SSS Ranked Talent: I Can Upgrade My Skills Infinitely-Chapter 155: Valeria’s Promotion, The Weight of the Shield

Chapter 155: Valeria’s Promotion, The Weight of the Shield

They had seen the sky crack. They had felt the island crash. They knew the Syndicate was still out there, and the Draconic Legion was gathering in the dark.

"The old world is dead," Alvian announced. His voice was amplified by the [Heart of Azureus], resonating in every corner of the hall. "The Council of Seven is dissolved. The independent districts are dissolved."

A murmur of protest rippled through the crowd, but it died instantly as Alvian’s violet eyes swept over them. The pressure of his stats, the [Void Monarch’s Presence], weighed on them like the ocean depth.

"We are no longer a loose coalition of tribes," Alvian continued. "We are a fortress. We are a weapon. And a weapon requires a single hand to wield it."

He raised his hand. A holographic interface appeared in the air, visible to everyone.

[System Command: Faction Restructuring.]

[Old Designation: Alliance of Azureus.]

[New Designation: The Void Sanctum.]

"From this moment, martial law is absolute," Alvian stated. "There are no nobles. There are no merchants. There are only assets. You will be judged not by your bloodline or your gold, but by your utility."

He pointed to Lysander, who was hovering in the back in his wheelchair, looking pale.

"Lysander. You are the Head of Defense. You know the Syndicate’s methods. You know their tech. You will fortify this crater until not even a microorganism can enter without your permission. If the walls fall, you fall with them."

Lysander straightened up, fear replaced by a desperate purpose. "Yes, High Marshall. I will not fail."

Alvian pointed to Kincaid.

"Kincaid. You are Head of Logistics. You will ration the food. You will manage the water. You will strip every ruined building for materials. If a single scrap of metal is wasted, I will hold you responsible."

Kincaid grinned, his gold teeth flashing. "Waste not, want not, Boss. I’m on it."

Alvian turned to the crowd.

"The Draconic Legion is coming. The Syndicate is coming. They think we are broken. They think we are prey."

He equipped the [Lance of the Void Winter]. The black blade hummed, drinking the light in the room.

"They are wrong. We are the predators. We will turn this crater into a graveyard for anyone foolish enough to test us."

The silence in the hall broke. It wasn’t cheers. It wasn’t applause. It was the sound of weapons being drawn and shields being banged against the floor. A rhythmic, primal beat of agreement.

"LONG LIVE THE SANCTUM!" Sarkos roared, surprising everyone. The Hammerhead King slammed his fist against his chest. "LONG LIVE THE HIGH MARSHALL!"

The chant spread. It echoed through the palace, through the streets, through the entire crater. It was the sound of a city that had decided to survive at any cost.

[Faction Loyalty: 95%.]

[Morale: Fanatical.]

Alvian watched them. He didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He simply nodded.

"Seraphina," Alvian whispered to the shadow beside him.

"I’m here," she replied, appearing out of thin air.

"Get me the files on the Dragon King," Alvian said. "I need to know his weakness. I need to know where he sleeps."

"You’re going to hunt him?" Seraphina asked.

"No," Alvian said, turning away from the adoring crowd. "I’m going to erase him."

He walked out of the hall, his cape billowing behind him. The administration was set. The logistics were handled. Now, he had to deal with the only variable he couldn’t control with fear or logic.

Valeria.

The training grounds of the Vanguard were located on the western edge of the crater, a flat expanse of rock that had survived the crash relatively intact. The air here was filled with the sounds of exertion—the clang of steel, the grunts of effort, the crackle of mana.

Alvian found Valeria standing at the edge of the cliffs, looking out over the jagged new mountain range that surrounded their home. She wasn’t training. She was standing still, her helmet off, her golden hair whipping in the wind. Her armor was still dented from the battle with the Draconic Vanguard, but she hadn’t taken it off.

She looked like a statue of exhaustion.

Alvian walked up behind her. He made no sound, but she knew he was there. She didn’t turn around.

"They’re calling you the King now," Valeria said, her voice quiet.

"They need a symbol," Alvian replied, stepping up beside her. "People fight harder when they have a figurehead."

