Systembound: Rise of the Dronemancer Chapter 97. Report Part 1

[Chapter 97. Report Part 1]

Searanox picked his way across the cavern floor, his heavy boots crunching loudly on the jagged fragnts of shattered chitin and blackened armor plating. He moved with a deliberate, cautious gait, climbing over the massive, cooling sections of the colossal corpse that now dominated the chamber. The air was still thick with the lingering scent of burnt biological matter, and the strange, tallic tang of the centipede's purple blood. Ahead of him, near the shimring exit portal, the mbers of the Golden Order prepared for their departure. Astera stood at the center of the group, her pearlescent face illuminated by the portal's flickering light, her expression remaining entirely unreadable as she watched the Dhampir’s progress.

"Victor," she called out, her voice cutting through the hollow echoes of the cavern with a clarity that demanded attention. Searanox paused mid-stride, turning his head slightly to face her. "We depart now. You should follow us through. The corruption within these depths may have left behind unpleasant surprises, and luck such as you have experienced today rarely repeats itself in a place like this."

Her hands moved in a swift, intricate gesture—a ritualistic sign of her order that he couldn't quite decipher. "May the Golden Light guide your path, wherever it may lead."

"I'll keep that in mind," Searanox replied with a curt, professional nod, his voice echoing back to him. "Farewell. To all of you."

His gaze swept over the rest of the team—Garu, Aruru, Valdor, and Narina—taking in their battered armor and the weary set of their shoulders.

The thought passed between the mbers of the Golden Order, a swift and silent telepathic exchange as natural to them as breathing, yet as hidden as a shadow in the night.

Without another word, the warriors turned away. One by one, they stepped into the shimring, translucent surface of the portal. Their forms blurred for a fraction of a second before vanishing completely from sight, leaving Searanox alone in the silence of the massive, ruined chamber.

The sudden, blinding glare of white marble replaced the oppressive darkness of the cavern as the shimring portal deposited the Golden Order in the Teleportation Spire of Aethelgard. The transition was instantaneous, the cool, purified air of the upper city a stark contrast to the stagnant rot of the dungeon. Narina was the first to move, her talons clicking sharply and rhythmically against the polished stone floor. Her wing-like arms were crossed tightly against her chest, her feathers still ruffled from the intensity of the battle.

"Victor…" she snorted, her voice dripping with an unfiltered scorn that echoed through the pristine, high-vaulted halls. "He was lying almost every single ti he opened his mouth. I could sll the inconsistencies on him."

"Narina. Calm yourself," Aruru's deep, gravelly voice rumbled through the hall. His tone held a subtle warning, his obsidian eyes scanning the surrounding spire for any eavesdroppers.

"Oh, I am perfectly calm," the Avian snapped back, her neck feathers flaring outward in a display of agitation. "But did you actually see the damage he caused at the end? Did you see those beams? That was not sothing a Level 21 should be capable of achieving, regardless of his class or his gear. The math simply does not add up."

"So, you are saying that Victor—or Searanox, as he truly calls himself—has sohow evaded your perception?" Astera asked. Her voice was cool and cutting as she stepped away from the portal's base. Her pearlescent face remained a mask of total impassivity, though her luminous eyes were fixed intently on Narina.

"His constructs carry a considerable amount of raw power," Valdor observed, his ancient eyes gleaming with a mixture of academic interest and wariness as he shuffled past the group. He leaned heavily on his staff, his breath hitching slightly. "The wound on Garu's hand, inflicted even while his primary defensive skill was active, speaks volus to that fact. It wasn't just heat; it was focused kinetic intent."

Astera's luminous white eyes lifted, eting Garu's quiet gaze. The Grak'thul was standing slightly apart, his massive fra casting a long shadow over the marble floor. "What level would you assign to him, then, Garu? Based on your physical contact with his power?"

The Grak'thul looked down at his massive hand, turning it over to inspect the healing tissue where the drone’s beam had impacted him, then looked back at her. "If I were to speculate—and I am being conservative—I would place him in the upper sixties, at an absolute minimum."

He flexed his thick fingers, a deep, troubled frown creasing his heavy brow. "A single, secondary drone attack shattered my active defense during the initial skirmish. Had it been the full, concentrated force he demonstrated at the end of the boss fight..." Garu paused, his voice dropping into a low, somber register. "I would have lost the hand entirely, and my sacrifice to hold the beast would have been for not. He would have punched right through ."

Stolen story; please report.

"But that can't be right," Narina snorted, the feathers around her neck bristling even further. "He acted like a complete novice... he didn't even know the most basic protocols of the System. Not once did he even attempt to use a basic identification skill on us. He was a child playing with toys."

