The morning light in the Tampa Grand Hotel was filtered through the massive, 800-foot glass spires of the surrounding district, casting long, geometric shadows across the shared suite. For the first time since the "Invincible" tag appeared on Teo's HUD, the atmosphere wasn't thick with corporate dread—it was thick with the scent of sunscreen, sea salt, and Michael's overflowing suitcase of dungeon-diving gear.
"Does everyone have their travel permits?" Meneriq asked, standing by the door in a travel-ready silk thobe. He looked remarkably relaxed now that Marcus was safe and the Aegis hierarchy was stabilizing.
"I've got the hydrodynamic feedback sensors, the extra-drag swimming trunks, and sixteen bottles of high-viscosity anti-fog spray!" Demi cheered, zipping his wheelchair through the room with a speed that threatened the hotel's furniture. "Teo, do you think the plane has a slipstream I can tap into? If I angle the wheels right, I could technically create a localized low-pressure zone in the cabin!"
Teo, now wearing a simple linen shirt that partially obscured the glowing Legacy Core in his chest, laughed. "Demi, just try to stay in your seat for the flight. It's a long trip from Tampa Airport to Okiniki Nawa Airport."
👣 The Sandals of the King
The only person not ready to depart was Agamenticus Rialto. The Dragon King was sitting on the edge of a velvet armchair, arms crossed, staring down at his heavy, obsidian-treaded combat boots.
"I will not," Rialto stated, his voice a low, vibrating growl. "A Dragon King does not expose his feet to the common elements. My talons require the structural integrity and regal comfort of armored leather. Sandals are for... for vacationers."
"King, it's a tropical island," Teo pointed out, tossing a pair of leather flip-flops toward him. "You're going to sink into the sand in those boots. Plus, you'll trigger every security pylon at the airport."
"Then the pylons shall bow to me," Rialto snapped.
Meneriq sighed, a patient smile playing on his lips. He stepped forward and raised his hands in a familiar, rhythmic gesture. "Agamenticus, the heat of Okiniki is not a foe you can intimidate with leather. Allow me."
Meneriq began a soft Arabian Prayer Tradition chant. A shimmer of golden light, like heat rising from a desert dune, swirled around Rialto's feet. The heavy, spiked combat boots began to glow and soften, the dark leather thinning and the structural supports unraveling into elegant, dark-green straps.
Within seconds, the boots had morphed into a pair of high-end, ergonomic sandals.
Rialto stared at his exposed toes in horror. He let out a sharp, feral snarl, looking genuinely irritated and deeply depressed. "You have compromised my tactical profile," he muttered, looking at his feet as if they belonged to a stranger. "I feel... unoptimized. Vulnerable to pebbles."
However, as he stood up and felt the cool air on his feet, his red eyes caught a glimpse of a brochure on the coffee table: 'The 100 Flavors of Keya Island Creamery.'
"Teo," Rialto said, his voice regaining its cold, regal edge despite his 'depressed' posture. "Does the 'Blue-Sea Salt' ice cream listed here contain actual marine minerals, or is it a sub-par flavor simulation? If I am to endure this humiliation, I require high-fidelity confectionery."
✈️ Terminal 813: Tampa to Nawa
The group made their way to Tampa Airport, a sprawling complex that looked like a giant glass bird perched on the edge of the estuary. The S.S. Mango had dropped them off at the ferry terminal, and now they stood before the massive gates of the Okiniki-Nawa flight.
"There's the plane!" Michael shouted, pointing at a massive, double-decker jet painted with tropical hibiscus flowers. "It's a Level 500 Trans-Server Vessel! I heard the in-flight movies are all un-deleted scenes from the old world!"
Kian Hale—formerly Thorne—walked beside them, carrying a single neat bag. He looked at the plane, then at the group. "I checked the manifests. Marcus is already at the resort. He's booked the entire North Wing of the Keya Island Resort for the 'Hale-Valdes' party. We land directly at Okiniki Nawa Airport in the capital city of Nawa, and then it's a short shuttle to the beach."
