The Eight Hunter Siblings stood frozen, their chests heaving from the exertion of the trap, their eyes wide as they stared at the man on the Obsidian Throne. The trap was gone. The intruders were alive. And Markus looked... entertained.

  Markus adjusted his circular, rimless spectacles. He didn't rise. He simply waved his hand, and the shattered glass dust on the floor swirled together, reforming into a pristine, white leather sofa opposite him.

  "Interesting," Markus murmured, his voice soft but carrying the weight of a judge passing a sentence. "Aryan survived. You must have paid a catastrophic price, Amara. That boy must be the anchor to your sanity."

  Amara didn't flinch. She walked over to the conjured sofa, dragging Aryan with her, and sat down with the casual arrogance of a queen visiting a neighbor.

  "Let us talk, Markus," she said, crossing her legs and mirroring his posture. "You like interesting things. Let's make things interesting."

  Markus glanced at the Eight Siblings. He didn't speak to them; he simply tilted his head toward the door.

  Hunter Eight nodded, her face pale. She turned to her siblings and whispered, "Let's go. We are dismissed."

  They vanished into the shadows, leaving the vast Glass Palace empty save for the three players who mattered.

  "Amara," Markus said, leaning back. "You promised me 'interesting.' But looking at you... you are barely Rank Five. Unstable. Bleeding energy."

  "Of course," Amara smiled, adjusting her own glasses—a gesture that perfectly mimicked his. "I don't speak of things I am not sure of, Markus. Who knows you better than me?"

  While Amara held the Monarch’s gaze, Aryan looked around with his system soul connection.

  “Hey, Little Parent. Little Parent! Where are you?” Aryan said in his mind.

  He received no response. He looked around the shared System Space. To his shock, Sam and Nine weren't standing by. They were blurring, moving at incredible speeds around the virtual representation of the palace, hacking into the ambient mana.

  “Hey! Answer me!” Aryan shouted mentally. “I won’t bother you after this.”

  “What, kid?” Sam’s voice snapped, sounding distracted. “We are busy. We can’t leave your head, but the System’s sensors can expand. We are mapping every inch of this palace. Do you know how much data is in these walls?”

  “Nine,”Aryan ignored him, focusing on the female avatar. “What is the additional effect you forgot to mention? The nuance in the Multiplier? If we are going to negotiate with this monster, I need to know what cards we hold.”

  Nine stopped her work, turning to look at him. Her expression was serious.

  “The additional effect is the counterbalance to the curse,” Nine explained rapidly. “When I told Amara she had to eat five times the normal intake, she called it a curse. But the Universe loves balance. Because hunger is infinite, the potential is also infinite.”

  “What does that mean?” Aryan asked. “Is that what Sister is betting on?”

  “Precisely,” Nine said. “The Greed Vessel doesn't just process food. It processes energy. Resources. Wealth turned into power. The limit has been removed. If you can consume enough, there is no ceiling to your stats. You don't have a Level Cap anymore, Aryan. You can grow as much as you can eat.”

  Aryan felt a chill run down his spine. “Any backlash?”

  “Insufficient data,” Nine admitted. “But right now, it is the only advantage that matters.”

  The mental conversation took less than a second. Aryan opened his eyes, his heart racing. Infinite scaling.

  Back in the room, Amara was leaning forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

  "The world thinks you are merely State Monarch Markus," Amara said, her smile not reaching her eyes. "A powerful bureaucrat ruling one territory. But that is a lie, isn't it? You are the Monarch of the Tri-State Alliance. Three countries. Three armies. All under your thumb. Our whole Continent."

  Markus raised an eyebrow, with no flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face. "I would have been disappointed if you couldn't perceive that much, Amara."

  "You planned this," Amara continued. "You raised Anay, the Greed Demon, specifically to create a Greed Vessel. You wanted someone to absorb it so you could study the result. It is a brilliant plan, Markus. Ruthless, but brilliant."

  "You are already in my hands, Amara," Markus said, sounding bored again. "Flattery will not save you."

  Then, Amara lifted her hand and placed it heavily on Aryan's shoulder.

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  "I have a Seer here," she announced. "My blood relative. My brother, whom I protect at all costs. And thanks to your Nightmare Trap, Markus... I had to save him using a Soul Bind."

  Markus paused. His finger stopped tapping the armrest.

  "Oh, Sister," Aryan said aloud, playing the part of the panicked sidekick. "If you say our secrets outright like that, what leverage do we have?"

