The atmosphere within the temporary camp—established by the students and professors during this crisis—had shifted.
It was now thick with tension and panic; the aura of "Scorpion: Shadow and Light" loomed, overwhelming and terrifying, even though he was still several kilometers away.
After all, "Scorpion: Shadow and Light" had attained the "Boundless" rank—a level separated from the "Master of Rulers" rank by an infinite chasm.
This was a fact known to only a handful of people on the island.
Yet, even those outside the camp could sense the sheer, terrifying power he wielded.
As a leader within the "Scorpion" organization—widely regarded as the most dangerous group in the entire fantasy world—his presence signaled one thing: he possessed a truly formidable, terrifying strength.
Once the students and professors—wounded in previous clashes against the organization's minions and the waves of monsters emerging from the dungeons—had been treated, everyone began preparing for the coming battle. It was a confrontation that was, by any measure, entirely lopsided.
There were roughly 260 combatants within the camp, while the forces of the "Scorpion" organization numbered 816.
Despite this, their expressions remained steady; they had made several preparations to face a challenge that, by all appearances, seemed impossible to survive.
In the command center, a map displayed various points—marked in red, green, blue, yellow, and gray.
The red dots represented the organization's followers, categorized into six distinct tiers and scattered across the entirety of Jigwa Island. The standard red color identified the organization's followers—116 of whom remained, out of an original 435.
A deep, wine-red color marked the organization's deputies—18 in total—who had arrived as reinforcements.
A blood-red color belonged to the commander of the unit that initially attacked Jeju Island: the "Crimson Scorpion," Prismil, who was accompanied by the commander of the "Shadow and Light Scorpion" unit.
A dark, blackened red identified the 683 reinforcements, who were roaming the island while contending with waves of monsters—creatures unleashed by the students and professors with Seok's assistance.
A cold, stark red signified the commander of the 5th Council, known as the "Shadow and Light Scorpion." He was currently leading a group of fighters toward the protagonists' position, a development that caused them no small amount of tension.
A somber, dark red marked the members of the Scorpion organization who had perished in the fighting or fallen into traps—traps that included hidden "discharge domes." These domes had been cloaked in concealment magic by the professors and students to ensure the success of their plan and make the traps difficult to detect; each dome spanned five kilometers in diameter.
The bodies of the fallen were transported back to the organization's headquarters to prevent any extraction of information, as the organization employed healers capable of reanimating the dead.
Finally, a yellow color identified the students who remained within the camp, preparing for the impending battle; this group was divided into three distinct sections. The standard yellow markers represented students still undergoing medical treatment for critical or life-threatening injuries.
The mottled yellow markers indicated students who had completed their treatment and were preparing for combat—either by performing exercises to regain their physical fitness or by checking their weapons and equipment.
The radiant yellow markers designated students who had reached peak readiness and had already taken up their combat positions, prepared for the impending confrontation against the soldiers of the Scorpion Organization.
The blue markers were reserved for the instructors and were further divided into four categories.
Standard blue marked instructors who were assisting students in their preparations for the final confrontation.
Sky-blue marked instructors who had finished their medical treatment and were preparing to fight alongside the students.
Cool-blue marked instructors were those conducting reconnaissance patrols within a three-kilometer radius.
Deep-blue marked instructors were those still receiving treatment for critical or life-threatening injuries sustained while repelling waves of high-rank monsters and battling members of the Scorpion Organization.
Green dots indicated the locations of traps that had been set while the members of the Scorpion Organization were still attempting to acclimate themselves to the island's environment.
The gray markers represented the containment zones (dungeons) and were divided into four categories.
Standard gray marked zones where all monsters had been confined within containment, isolation, and concealment domes—structures reinforced by the combined power of the instructors and students. As for the dark, grayish-black areas, they represented dungeons where the monsters were not contained within domes.
The reddish-gray areas, meanwhile, marked dungeons that had been concealed using containment, isolation, and concealment domes—traps into which the Organization's followers had fallen.
Everyone's expressions were filled with relief and satisfaction as they observed the events unfolding on Jigwa Island, realizing that their plans were proceeding exactly as intended.