"Then the relay is almost over," Demi said, his eyes bright as he looked toward the horizon where the sun was hitting the water. "Next stop: The Big Blue!"
As they boarded the plane, Teo looked back at the Tampa skyline one last time. The Aegis Tower was still there, a giant needle in the distance, but it no longer felt like a threat. It felt like a landmark.
"Ready, King?" Teo asked, nudging Rialto.
Rialto, currently occupied with a digital menu of ice cream toppings, didn't look up. "If the 'Mango Swirl' is out of stock, Mateo, I am redirecting this vessel to Osaka."
The cabin of the Level 500 Trans-Server Vessel was silent, save for the low hum of the engines and the frantic tapping of Demi's fingers against his armrests. For Mateo Valdes, the flight felt like a rare moment of decompression, watching the clouds streak past the reinforced windows.
🥤 The Dragon King's Hospitality
As the flight attendants moved down the aisle with the refreshment cart, they made the mistake of approaching Agamenticus Rialto.
"Greetings, servant of the sky," Rialto said, attempting a "friendly" grin that looked more like a predator evaluating a snack. His red eyes glowed with a terrifying intensity as he leaned forward. "I require a chilled infusion of the 'Mango Swirl' I was promised. And do not worry—should the vessel falter, I shall personally carry you to the surface."
The flight attendant's tray rattled violently. Her HUD flickered with a [TERROR] status effect. She dropped a napkin and retreated so quickly she nearly tripped over Demi's wheelchair.
"Why do they flee?" Rialto asked, looking genuinely perplexed as he adjusted his new green sandals. "I was offering them the protection of the Kyushu House. I even used my 'indoor' voice."
"King," Mateo sighed, sipping a soda. "Your 'indoor' voice sounds like a landslide. Maybe try not to mention 'vessel failure' while we're 30,000 feet up?"
🏙️ The Giants of the Desert
The flight path took a dramatic curve as the plane entered the Middle Eastern server space. Outside the window, the horizon was pierced by a structure that defied logic. The Burj Khalifa, scaled to 15x its original height, stood at a staggering 41,000 feet, its spire literally scraping the edge of the stratosphere.
Meneriq Hale pressed his hand against the glass, his eyes reflecting the silver light of the tower. "It is magnificent," he whispered. "But it is a completed thought. There is no more room for it to grow."
He looked toward the hazy horizon where the skeletal frame of another giant sat in the desert sands. "My own project, the Jeddah Tower... it remains half-built, a relic of a budget freeze before the Invasion. I funded it to be a beacon of the old world's ambition."
"You want to finish it?" Kian asked, looking up from a law textbook.
"One day," Meneriq smiled. "When the servers are truly stable, I will finish the spire. A world without a project is a world that has stopped breathing."
🎵 The Yunnan Incident
Suddenly, the cabin's speakers crackled to life. A high-pitched, melodic strain of traditional Chinese music from Yunnan began to play—a flute-heavy track intended to soothe the passengers.
Rialto's head snapped up. His pupils narrowed into vertical slits. To his Dragon King ears, the delicate woodwind melody apparently sounded like an aggressive challenge to his territorial authority.
"SILENCE THIS NOISE!" he barked, his cold, superior Dragon King voice echoing through the cabin like a thunderclap. "This 'Yunnan' frequency is an affront to the acoustic dignity of a Kyushu Royal! Do you wish to engage in a sonic duel with a King?! Turn it off before I rewrite the cabin's audio-logic with my bare hands!"
The flight attendants scrambled for the control panel, their hands trembling so much it took three tries to hit the "Mute" button. The music died instantly, leaving a heavy, awkward silence in the cabin.
"Much better," Rialto muttered, settling back into his seat and looking out the window. "Mateo, why is everyone staring at me? Is it the sandals? I knew the sandals were a mistake."
Mateo just put his sleep mask on. "It's not the sandals, King. It's definitely not the sandals."
As the vessel glided over the vast, shimmering expanse of the South China Sea, the cabin lights dimmed to a soft amber. The high-altitude clouds below looked like a field of un-rendered cotton, and the distant islands of the Okiniki archipelago began to blink on the radar like emerald data-points.
