SSS Ranked Talent: I Can Upgrade My Skills Infinitely-Chapter 179: The Dragon King’s Reaction, An Admin Threat

He held up the [Heart of Azureus]. It pulsed with a terrifying blue light.

"To the Syndicate: Your experiment is over. Your data is corrupted. Your assets are liquidated."

He looked directly at the lens, as if staring into the soul of every enemy commander.

"To the Dragon King: You want a throne? Come and take it. But bring a shovel, because you will need to dig your own grave."

Alvian’s voice dropped, becoming a whisper that thundered through the water.

"The vacation is over. I am back. And rent is due."

He cut the feed.

The city exploded into sound. Cheers from the survivors. Roars of rage from the invaders. The line had been drawn in the sand, and Alvian stood on the other side, daring the world to cross it.

Deep within the Abyssal Trench, miles below the floating city of Azureus, the darkness was absolute. The water pressure here was enough to turn steel into paste, a crushing weight that preserved the silence of the grave.

But the silence was broken.

A low, vibrating growl emanated from the rift that scarred the ocean floor. Inside the tear in reality, in a pocket dimension of red lightning and magma, Dragon King Apollyon sat upon a throne of floating obsidian shards.

He was recovering. The battle with the anomaly, Alvian, weeks ago had left a scar on his pride that burned hotter than the wound on his chest. He had been tricked. He had been cast into the void. It had taken him weeks to navigate the currents of the Dimensional Gap and claw his way back to his army.

He watched the broadcast. The holographic projection flickered in the red air of his sanctum. He saw the human standing in the conquered Citadel. He heard the words.

"Rent is due."

Apollyon’s golden slit eyes narrowed. He didn’t roar. He didn’t smash his throne. He went very, very still.

"He escaped," Apollyon whispered. The sound caused the magma pools around his throne to ripple. "I threw him into the recycle bin of the universe. I cast him into the Spire of Deleted Dreams. And he... escaped."

Apollyon stood up. His liquid metal armor shifted, flowing over his skin like living blood. He extended his senses. He didn’t just look for mana; he looked for the code. As a player from the Old Era who had ascended to monsterhood, he could see the underlying structure of the world.

He looked toward the city above. He saw Alvian’s signature.

It had changed.

Before, Alvian had been a bright, violet star—powerful, an Anomaly, but defined. Now? Now he was a black hole. He was a void in the system data. The space around him warped. The mana didn’t just flow through him; it obeyed him.

"Admin privileges," Apollyon realized, his voice tightening. "He didn’t just escape the Spire. He consumed it. He took the Warden’s keys."

Apollyon clenched his fist. The obsidian armrest of his throne disintegrated into dust.

"This is no longer a game," he hissed. "He is not a user. He is a rival administrator."

In the shadows of the sanctum, a figure stepped forward. It was a Syndicate Handler, clad in stealth gear, his face hidden behind a mask of shifting pixels. This was Voice Four, the liaison for the Draconic Legion.

"King Apollyon," the Handler said, his voice nervous. "The Syndicate High Command is concerned. The asset ’Alvian’ has exceeded projected growth parameters by 4,000%. He has neutralized Governor Ferrum. He has seized the Foundry. Our projections show a 90% chance he will fortify the city beyond our ability to breach within the week."

Apollyon turned his burning gaze on the human. "Concerned? You should be terrified."

"We advise a tactical withdrawal," the Handler continued, sweating inside his suit. "We can regroup. We can bring in the Leviathan-class bio-weapons from the surface. We can—"

"Silence," Apollyon commanded.

The Handler choked, clutching his throat as invisible pressure crushed his windpipe.

"Withdrawal is impossible," Apollyon said. "He has the [Heart of Azureus]. He has the [Void Sovereign] class. If we give him time, he will not just fortify the city. He will overwrite the region. He will delete us from the server."

Apollyon released the Handler, who fell to his knees, gasping for air.

"We do not wait," Apollyon declared. "We do not plan. We overwhelm."

He walked to the edge of the rift. He looked up at the distant, shimmering lights of the city.

"Wake the Elders," Apollyon ordered. "Wake the Ancient Ones sleeping in the bedrock. Burn the mana reserves. I want every soldier, every drake, every scrap of power launched at that city within the hour."