  "Markus likes control, brother," Amara said, her eyes never leaving the Monarch. "And this makes us the ultimate specimen."

  "Now that we are Soul Bound," Amara continued, her voice hard. "Our occupations have exchanged. We are practically the only Hybrid Class in existence. A Hunter-Seer bonded pair, fueled by a Greed Vessel."

  She spread her hands.

  "Nothing in this world is more suitable for your experiments than us."

  Markus stared at them for a long moment. Then, he sighed. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with a silk cloth.

  "Amara," he said, his voice dripping with disappointment. "If you can perceive my trap, I can perceive your desperation. You are offering yourselves as lab rats because you think I will keep you alive to study you."

  He put the glasses back on. The air in the room grew heavy, the pressure crushing.

  "You are practically begging me to give you a chance. It is pathetic."

  Amara chuckled, ready to retort, but before she could speak, Aryan slammed his hand onto the white leather armrest.

  "HUH?"

  Aryan stood up, his face twisted in a snarl of pure, unadulterated frustration.

  "Then just kill us!" Aryan yelled, his voice cracking with rage. "Go ahead! Kill us right now! Then you can cry for the rest of your immortal life because you failed to find another specimen like us!"

  Markus blinked. Amara froze.

  "You stupid Monarch!" Aryan pointed a trembling finger at the most powerful being on the continent. "You aren't a genius. You're just an insecure control freak! You want to own everything, but you're too scared to take a risk. You were hoping we would beg for a slave contract, weren't you? Dream on, old man! We are the only Infinite Vessel you will ever see. You need us more than we need you!"

  Silence descended on the Glass Palace. Absolute, terrifying silence.

  Markus looked at the shouting boy. He looked at the trembling finger pointed at his face.

  Then, his shoulders began to shake.

  "Hahaha."

  It started as a chuckle, then grew into a full, resonant laugh. Markus threw his head back and laughed—a sound that actually reached his eyes, crinkling the corners with genuine amusement.

  "Interesting," Markus wiped a tear from his eye. "You are truly interesting, kid. No one has called me insecure in two hundred years."

  He leaned forward, the predator waking up.

  "Very well. You have my attention. What are the terms, Amara?”

  The Hunger of the Vessel

  Amara remained silent, her gaze fixed on Markus, weighing the invisible scales of their negotiation. But before she could speak, Aryan slammed his hand on the pristine white table, shattering the heavy atmosphere.

  "Forget all that, Old Man!" Aryan blurted out, his voice cracking with a desperate edge. "You know I haven't eaten? My whole world has turned upside down. I couldn't get straight answers from my Sister. I don’t even know the full story of how we share this blood. But my body didn’t argue. My soul didn’t hesitate. It just… accepted her."

  He paused, clutching his stomach as a loud, guttural growl echoed through the silent hall. He slumped back into the sofa, looking defeated.

  "So, about many things, I'm incredibly frustrated. And I hope you experience the same frustration one day. But right now, let me gamble on your need for what we are. On how much you want this experiment to continue."

  Aryan looked up, his golden eyes burning not with mana, but with starvation.

  "I'm so hungry. Thanks to your traps and your 'gifts,' I feel like I could eat the furniture. Let us eat. Let me eat, okay?"

  Amara didn’t scold him. She just watched Markus, her eyes calculating.

  Markus adjusted his rimless glasses, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "The Vessel is taking effect," he observed, sounding like a scientist noting a successful reaction. "'I made you this way on purpose.' The more you eat, the stronger you become. It is a simple conversion engine. As for the details..." He waved his hand nonchalantly. "Find it yourself."

  "Gosh. Old Man," Aryan groaned, standing up and pacing frantically. "The most frustrating words in the universal dictionary are 'find it yourself,' as Sam says when I need info, and 'you'll know soon,' as Amara says. You cryptic high-rankers never change."

  Amara stood up, stretching lazily like a cat that had just woken from a nap. "Since this is also part of your plan, Markus... let's eat. I admit, I am hungry too."

  She moved toward the corridor without waiting for permission, her heels clicking rhythmically on the glass floor.

  "Oh," Aryan remarked. "Amara, you walk like you’ve been here a thousand times. Like you're familiar with the layout. Is this your second home?"

  "She came here many times," Markus said from behind them, his voice smooth. "More than her own home. She was my best Hunter, after all."

  Aryan sighed outwardly, scratching his head like a confused teenager. But internally, his voice was sharp and clear through the Soul Connection.

  “Looks like my 'blabbermouth' act is working, guys. He’s answering because he thinks I’m an idiot. Hahaha.”

