The Guild’s registration office occupied a dedicated wing of the main building, its mystical wards specifically designed to process large-scale expedition paperwork with maximum efficiency.

Rey approached the designated counter, where a middle-aged administrator reviewed documents with professional detachment that suggested he’d processed thousands of similar applications.

"Name and rank?" the man asked without looking up.

"Eru. Gold-rank Searcher, Silverlight Guild."

That got the administrator’s attention. His eyes flicked upward, noting Rey’s Nephilim features with brief surprise before professionalism reasserted itself.

"Grand Expedition registration for the Great Dungeon of Death," Rey continued. "I understand the deadline is in two weeks."

The administrator pulled out a thick stack of forms, each one covered in dense text and mystical verification symbols.

"Standard expedition contract," he explained, sliding the papers across the counter. "Read everything carefully. You’re acknowledging awareness of mortality statistics, waiving liability claims against the Church for injuries or death sustained during operations, and accepting assignment to whatever team the expedition coordinators determine appropriate."

Rey scanned the documents with enhanced perception that allowed him to absorb the entire contents in seconds while maintaining the appearance of careful normal reading.

The contract was comprehensive—detailing expected hazards, minimum equipment requirements, mandatory purification protocols, and legal frameworks governing rewards distribution based on performance metrics.

Buried in the middle sections were clauses that essentially granted the Church absolute authority over participants’ actions during the expedition, including potential reassignment to suicide missions if tactical necessity demanded. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

’They’re not even hiding the fact that participants are expendable resources,’ Rey observed coldly. ’Anyone signing this is accepting that the Church will sacrifice them without hesitation if it serves strategic objectives.’

Perfect.

Exactly the kind of organization he could exploit.

"I accept the terms," Rey stated, signing each page with mystical verification that bound the contract through soul-level commitment.

The administrator processed the paperwork with practiced efficiency, his mystical techniques confirming Rey’s identity and Guild standing.

"Registration confirmed. Report to Cathedral Square three weeks from today at dawn. Bring only essential equipment—the Church provides standardized protective gear and purification talismans. Any personal artifacts must be declared and approved by Paladin supervisors before entry."

He handed Rey a crystalline token engraved with expedition identification codes.

"Guard that carefully. It’s your authorization to enter the dungeon barrier and participate in operations. Lost tokens cannot be replaced—you’ll be denied entry without it."

Rey secured the token carefully, recognizing its mystical signature as sophisticated authentication that would be nearly impossible to counterfeit.

"Anything else I should know?"

The administrator’s expression softened slightly—perhaps recognizing a genuine question rather than bureaucratic formality.

"The Great Dungeon of Death kills more people through panic and poor coordination than through direct combat," he said quietly. "Stay with your assigned team, follow Paladin commands without question, and don’t try to be a hero. The Church rewards competence and survival, not suicidal bravery."

Rey nodded with appropriate gratitude. "Thank you for the advice."

He departed the registration office with cold satisfaction, the token secure in his possession and his commitment to the Grand Expedition now official.

***

Meanwhile—Angelic Council Chamber, Capital City.

The chamber existed in a pocket dimension accessible only to Angels and their authorized representatives—a vast circular space with crystalline walls that reflected divine light in patterns suggesting fundamental reality itself.

Twelve thrones arranged in a circle, each occupied by the projection of an Angel whose mystical pressure made the ambient air shimmer with barely contained power.

These were not local Church authorities like Raphael in Salimoor, but Angels who served at the highest levels of Aether governance—coordinators of continental operations, military commanders with authority superseding mortal kingdoms, administrators who reported directly to the Gods themselves.

At the chamber’s center stood the magnificent projection of Archangel Michael—one of the twelve most powerful beings in Aether territories below the Five Ancients themselves, commander of holy armies and supreme coordinator of the Grand Expedition.

His appearance was magnificent—golden wings spanning fifteen meters, armor constructed from divine light that radiated power sufficient to disintegrate normal mortals through proximity alone, presence that made even the assembled Angels acknowledge his authority through instinctive deference.

"The barrier weakens faster than projected," Michael stated without preamble, his voice carrying harmonics that resonated through dimensional layers. "Our estimates suggested fifty years minimum before critical degradation. Current analysis indicates the Great Dungeon of Death’s corruption is accelerating barrier erosion—we have perhaps five years before catastrophic failure."

The assembled Angels exchanged grim glances.

"Which necessitates this Grand Expedition becoming more than routine maintenance operation," Angel Commander Uriel observed, his scarred features suggesting extensive combat experience. "We’re not just suppressing corruption levels—we’re attempting permanent resolution."

"The Emperor of Death," Angel Administrator Zadkiel confirmed, referencing expedition intelligence. "Tier 3 undead entity that evolved from the plague’s origin point. As long as it exists, the corruption regenerates faster than we can suppress it. This expedition’s primary objective is locating and destroying the Emperor permanently."

Michael nodded gravely.

"Which requires force projection exceeding previous Grand Expeditions by order of magnitude. My direct subordinate is deploying personally with five others in my group. Twenty other Angels will coordinate major operational zones. Two hundred Paladins will lead tactical units. And we’re accepting forty thousand Searcher volunteers rather than the usual fifteen thousand."

"Forty thousand?" Angel Healer Raphael—different from Salimoor’s local authority—questioned with concern. "That’s an unprecedented deployment. The logistics alone—"

"Are manageable," Michael interrupted firmly. "The Ancient Klaus has blessed this operation with additional purification resources. We have sufficient equipment to outfit the expanded force, and the tactical advantage of overwhelming numbers outweighs coordination complications."

He activated a mystical projection showing the Great Dungeon of Death’s internal structure—a nightmarish labyrinth of corrupted city streets, plague-infested buildings, and undead hordes numbering in the millions.

"The Emperor of Death resides in the city’s former cathedral, now transformed into a corruption nexus. Reaching it requires fighting through five defensive layers, each one more dangerous than entire normal dungeons. Previous expeditions never penetrated beyond the third layer before casualties forced retreat."

"This time, we advance to the Emperor’s location regardless of cost," Uriel stated coldly. "The Ancients have authorized whatever sacrifices necessary to eliminate this threat permanently."

The assembled Angels absorbed this with professional gravity, recognizing the implicit directive—participant mortality was expected and acceptable so long as the primary objective was achieved.

"What about talent recruitment?" Angel Educator Gabriel asked, shifting to secondary objectives. "The Holy Saint Academy’s enrollment has declined significantly. We need exceptional candidates who can eventually ascend to Angel status and replace casualties from previous operations."

Michael nodded. "The Grand Expedition serves a dual purpose—eliminating the Emperor while identifying potential Academy recruits. We’re specifically watching for individuals who demonstrate capabilities exceeding their apparent classification, tactical awareness suggesting divine blessing, and combat performance that indicates Angel potential."

"Current estimates suggest perhaps five to ten candidates maximum," Gabriel observed pessimistically. "Exceptional talent is rare even among tens of thousands of participants."

"Five to ten would be acceptable," Michael replied. "Quality exceeds quantity for Academy purposes. Even a single recruit who eventually achieves Angel status justifies the entire expedition’s investment."

He gestured toward the mystical projection, highlighting specific operational zones.

"Angel Coordinators will monitor all major combat engagements and document exceptional performances. Anyone demonstrating genuine potential receives immediate evaluation and possible mid-expedition recruitment. We’re authorized to offer Academy enrollment on-site for truly extraordinary individuals."

Suddenly, someone asked—

"What about Nephilim participants?"