The heavy silence in the Sanctuary was broken only by the crackling of the Abyssal furnaces and the blinding roar of High Inquisitor Malakor’s holy aura.

Malakor, a Level 88 Arch-Inquisitor, was a walking cataclysm. The volume of golden holy mana bleeding from his core was so intense that the pristine obsidian floor beneath his boots melted into glowing red slag. The air around him warped, superheated by fanatical rage.

"You covet experience points, Heretic?" Malakor hissed, his voice echoing with the terrifying resonance of a divine conduit. "I will give you nothing but the ashes of your own domain."

Kaelen stood at the base of his throne, rolling his broad shoulders. Despite being Level 61—twenty-seven levels lower than his opponent—his posture was completely relaxed. The void mana swirling around his fists consumed the ambient light, creating a localized black hole that greedily ate the Inquisitor’s holy radiation.

"Seraphina," he called out, not taking his glowing violet eyes off Malakor. "Lyriel. Elara. Stand back."

Seraphina immediately lowered her broadsword and bowed her head. "By your will, Master."

"Watch closely," he added, a wicked smirk spreading across his face. "I will show you exactly how fragile the foundation of your former Church truly is."

Malakor’s eyes widened in unrestrained fury at the disrespect. Without bothering to cast a preliminary ward, he slammed the base of his golden staff into the melting floor.

"Wrath of the Sun!" Malakor roared.

A blinding beam of concentrated holy fire erupted from the crystal at the tip of his staff. Designed to instantly vaporize high-tier Dungeon Bosses, the beam tore across the cavern at the speed of light, carrying enough thermal energy to incinerate Kaelen’s throne and blow a hole straight through the Sanctuary.

Kaelen didn’t dodge. He planted his heavy boots, raised his right arm, and opened his bare palm.

BOOM.

The impact created a deafening, catastrophic shockwave that rattled the entire 10th Floor. The Abyssal furnaces flared violently as the cavern was flooded with blinding gold light.

As the smoke cleared, the sheer impossibility of the scene caused Malakor’s breath to catch.

Kaelen was still standing there, completely unmoved. The sleeve of his tunic had been burned away, revealing his dense, muscular arm, but his skin wasn’t even blistered. He casually held the residual sphere of holy fire perfectly in his hand, his void mana aggressively devouring the golden light like a starving beast.

"Impossible..." Malakor whispered, his cold blue eyes trembling. "That was a Level 88 execution spell. You are a mere Level 61. The raw numerical difference should have instantly vaporized your core!"

"Your Goddess relies on volume, Malakor," he replied smoothly, crushing the sphere into dead sparks. "She pumps you full of hollow, diluted energy and calls it a blessing. The Abyss relies on density. My Level 61 void mana is heavier than an ocean of your cheap light. And my physical stats... well. I stole those from someone much stronger than you."

Kaelen tapped into the Level 85 physical strength he had synchronized through his intimate Mana-Binding with Seraphina. He vanished with terrifying, explosive speed.

He crossed the fifty-yard distance in a fraction of a second, the obsidian stone shattering beneath his boots.

Malakor didn’t even have time to blink. Suddenly, the towering dark god of the Dungeon was standing directly inside his guard.

"Aegis of the—" Malakor desperately chanted, throwing his staff up to cast a point-blank barrier.

Kaelen swung his fist. He didn’t use magic. He didn’t use a weapon. He delivered a raw, perfectly executed physical hook directly into the center of the staff.

CRACK.

The priceless, heavily enchanted holy relic—a weapon that had served the High Inquisitor for forty years—snapped cleanly in two. The kinetic force of the punch carried through the shattered staff and slammed directly into Malakor’s chest.

The Arch-Inquisitor was launched completely off his feet, flying backward through the air like a discarded ragdoll. He crashed into the solid stone wall, leaving a massive, spider-web crater in the obsidian.

Malakor spat a mouthful of golden blood, his pristine white robes thoroughly ruined. He gasped for air, his ribs shattered by a single, un-enhanced punch.

"Is this the peak of the Silver Crusade?" Kaelen mocked, slowly walking toward the bleeding man. The rhythmic sound of his boots echoing against the stone felt like a death knell. "You marched an army into my home, broke my ceiling, and confidently demanded my head. I expected a fight. Instead, I find a fragile old man wearing a fancy dress."