"Is that all you are?" Valeria asked, finally looking at him. Her grey eyes were searching. "A symbol? A calculator?"

"It is what I need to be," Alvian said.

Valeria sighed. She looked down at her hands. They were calloused, scarred, trembling slightly.

"I can’t do it, Alvian," she whispered. "The command. The General position. I’m... I’m just a tank. I take hits. I protect people. I don’t know how to move armies. I don’t know how to sacrifice squads to save a flank. I saw what you did in the Undercroft. I saw what you did to Ignis and Shui. You... you can turn off your heart. I can’t."

She looked at the Vanguard knights training below.

"If I lead them, I’ll get them killed. I’m not ruthless enough."

Alvian looked at her. He saw the doubt eating at her. In his past life, Valeria had died because she tried to save everyone. She had thrown herself in front of a breath attack meant for a group of civilians, sacrificing her life for strangers. It was her greatest strength, and her fatal flaw.

"I don’t need you to be ruthless," Alvian said.

He turned to face her. He reached out, taking her gauntleted hand in his. The metal was cold, but her grip was warm.

"I have enough ruthlessness for both of us," Alvian said softly. "I can make the hard choices. I can sacrifice the pawns. I can be the monster in the dark."

He squeezed her hand.

"But a monster cannot lead men. A monster cannot give them hope. You do that, Valeria. You stand in the light. You hold the line. When they look at me, they see fear. When they look at you, they see courage."

Valeria looked up at him, her breath hitching. She saw past the [Void Monarch] persona. She saw the tired young man who had carried the weight of two timelines on his shoulders.

"I don’t need a politician," Alvian said, his thumb brushing over the knuckles of her gauntlet. "I don’t need a tactician. I have Seraphina for that. I need an unbreakable wall. I need someone who will stand when the world falls down. I need you."

The wind howled around them, carrying the scent of ash and mana, but in that moment, the noise of the war faded.

Valeria squeezed his hand back. The tremble in her fingers stopped.

"You point," she whispered, a fierce light returning to her eyes. "I’ll block."

"Good," Alvian said. He released her hand, though the warmth lingered. "Because I’m promoting you. Commander of the Vanguard forces. You have full autonomy over ground defense."

Valeria straightened up. She put her helmet back on. The doubt was gone, replaced by the steel of the Golden Knight.

"I won’t let them through," Valeria vowed. "Not one dragon. Not one Syndicate rat. If they want this city, they have to go through me."

"I know," Alvian said.

He watched her walk back toward the training grounds, barking orders at the knights, her voice strong and commanding. She was the heart of the army. He was the brain.

Alvian turned back to the horizon. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the Void Sanctum. The peace was temporary. The enemy was regrouping. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

He pulled up his interface.

[Next Objective: The Draconic King, Apollyon.]

"Let them come," Alvian whispered to the coming night. "We are ready."

The wind howling through the spires of Azureus no longer tasted of salt and brine. It tasted of ash.

Alvian stood on the highest rampart of the newly fortified Palace District, his [Vestments of the Void Monarch] snapping violently in the gale. Below him, the city was a hive of desperate, organized activity. The Void Sanctum was not just a faction anymore; it was a machine, and Alvian had spent the last twenty-four hours calibrating its gears to perfection.

Lysander had performed miracles with the defensive grid. The blue, shimmering domes of the city’s wards had been reinforced with hexagonal patterns of red mana—Syndicate tech reverse-engineered and repurposed. Every hundred meters along the outer wall, [Void Sentinel] turrets tracked the horizon, their barrels glowing with a low, menacing hum. They were automated death dealers, upgraded by Alvian’s touch to fire mana-piercing rounds capable of punching through dragon scales.

"Inefficient," Alvian muttered, his violet eyes scanning the northern perimeter. "The firing arcs of Battery Four overlap too much with Battery Five. It wastes energy."

He tapped his comms crystal. "Lysander. Adjust Battery Four by three degrees west. You’re creating a kill-zone that is too narrow."

"Adjusting now, High Marshall," Lysander’s voice crackled back, sounding exhausted but terrified enough to be efficient. "And... the thermal plants in the Industrial District are at 110%. If we push them harder, the pipes might burst."