  "So, feed us," Aryan called back over his shoulder. "Even if you don't, I can't help serving myself. I used to work all kinds of jobs—waiter, busboy. You probably already know that, though. You are no fun.”

  Markus didn't speak. He simply stood up and glided toward the Dining Hall, his movement silent and ghostly.

  Aryan sighed and tagged along. “This man... whatever. For now, we're safe.”

  As Spring in Hell

  The Glass Palace was a structural anomaly. It was a single, sprawling floor with no upper levels—a strangely linear infinity.

  As they walked, the Morning Star greeted the palace walls. The reinforced spiritual glass caught the early rays, refracting them into a kaleidoscope of rainbows that danced across the floor. It felt like walking through a prism. It was an Eternal Spring trapped inside a cage of light—a Spring in Hell.

  "Where is the Dining Hall?" Aryan asked, looking around the identical glass corridors. "There is no sign... not even a kitchen smell."

  "Fresh up first," Hunter Eight appeared silently from a side passage. She was no longer wearing her combat mask, but her expression was just as guarded.

  Markus ignored them, moving to a sofa that faced the garden reflections, content to gaze at his own creation.

  "Where?" Amara asked.

  "I thought High Ranks didn't need such things," Aryan argued, trying to push past. "Don't we just metabolize dirt or something?"

  "Legends do say as such," Eight replied coolly, blocking his path with an arm of steel. "Mere Rank Fives don't have that privilege."

  "Mere Rank Five?" Aryan’s jaw dropped. "Wow. What about Markus?"

  "Mere Rank Fives don't have the credentials to know that," Eight retorted, her voice devoid of emotion.

  "Mere Rank Five again?" Aryan widened his eyes, playing up the shock. "Is Rank Five... low?"

  Eight ignored him, pointing to a frosted glass door. "Though this is a Glass Palace, every category has its own properties."

  "I don't have to worry about privacy?" Aryan asked, eyeing the transparent walls.

  "No one here has the time or interest to dig into your privacy," Eight said. "The glass turns opaque when occupied."

  "Can't I eat first?" Aryan pleaded, his stomach giving another treacherous growl.

  "No. Fresh up," Eight commanded. "After all the nightmares and the void, you reek of death. You stink."

  She led the way, brooking no argument.

  The Feast of Mana

  It was past seven in the morning when Aryan and Amara returned.

  Aryan’s hair was damp, and his skin was scrubbed pink. He looked cleaner than he had in weeks.

  "Oh," Aryan sighed, adjusting his collar. "This Palace sure lives up to its name. Hot spring water piped directly into the suite? A spring-like environment? I almost want to live my life just freshening up like that. Too bad I'm starving, or I would have stayed in the tub forever."

  They arrived at the circular Dining Hall.

  Three chairs were set around a crystal table. Meters away, an open-concept kitchen was visible. But the staff weren't just cooking; they were performing alchemy. Blue flames licked at pans, and ingredients floated in the air, suspended by minor telekinesis.

  The smell hit Aryan like a physical blow.

  It wasn't just the scent of spices or roasted meat. It was the heavy, intoxicating aroma of high-density Mana cooked into biological matter.

  "Wow," Aryan breathed, his eyes dilating. "This fragrance... these yummy, yummy smells... They are too good. My tummy isn't just growling; it's singing opera. I hope I can smell like this all the time. Looks like my poor life is finally getting some color. Good. Truly good."

  He rubbed his stomach, swallowing the saliva that flooded his mouth. The Greed Vessel inside him pulsed, demanding consumption.

  "Can't we eat it already?" Aryan asked, vibrating with impatience as Amara sat down gracefully and gazed out the window.

  "No," Eight said sharply from the corner. "You wait for the Monarch."

  "Why?" Aryan whined aloud.

  “Why do you keep talking nonsense, kid?” Sam’s voice boomed in his head, sounding thoroughly irritated. “I have been working silently, mapping the perimeter, and all I hear is ‘yummy yummy.’ I cannot listen to this anymore.”

  “Why, you ask?” Aryan replied internally, his mental voice dropping the clown act completely.

  He glanced at Markus, who was walking toward the table with the silence of a creeping shadow.

  “Seriously, Sam. Look at the atmosphere. This is too tense. The Markus guy is not talking about anything. He isn't threatening us, he isn't gloating. I can't figure him out. Is that how Villains are supposed to act? He's too calm. I'm freaking out here. If I stop talking, I think I might scream.”