From the sidelines, Seraphina watched her former superior humiliated. For a decade, she had been forced to kneel to this man, believing his power was absolute. Seeing Kaelen casually break him with bare hands sent an intoxicating shiver of pure devotion down her spine. Her Master truly was a god.

Despair finally breached Malakor’s fanatical mind. The Heretic wasn’t just strong; he was an anomaly that defied the System’s natural laws.

"I will not fall to the dark," Malakor gurgled, his eyes bleeding golden light as he forced himself to stand. He abandoned his shattered staff and pressed his hands against his own chest. He began to burn his life force, desperately attempting to summon a Martyr’s Explosion—a suicidal tactic designed to level the entire Floor.

"O Goddess, accept my soul and cleanse this—"

Of course he wouldn’t let him finish.

With a flash of Level 60 agility, Kaelen materialized in front of the Inquisitor. He slammed his left hand against Malakor’s face, his fingers wrapping around the skull and violently slamming the back of his head against the wall.

"The Goddess doesn’t want you," he whispered, his violet eyes glowing with malice. "And neither do I."

He plunged his right hand directly into Malakor’s glowing chest. Bypassing the physical flesh entirely, his hand phased into the spiritual pathways. He’s fingers closed tightly around Malakor’s Level 88 holy core.

Malakor let out a blood-curdling scream as Kaelen ripped the golden crystal entirely out of his chest.

The Arch-Inquisitor’s holy aura instantly died. His eyes rolled back, and his hollow body slumped pathetically to the floor.

[Kill: High Inquisitor Malakor (Level 88 Boss). +150,000 EXP.]

[Massive Experience Threshold Met! Leveling Up...]

[Level Up! You are now Level 62.]

[Level Up! You are now Level 63.]

[Level Up! You are now Level 64.]

[Level Up! You are now Level 65.]

[System Notification: Dungeon Master has successfully slain an Apex Holy Entity. Absorbing Core Stats...]

[Intelligence +40. Wisdom +50. Maximum Mana Capacity increased by 30%.]

He stood over the corpse, taking a deep breath as the massive influx of raw experience flooded his veins. The hyper-dense void mana aggressively consumed the holy core in his hand, converting the Goddess’s light into pure Abyssal fuel.

Through their intimate Mana-Binding, the residual EXP flowed flawlessly into his generals. Seraphina, Lyriel, and Elara all visibly shuddered as their own stats violently spiked, strengthening the entire harem network simultaneously.

He dropped the empty husk of the core onto Malakor’s corpse. He turned around, facing his fiercely loyal women. The blazing light of the furnaces cast his towering silhouette against the cavern walls.

"The Vanguard is dead. The Dragon-Blood Patriarch is dead. The High Inquisitor is dead," he declared, his deep voice carrying the absolute crushing authority of a true ruler.

Elara stepped forward, her emerald eyes shining with obsessive adoration. "The capital of Aethelgard will be in absolute chaos by morning, Master. Without Malakor and Arric, the Church and the Noble Houses will tear each other apart fighting for the power vacuum."

"Exactly," he replied smoothly, walking back toward his obsidian throne. He sat down heavily, resting his arm on the armrest and looking up at the massive hole the Inquisitor had blown into his ceiling.

"They believed they were the hunters," he said, a dark, dangerous smile dominating his features. "But all they did was hand deliver the experience points I needed to evolve."

He looked at his golden-haired fallen paladin. "Vanguard. Take Lyriel and scout the surface. The Silver Crusade is broken, but there will be stragglers and supply camps in the Whispering Woods. Leave no survivors, and bring all their resources back to the Alchemist."

"By your will, Master," Seraphina and Lyriel replied in perfect unison, bowing deeply before flawlessly melting into the shadows.

Kaelen turned his gaze to Elara, who was already eagerly looking at the massive pile of fresh Platinum armor and high-tier holy relics scattered across the bloody floor.

"Melt it all down, Elara," he commanded, the violet light of the Primordial Core pulsing heavily behind him. "The Sanctuary is fully stocked. Its time to prepare for the surface war."