For several long seconds after the coffin shattered, no one moved.
The sound of splitting metal still echoed faintly through the cavern, reverberating off the dungeon walls like a delayed thunderclap. Massive slabs of broken Gravium lay scattered across the stone floor, some half-embedded into rock from the sheer force of impact. Dust rolled slowly through the air, mixing with the lingering residue of cursed energy.
The oppressive atmosphere hadn't lifted.
It had changed.
Everyone was stunned.
"Was that… really made out of Gravium?"
The whisper came from one of the connected feeds, barely audible, yet it carried through the silent channel like a confession of disbelief.
Gravium.
A material so rare that even a pound of it could bankrupt mid-tier guilds. A metal said to rival dragon bone in density. Something even S-rankers struggled to acquire in significant quantity.
And Ashan had just dismantled an entire coffin made of it.
Not instantly.
But inevitably.
Ashan stepped over one of the shattered slabs and crouched, brushing his fingers across its fractured edge. His touch was almost thoughtful, analytical, as though he were inspecting a tool rather than something considered priceless.
He flicked his fingers.
A faint metallic vibration answered.
'Dense. Resistant.'
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
'It took dozens of dismantle slashes to properly separate it. Even Arakwaru's body didn't resist that much.'
Without speaking, he extended his hand once more.
[Dismantle]
This time, the cursed slashes weren't wild or explosive. They were precise, controlled to an almost surgical degree. Thin lines of invisible force carved through the Gravium again and again, each impact producing a sharp metallic ring. Sparks flared. The metal protested.
It did not yield easily.
And that made Ashan's smile deepen.
After several calculated cuts, a massive chunk finally separated cleanly. The weight of it cracked the stone beneath as it dropped, yet Ashan caught it mid-fall with effortless control.
He weighed it in his palm.
Heavy enough to crush a normal man's spine.
He tossed it casually, caught it again.
'If I forge blades from this… I can use the Seven Sword Technique without worrying about fractures.'
His gaze hardened faintly.
'The blades I used against Araksha cracked under pressure. That won't happen again.'
One by one, he carved several large pieces down to manageable size and sent them into his storage. Each piece vanished in a ripple of spatial distortion.
On the other side of the transmission, silence still reigned.
Ashan leaned slightly toward the device.
"What was it you said, old man?" he asked casually.
"You claimed this material was extremely rare."
He nudged one of the broken slabs with his foot.
"Well… I just found an entire coffin made of it."
He tilted his head slightly, crimson eyes glinting faintly.
"Wait until I forge a weapon from this."
His smile was slow.
"Prepare yourself. Ready to get your ass beaten."
Before Silas could erupt, Ashan calmly removed the device from Sisiliya's grip and placed it back into her hands.
"Madam," he said politely, as though they were discussing market prices, "shall we conclude things for today?"
He gestured lazily at the destroyed remains.
"I'll take these Gravium pieces as payment for clearing the dungeon."
A faint glance.
"I trust that won't trouble you."
Sisiliya blinked once.
Twice.
Her mind was still replaying the image of Gravium shattering under cursed slashes.
"Haa… A-Alright," she managed.
Even her voice sounded distant to herself.
…
The dungeon was cleared shortly afterward.
Treasures were catalogued. Mana stones were secured. Artifacts were stored. The raiders moved efficiently, but their glances kept drifting toward Ashan.
Not with hostility.
But uncertainty. Fear.
They had just watched someone casually treat a legendary metal like scrap.
When they finally stepped out of the dungeon's entrance and into the open world, sunlight spilled over them like liquid gold.
Ashan inhaled deeply.
"Huu…"
Fresh air filled his lungs. The breeze carried the scent of trees and earth instead of stagnant mana.
"I feel like I'm alive again," he murmured.
He rolled his shoulders once.
"The air inside that dungeon was suffocating. Polluted with corrupted energy."
He lifted his gaze toward the bright sky.
And then, Narasha surfaced in his mind without warning.
Her expression.
Her voice.
The way she had looked at him in the academy courtyard.
Ashan's cheeks faintly warmed. A small, unguarded smile appeared.
'To think the first person I remember after stepping out… is her.'
He let out a quiet breath.
'This is really something.'
Footsteps approached. Sisiliya and Draven came to stand beside him.
"Are you leaving?" Sisiliya asked.
Ashan nodded.
"Yes. My mission here is complete."
His expression shifted, becoming slightly more serious.
"I have plans to make. And that fragment needs to be destroyed."
Draven crossed his arms.
"That thing… what exactly was it?"
His voice lowered.
"It felt wrong. Like it was connected to something far worse."
Ashan's gaze sharpened. "It is."
He glanced at Sisiliya briefly.
"I already informed your professor. If you need details, ask her."
His tone lowered. "But keep it confidential."
Draven inhaled slowly, then stepped forward.
"There's something else that I want to ask."
Ashan turned toward him fully.
"I'm listening."
Draven met his gaze.
No Sharingan now.
Just calm eyes.
"How strong are you?" Draven asked directly. "You're undoubtedly stronger than an S-ranker."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"What are your true capabilities?"
Ashan was quiet for several seconds. He studied Draven. Then glanced at Sisiliya.
Ensuring no device was active.
"Boy," he said finally, voice calm and steady, "I can answer you honestly."
He looked toward the horizon.
"But I doubt you'd believe me."
"I'll accept it," Draven replied immediately.
Ashan clasped his hands behind his back.
"Considering my abilities, my techniques… and the size of this country…"
He paused.
"If I wanted to…"
His tone did not change.
"I could erase this entire country from the map in one or two days."
The wind seemed to still.
Sisiliya's breath caught sharply.
Draven stared at him. "You're serious?"
Ashan's expression did not waver in the slightest.
"Yes."