The peace was short-lived.
Near the galley, a female flight attendant leaned over to a young Oriental male attendant who was checking the meal-trays. "Handu, could you help me with the inventory in the rear locker?" she asked softly.
💢 The Linguistic Trigger
Agamenticus Rialto's ears twitched. His pupils didn't just narrow; they became pinpricks of crimson fury. In the ancient, high-level dialect of the Kyushu Shards, the word "Hando" didn't mean a name—it meant "Forbidden Special Power" or "Sovereign Strike."
"A Hando?" Rialto whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of shock and perceived challenge. "On this vessel? Hidden among the servants?"
He surged out of his seat, his green sandals slapping against the carpeted aisle with a sound that lacked his usual dignity but made up for it in sheer speed. He marched to the back of the plane, pointing a trembling, combat-wrapped finger at the confused male attendant.
"You!" Rialto bellowed, his voice cracking with Dragon King indignation. "You dare carry the mark of the Hando in my presence?! Do you think your 'Special Power' is a match for the Dragon King of Kyushu? Show yourself, assassin! Reveal your combat interface!"
"Sir? My name is just Handu—" the attendant stuttered, holding a tray of orange juice like a shield.
"A LIE!" Rialto screamed, lunging forward. "He admits to the power! He flaunts it! He is a sleeper agent sent to disrupt my ice cream pilgrimage!"
🤸 The Mid-Air Commotion
The back of the plane descended into absolute chaos. To the regular passengers, it looked like a very handsome, very angry man in green sandals was trying to wrestle a flight attendant over a phonetic misunderstanding.
"Get him back! He's going to breach the hull!" a businessman from Dinver yelled, grabbing Rialto's waist.
Six passengers piled onto Rialto, attempting to restrain the Level 18,523 entity. Because Rialto was trying to be "civilized" and wasn't using his full draconic strength to vaporize them, he was actually being pushed back by the sheer weight of the crowd.
"Let me go, you unoptimized peasants!" Rialto muffled, his face pressed against a seat cushion. "He is a Hando! He will delete us all!"
Michael jumped into the fray, trying to "help" by patting Rialto's head. "It's okay, King! If he has a special power, I'll just tank it! I have 45,000 HP! He can hit me with his 'Hand-do' or his 'Foot-do' and I won't even flinch! See? I'm helping!"
"You are not helping!" Rialto shrieked, his voice reaching a pitch only dogs and high-level mobs could hear. "You are muffling my battle cry!"
🛩️ Verona's Intervention
The cockpit door hissed open. A woman stepped out wearing a sharp, silver-lined pilot's attendant uniform. She had the same piercing eyes as Agamenticus, but with a cold, terrifying composure that suggested she didn't need a Dragon King title to be scary.
This was Verona, the pilot's senior attendant and Agamenticus's stepsister.
"Agamenticus Rialto," she said, her voice cutting through the screaming and the scrambling like a blade.
The passengers froze. Rialto stopped struggling and went limp in their arms, his face still red with embarrassment.
"Verona," he muttered into the seat cushion.
"The man's name is Handu. It is a common name in the Eastern Shards. It is not a declaration of war," she stated, walking over and flicking Rialto's ear with practiced precision. "You are being a 'Glitched Asset' again. Release the attendant, or I will have the pilot vent the cabin air and let you walk the rest of the way to Okiniki Nawa."
Rialto stood up, brushing off his clothes and adjusting his sandals with a sniff of wounded pride. "I... I was merely testing the crew's defensive protocols. They passed. Barely."
Verona looked at Mateo and Meneriq, offering a weary, professional nod. "I apologize for my brother. He has lived in a vacuum of his own ego for too long. We are beginning our descent. Please return to your seats before he decides the seatbelts are a conspiracy."
As Rialto slunk back to his seat, he leaned over to Mateo. "I still don't trust the Hando," he whispered. "Did you see how he held the orange juice? High-level technique."
Mateo just sighed and tightened his seatbelt. "We're almost there, King. Just... try to survive the landing."
