The heavy doors of the annex creaked open as Rosalind arrived, flanked by two towering Swiss Guards. Clad in enchanted plate that hummed with a low, defensive frequency, the guards stood like silent statues of iron.
Their presence transformed the morning from a festive celebration into a high-security operation. They weren't there to hold her train or announce her title; they were there to escort the team through the palace's classified subterranean corridors to the Rift facility.
"This way." The guards didn't look back as they struck out toward the palace's restricted northern perimeter. The path grew wilder, the canopy thickening until the midday sun was a mere memory.
They halted before a seamless wall of dense greenery that looked like a dead end to any untrained eye. One guard pressed a gauntleted hand against a hidden rune; with a rhythmic thrum of mana, the forest floor itself seemed to shift.
The green wall retracted like a living curtain, uncovering a pressurized blast door that marked the entrance to the Palace's subterranean Rift Hub.
"What lies beyond this threshold is a state secret of the highest order," the lead guard stated, his voice dropping into a low, metallic rasp. He stopped before the final blast door, his visor reflecting the dim blue light of the corridor. "By entering this facility, you are bound by the Silent Mandate. To speak of what you see here to a soul outside this unit is to forfeit your standing—and your life."
As the guard's warning echoed down the sterile hallway, a heavy silence settled over the group. The girls, usually prone to whispering, stood perfectly still. They knew that even as "Champions," they were guests in a place that could swallow them whole if they didn't respect the rules.
They moved through a sprawling labyrinth of subterranean chambers, each a window into the Empire's hidden strength. One hall opened into a mess deck where veteran Sentinels ate in disciplined silence, their heavy armor stacked nearby like hollow iron husks.
Further in, the air vibrated with the crackle of mana-simulations, where shadows danced in holographic duels against elite trainees.
Finally, they passed the staging bays—sterile, pressurized vaults where squads stood in grim preparation, their gear hissing as they sealed themselves against the toxic atmospheres of the worlds they were about to breach.
Markus's pace faltered for a fraction of a second. He recognized that frequency. It was the same bone-deep vibration that had rattled his core when he encountered the Tier 8 beast in the Forbidden Forest.
But here, the mana was contained, harnessed by stabilizing pylons that glowed with a terrifying intensity. The Empire's roots go deeper than the history books dare to write, he realized.
A Tier 8 portal requires a Tier 8 cleaner. Somewhere in this palace, or perhaps deeper in the dark, there are entities whose power dwarfs the public records of the Valerian court.
'Valerian is playing a much deeper game than our adversaries realize,' Markus mused, his silver gaze lingering on the heavy, rune-etched doors.
'He hasn't just built an empire; he's built a fortress upon a foundation of monsters. If the surrounding nations think they are marching against a gilded throne, they are in for a gruesome awakening. When the time comes, they won't just pay in gold or land; they will pay in a currency of blood and fire they aren't prepared to spend.'
"We have arrived," the guard announced, his armored gauntlet coming to rest on a heavy, brass-inlaid console.
"Beyond these reinforced valves lies the Primary Tier 1 Sector—the Nursery of the Abyss. Head inside; the Rift Supervisor is already calibrated for your arrival and will manage your deployment from the central hub. From this point on, you are under the jurisdiction of the Facility Commander."
**
"That is the gateway to the Verdant Maw," the Commander stated, his gaze fixed on the pulsing emerald light of the rift.
"The local fauna was culled during a high-tier sweep last week, so the beast density is currently sub-optimal. However, do not let the lack of predators lull you; the atmosphere remains a Grade-A biohazard, and the flora is as hungry as ever." He gave a sharp, perfunctory bow to Rosalind.
"I shall monitor your vitals from the control deck. Take care, Princess." He turned on his heel, his fingers already dancing across his slate as he drafted an arrival notification for the Emperor.
Markus took his position as the rearguard. "Consider me an observer only," he noted. "Unless an event occurs that you cannot mitigate, I will remain a spectator to your performance."
Rosanne didn't even look back at him. She stepped into Rosalind's personal space, her aura flaring with the authority of a Tier-2 Champion. "Princess, the crown stays on this side of the gate. From this moment on, you are a subordinate under my direct authority. Formalities are dead weight in a Rift, and dead weight gets people killed. You follow my lead without hesitation, or we don't step through that light. Give me your confirmation."
Rosanne crossed the event horizon first, her mana-signature blinking out from the facility's sensors. The team followed suit, moving with the rhythmic precision of a spear being thrust into the dark.
As the rearguard, Markus met the Commander's gaze through the observation glass, the exchange brief and heavy with mutual understanding. With a casual stride, he breached the portal.
The transition was a silent explosion of colour and pressure, and as his boots hit the soft, rotting mulch of the Verdant Maw, the "safety" of the Empire became a distant memory.
"Donna!," Rosanne commanded, her voice cutting through the humid drone of the jungle. Donna didn't hesitate; with a sharp flick of her wrists, she summoned a surge of mana.
[Wind Shield]
[-500 Mana]
A shimmering sphere of pressurised wind erupted around the group, spinning with enough force to deflect the heavy, pollen-choked mists of the Maw. Inside the barrier, the air suddenly became crisp and breathable, a fragile pocket of civilisation held together by Donna's unwavering focus while the toxic flora outside lashed against the invisible walls.
"First contact is yours, Rosalind," Rosanne barked over the hum of the wind sphere. "Engage the first hostile that breaches the perimeter. I need to gauge your reaction time and your lethality in a high-density environment. No more sparring, no more theory—let's see what Brother's training has actually forged."