but they fear you. Which is almost the same."
A long pause passed.
Alter leaned back in his chair, groaning. "I need a new method."
Soryn finally smirked. "You need a containment plan."
Alter nodded slowly, mind already spinning.
"No resonance stacking. No full squads. Custom simulations… maybe sealed barrier fields. I'll design challenge gauntlets. Controlled rune chambers. Timed combat scenarios. Variable suppression levels…"
He stood mid-thought, pointing toward the side scribes.
"I want schematics for training sanctums. Divine-grade simulations. Environmental pressure rooms. Bring me topographers. I'll draft the layouts myself."
Soryn sipped his tea, unfazed. "So… your solution to divine overkill…"
"...Is build stronger rooms." Alter finished.
He narrowed his eyes.
"If they're going to break the world…"
He cracked his knuckles.
"Then I'll forge one that can survive them."
Three days passed.
Three days without missions.
Three days without dungeons.
Three days of the Dragoons pacing restlessly, their power sealed under temporary aura suppression bands, grumbling as their weapons sparked and armor pulsed like caged wyrms craving battle.
And through it all…
Alter didn't sleep.
Not once.
He retreated into the heart of the Still World—its spatial expanse warped and bent to his will. Surrounded by hundreds of glowing diagrams, schematic scrolls, projected beast data, rune lattices, and divine-grade crafting materials, he toiled with singular focus.
Steel. Crystal. Barrier-thread. Resonance dampeners. Temporal anchors.
He drafted, forged, enchanted, and etched until the Still World itself trembled.
By the third day, they stood complete:
Three hundred personalized simulation chambers.
From the outside, they resembled obsidian dragon-scale capsules fused with silvery rune seams. Each door bore a Dragoon's name, etched in luminous script. Each seal required a blood signature—no one else could enter another's domain.
Inside… was something else entirely.
Each chamber housed a contained Reality-Forged Combat Sanctum.
A room that folded dimensional space into a controlled field—capable of simulating environments, enemies, terrain, even mana pressure—based directly on Alter's Status Menu Bestiary Codex, imported through Still World integration.
Rainforests. Warzones. Glacial caves. Thunderplains.
And above all—each Dragoon's final test scenario included a simulated battle against Alter himself, modeled at varying levels of difficulty based on the Draconic Prime Sovereign template.
It wasn't about winning.
It was about survival.
And improvement.
On the fourth morning, the Dragoons assembled once more. But this time—not on the field. They stood before a half-circle arena, surrounded by a sea of smooth black capsules that radiated divine authority.
Alter stood at the center platform, arms folded, voice resonating.
"These are your new trial chambers."
He paced slowly, golden eyes scanning them all.
"You've grown beyond this world's expectations. Your power is no longer something to be tempered by the world."
He turned toward the capsules.
"So I've built a world that can."
He raised one hand.
Runes flared across the entire field.
The capsules opened with a chorus of mechanical grace, hissing as divine runes slid into place, light pouring from within like radiant portals.
"One room. One warrior. One world tailored to break you and rebuild you."
The Dragoons stood, mouths open, eyes wide.
Talia whistled. "He built us pocket dimensions to stop us from accidentally ending reality."
Rhed's eyes gleamed. "I love it."
Elira muttered, "I already fear my version of him."
Jaris nodded to himself. "This… will work."
Soryn approached from behind the platform, arms crossed. "They're contained. The environment resets. Nothing breaks. No villages are harmed. No dungeon registry letters will be burned in despair."
Alter smiled. "Exactly."
He looked back to the assembled force.
"You'll train here. Alone. Without resonance boosts. Without teammates. Just you… and the limits you must surpass."
He raised his hand—and pointed to the capsules.
"Begin."
The Dragoons scattered toward their designated chambers, some with excitement, some with nervous dread, all with awe.
As the last of them entered and their doors sealed, a silence fell over the field.
Soryn gave Alter a sideways glance.
"You're sure these rooms will survive?"
Alter gave a slow exhale.
"They'd better."
He cracked his neck.
"Because these Dragoons are no longer trainees…"
His eyes flared with a faint golden glow.
"They're sovereign-tier. Walking catastrophes. And I plan to make sure they never lose control of that power again."
The chambers pulsed with divine light.