The descent into Okiniki Nawa Airport was breathtaking. The plane banked low over the emerald-green reefs of the archipelago, the shadow of the massive Level 500 vessel momentarily darkening the white sands of the coastline. As the wheels touched down on the runway, the humid, tropical air of the Nawa Shard began to seep through the vents, smelling of hibiscus and sea salt.
But for Agamenticus Rialto, the real danger was waiting at the gate.
🌴 The Grand Welcome
As the jet bridge docked and the doors hissed open, the group was greeted not by a standard security detail, but by a Special Welcoming Committee arranged by Marcus Hale.
The airport lobby was lined with two dozen resort staff dressed in vibrant, high-definition aloha shirts and flower leis. A small band was playing upbeat ukulele music, and a giant holographic banner floated in the air: [WELCOME TO PARADISE: KING AGAMENTICUS & THE VALDES PARTY].
For a man who could face a Level 400 Shadow Mob without blinking, this was Rialto's absolute "Hard Counter."
"Oh... no," Rialto whispered, his face turning a ghostly shade of pale.
The Dragon King, who usually strode through rooms like he owned the server's physics, suddenly shrank. His shoulders hunched, and his eyes darted around for an exit. The "King of Kyushu" was gone, replaced by a man who looked like he was about to be picked first for a dodgeball game he hadn't prepared for.
🙈 The Hiding King
Rialto immediately sidled up behind Meneriq, attempting to use the Saudi man's tall, dignified frame as a human shield. He clutched the back of Meneriq's silk thobe, peeking out from behind his shoulder with wide, panicked eyes.
"Meneriq," Rialto hissed. "The NPCs... they are smiling. They are coming this way with garlands. Divert them. Tell them I am an illusion. Tell them I am a background texture!"
Meneriq, ever the professional, didn't even break his stride. Every time Rialto tried to tuck himself behind him, Meneriq would gracefully sidestep, moving to the left or right with a calm, deliberate motion that left the Dragon King fully exposed to the approaching committee.
"It is important to acknowledge your subjects, Agamenticus," Meneriq said, his voice smooth and utterly unhelpful.
"I am not their subject! I am a guest!" Rialto squeaked, lunging behind Meneriq again, only for Meneriq to execute a perfect pivot to greet a staff member.
"King! Look! They have leis!" Michael shouted, already wearing three of them. "They're made of 'Health-Regen' petals! Do you want the pink one or the orange one? The orange one matches your eyes!"
🎒 First Day Jitters
Eventually, Rialto realized Meneriq was not going to help him hide. He stopped running, standing in the middle of the lobby as a resort hostess approached him with a bright smile and a garland of tropical flowers.
The Dragon King looked utterly defeated. He stood there with his hands clasped awkwardly in front of his green sandals, his head bowed. He looked exactly like a schoolboy on his very first day of academy—nervous, shy, and desperately wishing his combat wraps could turn into an invisibility cloak.
"Welcome to Okiniki, Your Majesty," the hostess beamed, looping the flowers around his neck.
Rialto's blush was so intense it looked like a system error. "I... um... thank you," he stammered, his cold, superior voice completely failing him. "The... the flowers are... optimally rendered."
Demi zipped past him, laughing as he caught a lei around his neck like a ring-toss game. "Cheer up, King! You look like a tropical dragon! Your drag-coefficient is up, but your 'Chill-Level' just hit 100!"
Mateo walked past the blushing, trembling King, giving him a supportive pat on the shoulder. "Nice sandals, Agamenticus. They really tie the 'nervous student' look together."
Rialto glared at Mateo, but there was no heat in it—only a desperate plea for the welcoming music to stop. As they headed toward the resort shuttle, the Dragon King walked three paces behind everyone else, staring at his feet and fiddling with a petal.
The shuttle glided along the coastal highway, the tires humming against the smooth, sun-baked asphalt of the Okiniki Nawa sector. To the left, the endless blue of the Pacific stretched out, punctuated by the white crests of waves that moved with a mathematical precision. To the right, lush jungle foliage occasionally parted to reveal the towering, 2,300-foot silhouette of the island's central peak.
