Chapter 165: The Harvest of Ten Thousand Carcasses

The roaring torrent of deep-sea mana echoing through the subterranean preservation gallery of the Tokyo Bay Deep-Water Reserve reached a deafening crescendo.

Inside the hangar, the swirling vortex of pitch-black shadow energy collapsed inward with a low, thunderous concussive boom that sent fine concrete dust raining down from the arched ceiling.

The seven colossal skeletal frames of the Abyssal Sea-Drakes no longer floated in mid-air.

They had descended onto the grated catwalk, their titanium-calcium bones now wrapped in thick, midnight-black muscle tissue and covered in overlapping scales forged from condensed abyssal void-steel.

Along their spines, double rows of sharp obsidian fins hummed with high-frequency electrical mana, and their hollow eye sockets burned with steady, unyielding argent embers.

Standing before the seven newly synthesized sea-drakes, Renan closed his right hand into a firm, deliberate fist.

[Synthesis Complete] [Extracted Units: 7 Abyssal Sea-Drake Prime Units + 10,000 Deep-Sea Chimera Infantry] [Total Active Sovereign Legion Strength: 25,321 Units] [Core Density Update: 24,800 Units]

Inside his chest, his twin-chambered core surged with a massive influx of refined organic energy, pushing his core density within striking distance of the twenty-five thousand threshold.

Across the circular metal grating, the seven sea-drakes lowered their massive, armored skulls simultaneously, their double-crested horns striking the floor in a single, thunderous salute that shook the steel framework of the gallery.

Behind them, filling the lower storage bays where ten thousand preserved carcasses had rested thirty minutes earlier, rows upon rows of humanoid deep-sea infantry stood in flawless, silent discipline, clad in dark abyssal plating and holding obsidian tridents crackling with deep-sea pressure current.

Sylas stepped forward from the master control console, his optical visor blinking off as he disconnected his tactical link from the facility’s mainframe.

"The extraction is one hundred percent complete, Sovereign," Sylas reported, his voice quiet as falling ash. "Every carcass, every ounce of spinal marrow, and all seven core sacs have been successfully transferred through the spatial conduits into Sector Zero’s staging vaults."

Renan turned away from the seven sea-drakes, walking toward the shattered cryogenic vats.

The vast hangar, which had held the illicit biological wealth of the Japanese Consortium for five years, was completely bare.

There was no biological waste, no chemical fluid, and no structural artifact left behind to prove that ten thousand tons of monster biomass had ever existed within the silo.

"And the facility monitoring systems?" Renan asked, his voice calm, level, and unhurried.

"The Chiba naval station’s automated sensors registered a massive biological void event three minutes ago," Sylas replied, a thin, sharp smile touching his lips. "Their tactical screens showed forty-two thousand units of mana density vanishing from the bay in a single second. The naval operators are currently scrambling three submarine intercept groups to investigate why the silo is registering zero pressure weight."

Renan reached into his dark woolen coat, pulling out his matte-black void dagger.

He walked to the primary structural support pillar of the central gallery, driving the blade three inches into the reinforced concrete.

With a slow, deliberate sweep of his wrist, he carved the mark of the Ominous Monarch deep into the concrete core, letting the violet fire of his core burn the sigil into the stone.

Beneath the mark, he carved a single line:

The harvest is gathered. The field is empty.

Renan sheathed his dagger, turning his back on the empty hangar as the seven sea-drake constructs melted into pools of liquid shadow, sliding silently into his personal core domain.

"Let them search the mud," Renan commanded, walking toward the vertical access lift with Arthur and Sylas falling into step behind his heels. "We have an underworld to purge in Tokyo."

Three miles away, inside the emergency subterranean war room of the Japanese Hunter Consortium in downtown Tokyo, absolute panic reigned.

The Director of the Consortium, a sixty-year-old nobleman named Kazuma, stood over the central tactical table, his face white with terror as he stared at the flat, dead telemetry feeds streaming from Chiba.

"Explain this to me again!" Kazuma shouted, his voice cracking as he slammed his fist onto the glass map. "How does a storage facility containing forty-two thousand units of Tier-SS biomass simply evaporate from our sensors?"

The chief technician at the console shook violently, his fingers trembling over the keyboard.

"It... it didn’t just disappear, Director," the technician stammered, pointing a shaking finger at the seismic logs. "The structural weight of the silo dropped by ten thousand tons simultaneously. There are no signs of a hull breach, no torpedo impact, and no thermite residue."

The technician swallowed hard, his eyes wide with superstitious dread.

"It is as if the entire ocean floor beneath Chiba was swallowed by a ghost."

Before Kazuma could draw another breath, the massive steel security doors of the Tokyo war room did not open or blow off their hinges.

They ceased to exist.

A silent wave of dark, high-density pressure washed through the corridor, reducing the two-inch steel plates and stone frame into fine grey dust that settled silently onto the polished marble floor.

Kazuma backed away from the tactical table, his hand darting toward the ceremonial sword mounted on the wall behind his desk.

Through the cloud of powdered steel, Renan walked into the war room, his dark woolen coat buttoned to his throat, his pale hands resting inside his pockets, his leather boots leaving no marks on the floor.

Shadow Knight Arthur stepped through the ruined doorway, his six-foot claymore trailing soft ribbons of silver dragon-flame across the white marble.

Behind them, filling the underground hallway as far as the eye could see, a dozen shadow skirmishers stood in unbroken, light-devouring silence.

Kazuma gripped the hilt of his ceremonial sword, his knees shaking as the gravimetric pressure of twenty-four thousand units of core density crushed the air from his lungs.

"Who... who are you?" Kazuma choked out, his eyes locked onto Renan’s cold, violet pupils.

Renan stopped three paces from the central map table, his gaze sweeping over the twenty terrified Consortium officers standing frozen in the room.

"You spent five years hiding seven sea-drakes beneath the bay to cheat the World Council, Kazuma," Renan spoke softly, his voice carrying the absolute, terrifying weight of a monarch issuing a death sentence. "I came to collect the remainder of your tax."