More than 276 followers of the Scorpion Organization had perished, and over 88 fighters had sustained injuries ranging from superficial to fatal.
They were suffering from the effects of "depletion domes"—zones stripped of specific energy types, such as Mana, Ki, or Chi—compounded by relentless monster attacks and volatile environmental conditions.
All of this had turned Jigwa Island into a graveyard for the Scorpion Organization's forces, shifting the tide of the war in favor of the camp aligned with the Versalkin Academy.
Yet, their gazes remained sharp, fixed on a specific point indicating the location of "Shadow and Light Scorpion"—who was advancing toward them, accompanied by "Crimson Scorpion" Prismil and a contingent of roughly 200 fighters.
This was a formidable enemy, impossible to repel through conventional means; the strongest among their own ranks had not yet surpassed the "Holy Ruler" tier, whereas the enemy's forces included combatants who had already transcended that level.
A tense, heavy sigh escaped everyone as they stared at the map of Jigwa Island, wishing deep down that what they were seeing was nothing more than a ridiculous lie. But reality confirmed this, and they were compelled to accept it, whether they liked it or not.
The enemy lay before them, while the terrain of Jeju Island hemmed them in from behind.
They had no choice but to confront the enemy army—a force of terrifying power, nearly impossible to defeat in a direct engagement. Yet, deep down, they had no intention of engaging the enemy head-on.
---
Two kilometers from the camp, Seok, Beatrice, and Suho stood, their expressions calm.
Seok placed his hands upon the ground to manifest a dome, while Beatrice rested her hands on his back to bolster his power.
A flicker of astonishment crossed Seok's face; Beatrice's hands were incredibly small and soft—she was no more than twelve years old, the youngest student at the Versalkin Academy.
"Are you prepared to construct the dome that will shield the camp for a time?"
Roused from his thoughts by Beatrice's cold, detached tone, Seok replied, his voice betraying a hint of tension:
"Yes, I am ready. This will be my greatest achievement."
Beatrice narrowed her eyes, recalling something Suho had said earlier, but she remained silent, focusing instead on channeling her reinforcement magic.
Seok let out a long breath as he poured his power into the earth. Inscriptions in Chinese characters began to emerge—each representing a different type of dome: the Dome of Devouring, the Dome of Energy Dissipation, the Illusion Dome, the Toxic Dome, the Frenzy Dome, the Poison Dome, the Anti-Dome, and so on.
The inscriptions began to manifest across the ground, layering over one another, while Seok's energy drained away at an alarming rate. Several minutes passed before the cylindrical dome began to take shape, forming a ring with a hollow center.
The dome spanned eight kilometers, with a two-kilometer-wide void at its core—the site of the camp. This design ensured that those inside would remain unaffected by the dome's properties, while also allowing for exploratory missions to be carried out.
Seok sighed with relief as he took a medicinal dose offered by Beatrice; he was so exhausted that he no longer had the strength to manifest a healing dome.
"Fantastic! We've finished establishing a defensive perimeter for the camp. We should head back now so you can get some rest."
Suho's tone carried a hint of relief as he helped Seok walk.
A weary smile graced Seok's lips as he looked toward Beatrice and Suho.
"Yes, you're right. We should head back."
Seok reached out and gently stroked the hair of Beatrice, who was walking beside him.
Beatrice looked stunned for a few seconds before regaining her composure.
She turned her gaze toward Seok—who was offering a warm, albeit tired, smile—and brushed his hand away from her hair.
She spoke with clear annoyance:
"I don't like it when people touch my hair. It's irritating."
The two men looked at Beatrice without saying a word. After all, she was only twelve years old, and she certainly didn't appreciate being treated like a stray cat, with every passerby reaching out to pet her. ---
A few minutes later, they arrived at the operations center, where Ryuichi, Tom, and Jian Yi were gathered alongside the grandmasters: Liu, Vanessa, Calista, and Julian.
Before them lay a three-dimensional map of Jeju Island.
Their gazes were as sharp as sword blades, tracking every subtle change unfolding on the map.
Suddenly, a silvery hue began to spread across a vast section of the map—taking on a shape more akin to a wheel than a dome—prompting expressions of satisfaction to appear on their faces.