🌴 The North Wing Sanctuary
The shuttle pulled into the private drive of the Keya Island Resort's North Wing. The architecture here was a seamless blend of open-air luxury and advanced Kyushu technology—think mahogany beams reinforced with shimmering light-weight alloys.
Standing at the bottom of the grand marble steps was a figure that looked worlds away from the flickering, oppressed man they had rescued from the Aegis Tower.
Marcus Hale looked radiant. He was wearing a vibrant, oversized Hawaiian shirt covered in pixelated pineapples and a pair of sensible khaki shorts. He held a coconut with a neon-blue straw, looking every bit like a man who had successfully deleted his "Work" folder for the foreseeable future.
"Welcome to the sanctuary, my friends!" Marcus beamed, his voice echoing with health and vitality. He looked at the group—Mateo's quiet strength, Meneriq's dignity, and Rialto, who was still wearing his lei with the shyness of a middle-schooler at a dance. "The rooms are ready, the buffet is infinite, and I have personally disabled all corporate notifications in a ten-mile radius."
🎒 Michael's "Dungeon" Obsession
"That's great, Mr. President!" Michael shouted, jumping off the shuttle before it had even fully stopped. He didn't even look at the infinity pool or the luxury cabanas. He was already checking the durability of his grappling hook. "But according to the local lore-map I downloaded at the airport, the Ancient Ruins of the Okiniki-Maru are only five miles north! There are rumors of a Level 450 'Coral Sentinel' guarding an unpatched treasure vault!"
He looked at the group with wide, unblinking goggles. "We have to go. Right now. The server reset happens in six hours, and if we don't clear it before then, the loot table might randomize!"
A heavy, collective sigh rippled through the group.
Marcus looked at his coconut and his comfortable lounge chair.
Mateo looked at the inviting, soft bed in the distance.
Agamenticus looked at his sandals, imagining the jagged rocks of ancient ruins.
Demi even stopped spinning his wheels for a moment, contemplating the drag coefficient of jungle mud.
"Michael," Marcus said gently, "we just arrived. We've been through a corporate coup, a 300-mile sea trek, and a trans-continental flight. Perhaps a small nap first?"
"Dungeons don't take naps!" Michael insisted, planting his feet firmly. "If we wait, the Aegis remnants might find it first! Or worse... tourists!"
🗿 The Reluctant Expedition
Mateo looked at the boy's stubborn face, then at the "Invincible" tag reflecting in the hotel's glass. He knew Michael. The kid had 45,000 HP and a determination stat that was off the charts. He wasn't going to budge.
"He's not going to stop, is he?" Mateo asked, looking at Meneriq.
"In my experience with the youth of the Spulio Sector," Meneriq replied with a tired smile, "once a Diver marks a coordinate, the only way to clear the objective is to reach it."
Marcus let out a long, dramatic groan, adjusting his Hawaiian shirt. "Fine. If I must spend my first day of freedom crawling through dusty ruins instead of drinking coconut milk by the pool, I suppose I shall. But I am keeping the shirt on."
"Excellent!" Michael cheered, already sprinting toward the jungle trail. "Follow me! And watch out for the 'Binary Vines'—they have a nasty entanglement debuff!"
Agamenticus Rialto trailed behind the group, his sandals slapping against the stone path. "I am a Dragon King," he whispered to himself, adjusting his lei. "I am an apex predator of the Kyushu House. Why am I following a nine-year-old into a pile of rocks?"
The jungle of the Okiniki Shard was a dense, hyper-saturated green that seemed to hum with an almost electrical vibration. As the group pushed deeper, the polished luxury of the Keya Island Resort was swallowed by massive, bioluminescent ferns and trees whose roots looked like tangled fiber-optic cables.
"The signal is getting stronger!" Michael shouted, his goggle-display flickering with proximity pings. "It's right under this canopy!"
🔍 The Hexagonal Mystery
They broke into a small clearing where the canopy had thinned, allowing shafts of sunlight to hit a patch of disturbed, damp earth. In the center of the mud sat something that didn't belong in a "natural" ruins zone.
