The third dungeon's battlefield stretched endlessly before Roman, a desolate land soaked in the stench of monsters and blood. Yet instead of fear, he felt the rush of determination pounding in his chest. His grip tightened around his manifested sword, its aura humming like a living creature.
With a single breath, Roman burst forward. His blade slashed through a line of lesser beasts, the cuts so clean it was as though his sword had parted the air itself. Their bodies crumbled like ash in the wind.
But he didn't stop at killing—he experimented. Each strike, each step, was a chance to test something new. He merged styles from his past life, fusing deadly swordsmanship with the aura techniques of this world. One swing flowed into another, creating seamless, brutal combos.
Monsters swarmed, snarling and snapping. Roman vanished with a sharp step—Shadow Step—reappearing behind them in a blur, his blade carving arcs of light.
And then came the spells.
With a wave of his hand, the earth shook. "Sea Dragon!" A colossal dragon of surging water coiled out of thin air, its scales glittering like sapphire. It roared, crashing into a horde, drowning them in an ocean that wasn't there moments before. Their screeches were silenced beneath the crushing tide.
Roman didn't stop. Fire gathered around his body, swelling until it took shape. A giant of flames—the Fire Titan—stood tall, its molten skin cracking and seething. With a single swing of its burning fist, a wave of fire reduced monsters to cinders in the blink of an eye.
But his true masterpiece came when he channeled liquid silver. "Mercury Lance!" Shards of shimmering quicksilver erupted, splitting the battlefield into reflective streams. They pierced enemies with unnatural precision, corroding their bodies as if their very essence was being dissolved.
The Shadow System's voice echoed coldly in the background.
"Monster count: 4,218 … 5,033 … 6,547…"
Boss-class creatures pushed him to his limits, forcing him to push deeper. Every time one nearly broke him, he adapted—finding new angles, mixing spells, bending his aura in ways unthinkable before.
Roman's body transformed under the unending cycle of battle. His hair grew long, his physique hardened into steel-like muscle, and his aura reached terrifying intensity. His Ying-Yang core evolved—six full magic circles blazing within him. More than that, he discovered balance: the ability to shift his core at will. Golden divine aura for radiant destruction. Black abyssal aura for raw, ruthless power. And when both fused—an unstable harmony no other mortal could wield.
At last, silence fell. Ten thousand monsters lay scattered, their remains vanishing into dust. Roman stood alone, his chest heaving, sweat and blood dripping from his battered frame.
The Shadow System stirred.
"Testing complete. Warrior Roman Crowell, you may leave the dungeon."
For the first time in what felt like years, Roman exhaled with relief.
Before he departed, the System spoke again:
"A gift for survival. The Veil Bracer."
A silver bracelet materialized on his wrist, humming faintly.
"This artifact conceals half of your strength and appearance. Once per week, the seal can be lifted."
Roman smirked bitterly. So the System even thinks ahead for me. How would I explain this sudden change to Father or Big Sister otherwise?
Casting one last glance at his torn clothes and blood-stained body, Roman conjured a massive portal. Runes spiraled across its surface like constellations. This was his newest creation—Astral Gate. With it, he could return to any place he had personally visited.
He stepped through, landing in his own room. The door clicked shut behind him.
With a deep breath, Roman removed the Veil Bracer. His reflection in the mirror left him stunned. Broad shoulders. Hardened abs. His aura shimmered, barely restrained. He looked like someone entirely new—like a man forged from battle.
I can't show this to anyone… not yet.
He cut his long hair himself, returning it to a shorter style, then slipped the bracer back on. His body instantly shifted, power suppressed, appearance softened. Still him—but manageable.
Stripping away the ruined clothes, Roman sank into a hot bath. The warmth enveloped his battle-scarred body, steam rising as he closed his eyes. For a brief moment, he allowed himself peace.
But beyond these walls, far from his quiet respite, the storm of politics gathered. Duke Jacob sat with Duke Noah Rockson and Count Isaac—voices of power clashing in secret.
And Roman's trials, though unseen, were only the beginning.