And from inside, the first simulated roars of ancient beasts echoed into the dawn.
Within the first hour of training, the sound of laughter, grumbling, and scattered cursing began leaking from the newly built Reality-Forged Combat Sanctums.
One by one, the first wave of Dragoons stumbled out of their personalized simulation chambers, soaked in sweat, armor scorched or cracked at the edges—not from real damage, but from psychological devastation.
And they looked shaken.
Some stared blankly at the horizon. Others slumped to their knees, mumbling things like "why did he smile while doing that" and "he countered my heartbeat—how is that legal?"
Near the resting platforms, a dozen or so Dragoon veterans from the earlier squads gathered under a tree, their eyes wide and expressions twitching as they debriefed.
"I thought it was just going to be monsters," Jaris muttered, clutching a flask of cooling tonic. "Maybe a few beast hordes. Standard pressure stuff. But no—first five minutes in, a replica of Alter walks through a lightning storm like he owns time itself."
"He does own time," Elira said dryly, sprawled across a bench, her cloak half-singed. "My version of him vanished mid-swing, reappeared behind me, and whispered 'Nice footwork' before launching me through a wall."
Talia clutched her head. "Mine had wings. Wings. He just floated there, arms crossed, judging me like a disappointed older brother."
Rhed rubbed his shoulder with a groan. "Mine didn't even draw his sword at first. He just used the pressure of his aura to knock me on my ass. I think I insulted him and he responded by redirecting my own punch through my chestplate."
Selin finally spoke, voice as quiet and sharp as always. "Mine used Sky Piercer: Zero Distance. In a blizzard. While smiling."
Everyone fell silent for a beat.
Then—
"…How do you smile while using Zero Distance?" Talia asked, half-whining.
"Evil," Elira muttered.
"Crafted by chaos," Jaris nodded solemnly.
Vellmar stomped back into the resting area, smoke trailing from the horn of his helmet, still in full gear. "Mine gave me a five-second head start. Five. Seconds."
"Generous," Rhed said.
"No," Vellmar corrected. "He told me he was giving me five seconds… then said: 'Starting from the end.' I didn't even see the first strike."
Another recruit from a lower squad group limped over, his expression dazed.
"I tried to detonate a triple marker setup," he said in a haunted voice. "Simulated Alter stepped between them and used them against me. I blacked out."
Rhed threw his arms up. "Why does the fake Alter have full control over OUR skills?!"
"He invented our skills," Jaris reminded him.
"I feel attacked."
"You were attacked," Elira muttered.
Talia sat upright, eyes glazed with awe. "Okay, but like—what version is the strongest? Has anyone figured it out?"
Selin answered first.
"I fought the Stormcoil Aspect Prime. Full lightning, aerial combat, pressure manipulation, speed—my movements weren't even registering."
Jaris nodded. "Mine was Pyreborn Sovereign. I got cooked in a non-lethal inferno just from standing near him. He melted my sword and re-forged it mid-fight as a flex."
Rhed winced. "Mine was Earthbound. I got suplexed into a wall. He built the wall mid-fight just to do it."
"I fought the Light variant," said Talia, looking shell-shocked. "It blinded me with beauty and then knocked me out with a high-speed hug."
"Mine…" Vellmar muttered, staring into the distance. "...Mine was Shadow."
Everyone slowly turned.
He just shook his head.
"He whispered 'Your strength is real—but your fear is louder' before vanishing through the floor. I haven't slept since."
Silence.
Then—
"...Whoever programmed these should be arrested," someone muttered.
"They were forged by the real Alter," Selin said.
"...Then he should arrest himself," Talia declared.
Despite the chaos, the bruised pride, and the spiritual bruising—the group gradually quieted into something else.
A solemn, knowing silence.
Because they realized something:
These rooms weren't just training simulations.
They were lessons.
Each Alter they faced was a mirror—not just of power, but of expectation.
And every single one of them, no matter how skilled they thought they were, had barely scratched the surface of that sovereign level.
Soryn walked past the group, overhearing the talk, sipping his tea.
"You all survived," he said, pausing briefly. "That's more than most can say when facing any version of him."
He gave a rare smirk.
"Now imagine fighting the real one."
Everyone shuddered.