Looking toward Seok, Liu spoke in a calm tone:
"We shall not forget your contributions during this period. Rest assured that both you and your companion, Suho, will be included in the 'Masters' Class'—a new division to be established next year."
As they listened to Liu's words, Seok and Suho's faces registered pure shock and disbelief.
Joining the Masters' Class was something far beyond anything they could have ever hoped for—even in their wildest dreams.
The Masters' Class was set to bring together the absolute elite among fighters—drawn from the Ordinary, Elite, and Legendary classes—into a single, exclusive group. It was almost too incredible to believe, let alone imagine.
Indeed, the Masters' Class would come with extraordinary privileges. While students in the regular class received training resources, potions, and refined pills—crafted from rare, impurity-free materials—ranging from the fifth to the sixth grade,
and students in the elite class received similar resources, potions, and pills ranging from the seventh to the eighth grade,
students in the legendary class were provided by the academy with resources, potions, and pills ranging from the ninth grade to the legendary rank—fitting, given that they currently serve as the public face of Versalkin Academy.
As for the "masters' class," although Versalkin Academy had yet to officially announce the privileges its students would receive,
the students were able to deduce them on their own, extrapolating from the benefits granted to the lower classes.
Furthermore, upon seeing the results of the written examination, all students and faculty at Versalkin Academy realized that the elite class would likely consist primarily of children from the great duchies.
Suho and Seok remained silent, rendered speechless.
With the coming year, a partnership was set to be established between Versalkin Academy and the Heavenly Immortals Academy, and both would be among the students selected to participate.
As students of the masters' class, their participation was a certainty—a one-hundred-percent guarantee.
It was only natural for the two to be shocked; what had unfolded for them was something they had never dared to even dream of. ---
Meanwhile, within Lucy's personal dimension, an egg pulsed with faint waves of energy, glowing in hues of gold and light crimson.
These were signs that the time for it to hatch was drawing near—a realization that brought Lucy a sense of relief as she checked on its developmental progress.
Having Armin emerge from the egg ahead of schedule would prove advantageous for the war to come.
---
In the garden of the southern wing of the Versalkin Palace, Ji Yao Li strolled alongside a fifteen-year-old youth, both taking in the beauty of their surroundings.
With his hands clasped behind his back, Ji Yao Li walked along, observing the boy, whose expression was a blend of admiration and curiosity.
"Master Ji Yao Li, your garden is beautiful! It's truly magnificent."
The youth spoke with genuine wonder, his eyes wide as he took in everything around him.
Ji Yao Li chuckled softly as he watched the young man, who was darting about with childlike glee.
Suddenly, Zehuaming Hua grabbed the youth by the back, hoisting him up with one hand; her face was clearly etched with annoyance.
The young man flailed his arms and legs clumsily, struggling to break free from her firm grip.
After a few minutes, he ceased his futile efforts—Zehuaming Hua's hold was simply too strong to escape.
A sigh, tinged with irritation, escaped her lips as she glanced back and forth between Ji Yao Li and the youth.
Zehuaming Hua was deeply vexed; she had spent three hours searching for him, only to find him wandering about the garden, playing.
Instead of training like his peers, he had been slacking off—a state of affairs she found entirely unacceptable.
"We are leaving this place. And as for you—we have a long talk ahead of us."
Zehuaming Hua departed, still clutching the youth, who began calling out to Ji Yao Li for help.
But the latter pretended to see nothing and hear none of his pleas.
---
In the training grounds, fifteen individuals sat in meditation. A grey energy swirled around their bodies—a sign of their total immersion in the task at hand.
They were the generation destined to unify the Sovereign's Path; preparing them for this purpose was an absolute necessity, regardless of the cost.
Ensuring they became the strongest and wisest among all was the only logical path forward. Zihuanming Hua placed the young man in his designated spot, instructing him to begin his meditation just like his peers.
The boy's expression betrayed a hint of resentment—a lingering reaction to how Zihuanming Hua had treated him earlier, back when he was with Ji Yao Li.