The word came without hesitation, without heat, without pride.
"Belief is your choice."
The simplicity of it made it heavier.
There was no dramatic aura flare, no overwhelming surge of mana to emphasize his claim. That was what unsettled Sisiliya the most.
He wasn't posturing. He wasn't trying to intimidate them.
He was calculating.
Because if one truly combined everything he possessed; the Shadow Clone Technique multiplying his battlefield presence into an army of himself, the towering might of Susanoo shielding and crushing in equal measure, the inextinguishable black blaze of Amaterasu that devoured anything it touched, Sukuna's ruthless cursed techniques that carved reality itself apart, and the suicidal yet devastating power of the Eight Gates, then yes…
Mass-scale destruction wasn't fantasy.
It was logistics.
Sisiliya felt a cold line of sweat trace down her spine.
'Is he actually telling the truth?'
Her gaze lingered on him, searching for exaggeration, for ego.
She found none.
Then a more frightening thought settled into her chest.
'If he truly intended harm… no alliance, no guild coalition, no gathering of S-rankers would be enough to stop him.'
Ashan broke the silence before it could grow suffocating.
"Anyway, I'll be going."
He gave a faint nod, casual yet decisive.
"We'll meet again."
"But the duel," Sisiliya pressed, stepping forward despite herself. "Were you serious about fighting Silas?"
Ashan stretched his arms above his head, fingers interlocking as his spine gave a soft crack. The movement was relaxed, almost lazy.
"Of course," he replied. "I don't joke about duels."
A faint smirk curved his lips.
"I'm going to kick that old man and shatter his arrogance."
Sisiliya frowned, though there was less anger in it now and more concern.
"Is that wise? Provoking S-rankers publicly like that?"
Ashan chuckled, low and unbothered.
"I provoked him specifically," he corrected. "Not the others."
He lowered his arms and glanced at her sideways.
"And I declared it because I knew he would accept."
Draven narrowed his eyes.
"So it was intentional," he said slowly. "But for what purpose?"
Ashan blinked once, as though the answer were painfully obvious.
"What are you saying?"
He gestured vaguely in the direction of headquarters.
"He is the highest-quality punching bag I can ever find."
Draven stiffened.
Sisiliya stared at him in disbelief.
Ashan continued, completely serious.
"Using him, I can engage in real battles. Not controlled spars. Not staged demonstrations. Proper, ruthless sword combat."
His gaze sharpened.
"I'll test my limits. I'll push my techniques to the brink. I'll make good use of him."
Sisiliya opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"You really are insane," she muttered under her breath. "Do you think it will be easy to rival him with swords? He is the strongest swordmaster I have ever known."
Ashan turned sharply toward her.
"Strongest known swordmaster?" he repeated.
His tone shifted, no longer mocking, but curious.
"Are you serious?"
He stepped slightly closer.
"What about your friend who died ages ago?"
His voice lowered. "Wasn't he the strongest?"
Sisiliya froze.
The air seemed to grow heavier.
Her eyes lost their sharpness, softening into something far older.
She slowly looked down.
"…You're right," she said quietly. "That was my mistake."
A breath left her lips.
"Yes. He was the strongest swordsman I have ever known."
The admission carried weight, regret, memory, loss.
Ashan nodded once.
"I heard Silas used to spar with him often."
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"No wonder Silas became the Sword Saint."
"Yes," Sisiliya replied, her voice distant. "They were like brothers."
For a moment, the wind moved between them, carrying unspoken history.
Then Ashan shifted his attention to Draven.
"Do you know why I picked a fight with him?" he asked calmly.
Draven shook his head.
Ashan's gaze deepened, not arrogant, not dismissive, but intent.
"The truth is simple."
He stepped forward slightly, his presence growing sharper without raising his voice.
"I seek combat experience."
His eyes locked onto Draven's.
"The more I fight, the more I learn. Every clash reveals something. Every near miss exposes weakness. Every wound teaches precision."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"I won't be satisfied with scraps of knowledge. I carve my growth out of battle."
His tone hardened, not loudly, but with conviction.
"I crave a new path. A way to uncover what I lack. The flaws I'm blind to."
He paused.
"That is what I learned."
A faint breath.
"The way of a swordmaster."
Draven listened without interrupting.
Ashan studied him for a moment before continuing.
"I see you as someone with boundless potential."
Draven's shoulders stiffened slightly.
"But potential alone is worthless without hardship," Ashan said bluntly.
"What you lack is brutal experience. The kind that forces you to confront death without certainty of survival."
His eyes narrowed.
"The kind of battle where hesitation costs limbs."
Silence pressed down on them.
"If you were only slightly stronger today," Ashan continued evenly, "you might have slain that monster with ease."
Draven's jaw tightened.
"There is no question your magic is extraordinary," Ashan admitted. "But magic alone creates distance."
He gestured toward Draven's sword.
"Refine your physical combat. Strengthen your body. Learn how to weave your spells into your blade so seamlessly that your opponent cannot distinguish where steel ends and sorcery begins."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice slightly.
"Become a fighter who doesn't rely on magic, but enhances himself with it."
A firm hand landed on Draven's shoulder.
"Consider this advice from someone who has survived a harsher path than you."
Draven closed his eyes halfway and exhaled slowly.
The pride inside him struggled for a moment,
Then settled.
"I'll keep that in mind."
Ashan's expression softened faintly.
"Good."
He gave his shoulder a final pat.
"When we meet next time, I expect a stronger version of you."
Draven nodded firmly.
"You will."
A brief silence followed.
Then Draven added, more quietly:
"Let's meet again."
Ashan turned his gaze toward the horizon. The sunlight caught his silhouette, outlining him against the sky like a figure cut from shadow and flame.
A faint smile appeared.
"Yes."
And in the next instant, he vanished.