Here's an improved and expanded Chapter 3 based on your request—structured to be consistent with the previous chapters, more emotionally immersive,
Jade didn't show up to school the next day.
Or the one after that.
Or the one after that.
To most, it didn't matter. He had always been the invisible one. Quiet. Fat. A ghost haunting the back row of the classroom—answering questions with robotic precision, ignored by students and tolerated by instructors.
Now? He was gone.
And no one noticed.
Except one.
Beneath the pressure of the deep sea, inside his shattered territory, Jade knelt beside the coral pedestal of his Lord's Core. His skin had gone clammy from constant exposure, his eyes red and dry from sleeplessness. Yet, he worked.
For hours.
Days.
He pored through every system tab, toggled every interaction menu, whispered voice commands like prayers.
And then, buried behind a deprecated submenu labeled Terrain Adaptation Suite, he found it:
[Lord's Hut - Local Environment Modulation: Active]
(Initialize Breathable Zone: Y/N)
He stared. His hands trembled. Then he slammed Y.
A faint hiss.
The pressure lifted from his chest.
The water inside the hut churned—and separated.
A translucent barrier formed, spherical and shimmering, enclosing the space in breathable air.
He inhaled.
For the first time since awakening, he could breathe freely.
Jade collapsed onto the coral floor, laughing hoarsely. He cried, too. Salt crusted at the corners of his eyes, indistinguishable from the ocean he'd drowned in. But this time, it wasn't pain. It was something close to hope.
He had space. He had air.
He had time.
With air came clarity.
Jade assembled a strategy slate from the Summoning Core, its crystal panels flickering with simulated battle maps and projections. He paced the newly-dry floor, drawing diagrams in light: funnel formations, coral choke points, abyssal scouting routes.
"I'm not building a kingdom," he muttered. "I'm building a war bunker."
He designated tasks to his merfolk—hulking fish-headed monstrosities with razor fins and too many teeth. Hideous, yes. But obedient. Faster than they looked. And despite their unsettling gazes, oddly… loyal.
They'd screeched when he died. That meant something.
Jade began testing them.
Drills. Patrols. Resource gathering. They responded well to structure. Better than classmates ever had.
He trained them to ambush with coral spears and swarm tactics. He designed harpoon nests along the ridges of his territory. He discovered geysers of thermal energy and used them to power rudimentary heating and mana conduits.
And most importantly…
He marked every inch of his Lord's Domain with paths, traps, and resource nodes.
The ocean was his death sentence. He would turn it into a weapon.
Back at Silvermist Provincial High ,the rest of the newly awakened Lords were entering their second week of training.
Classrooms buzzed with excitement and nerves. The Newbie Trial, a mandatory territory test, loomed less than five days away.
Groups of fresh Lords clustered in tactical chambers, pouring over summon mechanics, terrain modifiers, and Core protections.
Elia Grenvale—fiery, cruel, adored—stood at the center of it all.
Her summoned fire elemental stood behind her like a living inferno, arms crossed, flames licking from its shoulders. She commanded a four-member trial team now. Of course she did.
Instructors praised her initiative. Students gathered around her, hungry for association.
"Everyone wants to ally with winners," she told them sweetly.
She didn't mention Jade once.
Lucien Valehart hadn't returned to team drills. He didn't need to.
He was beyond the Newbie Trial. His territory had reached Tier III a year ago.
But something gnawed at him.
He stood alone on the upper balcony of the training hall, looking down at the rookie classes. Watching. Thinking.
Jade was still gone.
That wasn't right.
Even if he'd failed, even if he'd been broken—he should've returned by now. A cry for help. A hospital visit. A withdrawal form.
But there was nothing.
Only silence.
The trigger came three days into Jade's absence.
Lucien was crossing the eastern corridor near the Artifact Registration Office when he was stopped by a sheepish upperclassman—tall, with awkward posture and twitchy fingers.
"Uh… Lord Valehart?"
Lucien turned. "Yes?"
"I, um, think I sold a faulty Newbie Amulet to someone in your class. Jade Meridien? I meant to tell him something, but... I forgot."
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "What exactly did you forget?"
The upperclassman laughed nervously. "Uh. It had, like... three lives left. Barely a week of validity. I swear I was gonna tell him! I just—he was desperate, and no one ever buys those things anymore. I didn't think he'd actually… need it."
Silence.
Lucien's voice came low. "You didn't think."
The boy's eyes darted. "Hey, it's not like I sold him a cursed item or anything—"
Lucien had already walked away.
He stormed back into the training hall and pulled up his console.
[Status Check: Jade Meridien]
Student is marked as present via remote login. No physical attendance detected.
His heart sank.
"He's alive… but he's alone."
"And I sent him to his first death."
Lucien stared at the screen for a long time, expression tight. Then, without a word, he turned off the display and left the hall.
Meanwhile, beneath leagues of crushing water, Jade sat on a throne made of driftwood, sharpened bone, and coral.
He hadn't returned to school once.
Every minute counted now. His notebook had transformed into a war ledger, tracking every creature sighting, every resource deposit, every inch of defensive construction.
His merfolk began acting on their own—coordinating formations without commands, reinforcing coral growth, mimicking military structures they'd seen Jade draw.
They weren't just monsters.
They were becoming a legion.
In the evenings, Jade reviewed trial reports from the academy archive—old footage of Lords fighting in forests, plains, and deserts. None of them prepared for deep-sea conditions.
He was the only one.
That made him weak in some ways—but powerful in others.
No one else could survive his domain.
That thought… comforted him.
Lucien searched for Jade again that night—pinged the dorms, asked instructors, even traced Lord Core emissions near school grounds. Nothing.
He paced under the moonlight, hands deep in his coat pockets, guilt clamping his throat like a vice.
"You're different now," he had said to Jade once.
He hadn't realized how different.
Was he dead? Surviving in a dungeon cave? Slowly starving underwater?
His thoughts kept circling back to the screech of those merfolk. That sound—like mourning. Or rage.
It had unsettled him then.
It haunted him now.
The next morning, Elia leaned across the classroom table, tossing her fiery curls over her shoulder.
"Still no sign of our little fish food?"
Lucien didn't respond.
"Maybe he finally drowned," she continued sweetly. "Poor thing. Couldn't even handle day one."
Lucien stood abruptly.
She blinked. "Where are you going?"
"Trial prep," he muttered.
"But you're not even—"
"I am now."
And far, far below the surface, Jade carved three words into a coral wall beside his Core, each letter glowing with light-infused chalk.
"I will win."
His territory pulsed faintly.
His summons hissed in anticipation.
He didn't need sympathy.
He didn't need applause.
He needed victory.
And he was going to get it.