"But my Lord," the Handler wheezed. "The losses... the collateral damage..."

"There is no collateral," Apollyon said, his eyes glowing with a terrifying finality. "There is only the target. Alvian thinks he is the landlord? Then I will burn the house down around him."

Meanwhile, in the Industrial District of Azureus.

Alvian stood on the balcony of the Citadel, watching the city mobilize. The broadcast had done its job. The fear had turned into action. The apathy had turned into resolve. The citizens of Azureus weren’t hiding anymore; they were preparing for war.

"You really know how to make an entrance," a voice said from behind him.

Alvian turned. Valeria stood in the doorway of the ruined office. She looked exhausted, her armor battered and scorched, but she was smiling. It was a tired smile, but it was real.

"Efficiency," Alvian said, though the corner of his lip twitched upward. "It saves time."

Valeria walked over to him. She didn’t salute. She didn’t report. She simply leaned against the railing beside him, their shoulders touching. The warmth of her presence was a stark contrast to the cold void hum of his new powers.

"You were gone a long time," she said softly. "In the gap."

"Time is relative there," Alvian replied. "It felt like days. Here... weeks."

"It felt like years," Valeria admitted. She looked out at the city. "I tried to hold it together, Alvian. But without you... the center didn’t hold. The factions splintered. The Syndicate pushed. I thought..." She trailed off, her voice catching. "I thought I lost you."

Alvian looked at her. He saw the cracks in her armor, the shadows under her eyes. She had carried the weight of the world while he was gone. She had been the shield when the spear was broken.

"You didn’t lose me," Alvian said. He reached out, his hand—now pale and perfect, glowing with starlight—covering hers on the railing. "I had to go. I had to become something that could win."

"And what are you now?" she asked, looking at his hand, then up into his galaxy-filled eyes. "You feel... heavy. Like gravity."

"I am the necessary monster," Alvian said. "But I am your monster."

Valeria let out a breathy laugh, turning her hand to interlace her fingers with his. "My monster. I guess I can work with that."

For a moment, the war didn’t exist. The looming dragon army didn’t exist. There was just the two of them, standing on the edge of the apocalypse, holding on.

Then, Alvian’s interface flashed.

[Warning! Massive Mana Spike Detected.]

[Source: The Deepest Trench.]

[Multiple Calamity-Class Signatures Approaching.]

Alvian squeezed her hand, then pulled away. The moment was over. The work remained.

"They’re coming," Alvian said, his voice hardening. "Apollyon isn’t waiting. He’s sending everything."

"We’re ready," Valeria said, straightening up, the Golden Knight returning. "The Vanguard is holding the main gate."

"The gate won’t hold," Alvian said. "Not against what’s coming. We need something stronger. We need a miracle."

He walked toward the teleporter.

"Where are you going?" Valeria asked.

"To the Palace," Alvian said. "To the [Genesis Forge]. I picked up some souvenirs in the void. It’s time to use them."

The [Genesis Forge] was the beating heart of Azureus, located deep beneath the Royal Palace. It wasn’t a blacksmith’s shop. It was a chamber of pure, white mana, where the ancient founders of the city had shaped the very reality of their home.

Alvian stepped out of the lift. The heat here was spiritual, a density of creation magic that would crush a normal human flat. But Alvian walked through it effortlessly. His [Chaos Body] fed on the density.

In the center of the room floated a massive anvil made of starlight. Above it, the ley lines of the city converged into a single, blinding node.

"System. Interface with Genesis Forge."

[Access Granted. Administrator Alvian recognized.]

Alvian opened his inventory. Five objects floated out, rotating around him like satellites.

The [Mist Anchor] (Water/Fire fusion).

The [Iron-Root Anchor] (Earth/Wood fusion).

The [Gold Anchor].

The [Storm-Eater’s Core] (Lightning).

The [Psionic Cortex] (Mind).

He had gathered the foundational elements of the chaotic shards he had conquered in the Gap. Now, he was going to weave them into the city’s DNA.

"The current wards are defensive," Alvian muttered, analyzing the schematics projected in the air. "They block damage. Inefficient. A wall eventually breaks. I need a wall that bites back."