She, however, remained indifferent. With a sharp flick of her finger against his forehead, she drew a groan from him; he instinctively reached up to rub the swelling spot.
"Begin your training. You will meditate for two hours longer than the others. Is that clear?"
Zihuanming Hua spoke with a stern tone, her gaze fixed firmly upon him.
He nodded in resignation; Zihuanming Hua was a harsh mentor, one who would not hesitate to deliver a severe thrashing if the situation demanded it.
The young man settled into the lotus position, attempting to steady his mind. Soon, an energy—one entirely unrelated to *Qi* or any known system of spiritual power—began to gather within him.
A gray energy gradually took shape around him, while the fragmented words of Zihuanming Hua drifted toward his ears:
"Listen... the strongest... life is short... I do this for your own good... I am truly sorry."
Unable to fully grasp her disjointed remarks, the young man sank into a profound state of meditation.
---
In a realm cast entirely in black, the fundamental laws, concepts, existence, and non-existence were all plunged into a state of utter chaos.
The young man could not comprehend what was unfolding around him; everything was alien and beyond his grasp—to the point that the very concept of perception itself had become chaotic. He cast his gaze toward an individual with dark, violet-colored hair and eyes to match, dressed in charcoal-black attire, seated upon a throne forged from his own unique brand of chaos.
The mere sight of this figure was enough to strike terror into the young man's heart. He began to sweat profusely—in an unnatural, unsettling way—as his very physical form descended into a state of disarray, mirroring the chaotic flux of the world around him.
The figure spoke, his tone cold. He seemed genuinely surprised by the presence of an intruder in his realm.
A frigid smile spread across the face of "Narrative Chaos"—an entity who was both a fundamental concept of "World 12" and a manifestation of its narrative fabric—as he studied the young man.
"Armin Sigmort—what are you doing here? And how did you manage to arrive in this place? Never mind, I'm only joking. I know perfectly well how you got here."
Narrative Chaos spoke with icy detachment, while the pressure within his realm intensified, causing the chaos to spiral even further.
The young man stared back in silence, though he couldn't help but wonder: *Who is this 'Armin Sigmort'? My name is——; I am not that person.*
Yet, he dared not utter a word. To contradict such a terrifying entity would be an act of utter folly.
"Hahahahahahahahaha! Don't trouble yourself over the name—though it's certainly better than being labeled as '——' or simply 'the young man,' just to manufacture some cheap, contrived sense of mystery for the story."
Narrative Chaos spoke with a hint of mockery, resting his chin on his hand as he observed the bewildered youth—whose body continued to shift and transform, ceaselessly and without pause. Fawda Sardy stared into the void for several seconds, then turned his attention back to the young man. He spoke with a calm demeanor—though, to the young man, his tone carried an air of condescension:
"Do you know who I am? And do you know where you are right now?"
The young man remained silent for an indeterminate amount of time—if time even existed at all, given that the very fabric of space-time was in such a state of chaos that gauging its passage was impossible.
Then, speaking with fear and trepidation—all the while avoiding eye contact with Fawda Sardy—he replied:
"No... I don't know who you are, sir. And I don't know where I am."
The moment those words left his lips, everything around him vanished—even the chaos itself—replaced by something that was neither a void nor a true nothingness.
Terror gripped the young man's heart as he gazed toward Fawda Sardy.
An overwhelming aura radiated from the figure—an intensity that made everything the young man had ever seen, or could ever hope to see in his lifetime, seem like mere child's play compared to what was unfolding before him.
A look of amusement played on Fawda Sardy's lips as he observed the young man's pathetic state. He spoke again, in that same tone—which, to the young man, sounded haughty and domineering:
"I am called Fawda Sardy—one of the 'Lords' within the story *I Am Inside My Novel*, as well as across countless other infinite narratives.
And, well... my name is simply Issa. That is my true name.
As for where you find yourself—this is the 'Palace of Everything,' on the ninth floor; it is my own personal realm and dimension.
Your arrival here signifies only one thing... you are my heir." The young man was both bewildered and terrified. He could not fathom why he was being told all these things, while at the same time, he was gripped by dread at finding himself in the presence of one of the most powerful entities in this infinite existence.