A sudden, sharp chill ran down her spine as she rembered the way he had looked at her—cold, calculating, and entirely devoid of the fear a Level 21 should feel in the presence of the Golden Order.

"Further discussion on his potential will wait until we file our official report," Astera said, her voice cutting through Narina's rising agitation with finality. She gestured toward a descending crystalline platform, its surface gleaming under the artificial light of the spire. "We must proceed to the Cathedral. The High Priest expects a debriefing imdiately."

Narina's talons continued to click irritably against the platform as they began their descent into the heart of the city. Valdor shuffled after them, his ancient eyes gleaming with an inscrutable light as he cast a long, sideways glance at Garu. The Grak'thul remained silent throughout the ride, his massive form a towering shadow against the white marble walls, his gaze never leaving the scarred skin of his once-injured hand.

Nearly half an hour later, the twin suns of Aethelgard still burned high in the sky of a world that knew no natural night. In the Grand Cathedral's inner antechamber, Astera and her team stood before a massive table carved from a single slab of polished white obsidian like stone. Two Golden Sentinels, their heavy plate armor gleaming like captured sunlight, stood guard at the entrance, their forms as motionless as statues. As the party approached, the great, reinforced doors swung open with a low, lodic hum.

Three figures dressed in flowing, pristine white robes entered the chamber, their movents perfectly synchronized with a practiced, liturgical precision. They took their designated places at the head of the table, their faces partially obscured by the shadows of their deep, silk-lined hoods. The central figure slowly raised his head, revealing the serene yet commanding visage of the High Priest.

"Astera of the Seventh Circle," he spoke. His voice was calm, yet it carried an unmistakable undercurrent of divine authority that seed to fill every corner of the room. "Your return without casualties pleases the Order. The Light shines upon your success."

His fingers, adorned with heavy rings of wrought gold that pulsed with a soft light, interlocked as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes scanning each mber of the team.

"I was inford via the spire's relay that you encountered sothing… quite unexpected within the corrupted dungeon," he continued, his gaze finally settling on Astera. "Sothing that apparently required my direct and imdiate attention."

With a subtle, graceful gesture of his hand, he added, "Speak, child. You have my undivided attention. Leave no detail, however small, out of the record."

Astera's pearlescent fingers rested lightly on the cold surface of the white obsidian table, her posture straight and unchanged as she t the High Priest's piercing gaze.

"The report is as follows," she began, her voice as steady and unyielding as the stone walls surrounding them. "Upon our entry into the Burrowing Depths, the presence of the corruption was imdiately and overwhelmingly apparent. The initial tunnel segnts were littered with the carcasses of Carapace Crawlers, all displaying clean, cauterized energy weapon wounds. The latter segnts, however, were found to be unnaturally cleared, as if by a systematic and highly efficient process of extermination."

Her gaze shifted briefly toward Narina, acknowledging the scout’s role in the discovery. "It was at the junction between the third and fourth levels that we discovered a survivor."

Narina stepped forward at the unspoken cue, her talons clicking softly against the polished floor. Her crest feathers, usually a stark white, seed to take on a pale, tallic gold hue under the concentrated light of the cathedral's chandeliers.

"The survivor," Narina began, her voice sharp, precise, and professional, "was a Dhampir. He identified himself as Victor, though my internal scans revealed his na to be Searanox. He is listed as a Level 21 Dronemancer—a class designation that none of our current archives have previously encountered. At the ti of contact, he had been injured; his leg was necrotic from a Venod barb. He claid to have entered the dungeon alone, an assertion that was technically impossible given the sheer volu of cleared tunnels and the lethality of the local fauna."

Narina's beak clicked once, the sound sharp and jarring in the hushed, high-ceilinged chamber. "The constructs floating around him were clearly of magitech origin, yet they operated with a degree of fluid autonomy that suggests a very high synchronization rate. He went to great lengths to conceal his true capabilities, but the eventual magnitude of his power—demonstrated during the final engagent with the Depths Devourer—was far beyond anything his level or class should realistically allow."

Narina's yellow eyes t the High Priest's steady gaze, her expression hardening. Her talons flexed slightly against the edge of the obsidian table as she prepared to deliver the most vital piece of information.

"I scanned him multiple tis with my Clairvoyance skill," she continued, her voice dropping slightly in volu. Her talons flexing slightly against the obsidian table. "The na, the level, and the class were all unusual. But the most shocking detail, was sothing that wasn't revealed by the nature of my skill. He is a Title bearer."

The silence that followed her words was heavy, pressing down on the room like the weight of the deep earth they had just escaped. The High Priest's eyes narrowed, the golden rings on his fingers pulsing with a sudden, sharp intensity as he processed the gravity of the revelation.