It was a perfectly smooth, hexagonal plate made of an iridescent, glass-like material that pulsed with a faint, rhythmic white light. It wasn't stone, and it wasn't Aegis-grade obsidian.
Mateo knelt beside it, his Legacy Core reacting instantly. The core in his chest began to throb in perfect sync with the plate's light. "This isn't a dungeon boss trigger," Mateo whispered, reaching out to brush away the remaining grime. "This is... system architecture."
🌫️ The Impossible Artifact
Demi rolled forward, his wheelchair tires sinking slightly into the soft mud. He leaned over the plate, his eyes widening behind his sensors. He began to scan the engravings etched into the surface—strange, swirling patterns that looked like ancient runes fused with modern circuitry.
"Wait," Demi said, his voice dropping an octave, his usual energetic chatter replaced by a cold, academic chill. "I know this shape. I know these markings."
"From the 813 archives?" Marcus asked, wiping sweat from his forehead with his Hawaiian shirt.
"No," Demi replied, his hand trembling as he traced the edge of the hexagon. "From the old world. From the forbidden media-shards. This is a Plate of the Original One."
Agamenticus scoffed, crossing his arms over his lei. "Speak sense, wheel-child. What is this 'Original One'?"
"It's an Arceus Plate," Demi whispered.
The clearing went silent. Even Michael stopped fidgeting.
"Demi, that's impossible," Mateo said firmly. "Arceus is a fictional character. A creature from a game-within-a-game. The Invasion pulled from reality—from history and technology—not from cartoons and monster-catching sims."
"I'm telling you, the geometry is identical!" Demi insisted, his HUD pulling up a grainy, low-res image from a cached memory file. "The Earth Plate. In the lore, these were the pieces of the creator's soul used to shape the universe. But... if it's here, in the physical mud of Okiniki..."
⚡ The Cliffhanger
As Demi's finger touched the center of the hexagon, the ground didn't just shake—it de-rezzed.
The mud beneath the plate turned into a transparent grid of green light, revealing a massive, hollow void beneath the jungle floor. A booming, synthesized voice—one that sounded nothing like the Aegis system or the Dragon King's magic—vibrated through their very bones.
[ARCHIVE BREACH DETECTED] [IDENTIFYING USER: MATEO VALDES] [BLOODLINE CONFIRMED: DEVELOPER LEVEL 1][INITIATING 'GENESIS' PROTOCOL...]
The hexagonal plate began to rise, hovering in mid-air as the light it emitted turned a blinding, crystalline gold.
"Mateo!" Meneriq shouted, reaching for him, but a barrier of pure white energy snapped into existence, separating the group.
Mateo looked down at his chest. The Legacy Core wasn't just pulsing anymore; it was unfolding, its light reaching out to merge with the floating plate. If this was a piece of a "god" that shouldn't exist, then the reality they had just "saved" was a much bigger lie than they ever imagined.
"It's not a dungeon," Mateo realized, his voice barely a whisper as the ground began to dissolve into white light. "It's a back-door."
The light swallowed the clearing, and then—absolute silence.
Author's Note: Hi all, Kai Hoshin here, I am unfortunately deciding to move all multiverse books to Royal Road in 48 hours if the Webnovel support cannot handle security. I am forced into doing something I shouldn't be doing, because that is Webnovel's job, and I want my books to be in a place that is safe for all of my readers. If Webnovel does not address it, I hope that all of my readers can migrate to Royal Road, where you will be safer and in an environment where my multiverse can excel. I hope I don't have to do that, but fingers crossed:)
And to my Chattanooga readers, regardless of the outcome, your city will be explored eventually because you are the tech star of my Southeast US region, and you will never be compared to Nashville or Memphis, you will shine just as bright as them. And Atlanta and Florida Megaregion readers, you aren't any less special, you are the combined light along with Chattanooga and every other multiverse location that makes this multiverse outshine an entire galaxy. Thank you for your support, I will keep treating your cities like every one is special and a joy in my heart, because it is. And for my mystery readers, stay tuned, there are more ciphers to come.