Overflow

Objectively speaking, Do-yun’s mana reserves were nowhere near abundant.

Of course they towered over those of every other challenger, whose stats remained locked, yet the moment he recalled the ranks of the skills he actually possessed, a doubtful tilt of the head was inevitable.

Not content with C-rank and B-rank, he even carried S-rank and SS-rank.

The grades of his skills soared high, yet the total mana required to support them was pitifully insufficient. The present moment proved it all too clearly. Barely thirty seconds into the fight, his mana had already evaporated.

And that was only because he had been chopping Subspace into second-long bursts. If he hadn’t…

Had the Sentinel’s assault lasted even a fraction longer, had he missed the window to drop Subspace, he would have been left with not a single drop of mana for a counterattack. That was how thoroughly Do-yun was wielding power far beyond his means.

But the Memorize function changed everything. A skill stored through Memorize required none of the caster’s own mana. In other words, even an S-rank spell that exceeded his natural limits could be unleashed without the slightest burden.

“Charge at one hundred percent complete.”

While Do-yun readied his staff, the Sentinel had not been idle. It, too, was gathering every scrap of firepower for its finest strike.

A deep, resonant hum shook the entire space. The epicenter of that vibration was none other than the Sentinel’s chest. The crystal core that had already fired one devastating beam now blazed once more—yet the nature of this attack was utterly different from the earlier blast that had obliterated everything around Do-yun.

A single point. Energy compressed and recompressed into one infinitesimal mote. The ancient chassis of the Sentinel began to crack and flake under the torrent of power, yet the machine paid no heed—as though any price was acceptable so long as it could kill Do-yun.

Mana, formless by nature, condensed until it became clearly visible to the naked eye. A single perfect hit would vaporize Do-yun on the spot. The finished round shot toward him.

A thunderous roar. Do-yun’s vision stretched into slow motion. Subspace was unusable; his mana had already hit rock bottom. Yet he felt no panic. Calmly he swung the staff toward the murderous mass of compressed mana.

The change began at his feet. Spider-web cracks spread silently across the floor he stood on. The fissures raced along the ground, through the air, and straight toward the Sentinel. The instant the flying mana round entered Ruin’s range, its form began to warp grotesquely.

A sharp crack. The flow of mana twisted; the tightly condensed energy lost all control and scattered in every direction. The blue remnants flickered a few times in midair before vanishing completely.

The Sentinel’s lenses trembled violently at the sight.

“Mana round structure collapse detected. Energy signature dissipation in progress.”

Ruin, however, did not stop at neutralizing the projectile.

A heavy thud. External plating sheared away from the Sentinel’s body. The detached components shattered like porcelain the moment they struck ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the floor.

“Error. External armor damage detected. Emergency repair systems activating.”

The Sentinel desperately tried to gather the fallen parts to restore itself—yet the metal fragments crumbled into sand the instant they touched its hands. That was the power of the magic Do-yun had just unleashed: Ruin.

Too late, the Sentinel understood. It was already a walking corpse. Piece by piece, the components that formed its body dissolved into faint ash-gray particles and drifted away.

“Self-destruct sequence… impossible. Containment protocol commands unavailable.”

Even so the Sentinel thrashed, attempting every last desperate measure. On the surface it still looked mostly intact, yet the majority of its functions had long since failed. The more it struggled, the faster the collapse accelerated.

“All remaining energy committed. Final attack initiated.”

Its last effort was the creation of one tiny mana round—pathetic compared to the previous shot, yet still lethal to Do-yun in his near-empty state.

If it can hit me, that is.

A trickle of mana had recovered just in time. As the round approached, Do-yun’s entire body slowly sank into darkness.

The belated mana round passed harmlessly through the space where his body had been.

What Subspace guarantees is literal invincibility.

Aside from the minor drawback that he himself could inflict no damage while it lasted, no harm could reach him for the duration of the skill. The Sentinel’s fatal mistake had been assuming Subspace only blocked physical attacks. Continuous machine-gun fire ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would actually have been far more threatening.

Still… what the hell was that thing?

Do-yun tilted the staff slightly, lost in thought. At first he had believed the Sentinel to be a returnee left behind in this cyberpunk megacity. Too many details failed to fit. First, its skills: the only ability it had ever used was the C-rank Isolation Zone. No D-rank, no E-rank—not even a single F-rank skill, despite the fact that clever use of lower-grade abilities could easily have caught him off guard.

And that final attack…

It had not been a skill at all. It had simply been an absurdly large amount of raw mana slammed into a single projectile—an extremely inefficient method compared to proper skill use. Given that the Sentinel had truly intended to kill him, that might have been the best it could manage. One fact remained certain: the way it handled mana was anything but normal.

“Not like I can perform an autopsy.”

Ruin. The S-rank magic that bore that name had erased everything. The only trace the Sentinel left behind was a handful of ash-gray dust, and even that vanished with a single breath of wind. Survival had demanded it, yet it still felt like using a butcher’s cleaver to kill a chicken.

“No time for this.”

Do-yun brushed himself off, rose, and started walking.

The staff still had ample time left in its true form. Do-yun intended to wring every last drop of value from it before the clock ran out.

“First, the mana.”

The mass of mana the Sentinel had compressed and fired had lost its shape after entering Ruin’s domain, yet that did not mean the mana itself had vanished.

A low hum. When Do-yun thrust the staff into the spot where the energy had scattered, the mana began to gather around it. Moments later two new notifications bloomed before his eyes.

As expected of an SS-rank item. Simply supplying it with mana had Memorized the S-rank skill two more times.

“But what exactly is Ether?”

He knew mana well enough, yet the word “Ether” was entirely new to him. Context suggested it was simply another name for mana, yet he had never heard a single returnee use the term.

I’ll remember it for now.

Cutting the thought short, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Do-yun quickened his pace. Every second was precious. He strode deeper into the Company’s interior.

It’s cleaner inside than I expected.

The first impression was startling. The lobby was immaculate—soaring ceilings, silver reinforced glass and white composite walls stretching in perfect lines, glossy black tiles reflecting light as though freshly polished. At the center lay an artificial pond; above it a holographic display endlessly repeated a soft female voice.

Ciel gaped, overwhelmed by the spectacle.

“Snap out of it.”

Do-yun lightly bonked her forehead with the staff. Outwardly the place looked like nothing more than a polished corporate lobby, yet Absolute Sight made it painfully clear the location was anything but harmless.

One behind the left wall. Two in the front shrubbery. One beyond the ceiling.

Presences that felt identical to the Sentinel—security robots—registered clearly. And that was not all. A faint drone-wing vibration whispered from somewhere nearby, while dormant sensor lights hidden in wall seams woke one after another. As if proving its status as the megacorporation that spearheaded this world’s technological progress, the Company’s precision defense systems activated in perfect unison. Even Do-yun felt tension coil through him—staff or no staff.

Two waves of destructive force layered atop each other. The staff wove them together and forged something new.

Security-robot cores, anti-gravity units of floating drones, hidden wall sensors—every single object that contained mana began to overload simultaneously.

A blinding flash. Dozens of devices detonated in a chain reaction. Do-yun watched and murmured under his breath,

“An SS-rank skill really is on another level.”

Ruin eroded and collapsed targets from the outside; Overflow forcibly detonated the mana flowing within them. There was no resistance, no defense. How many beings in existence could instantly adapt when every drop of blood in their veins suddenly turned into needles?

As if on cue, the staff’s duration expired and it reverted to an ordinary withered wooden stick.

I’ll need to stockpile the material items required to use this again.

Just as Do-yun moved to tuck the staff away, one more brilliant notification flared before his eyes.

“It even stores that?”

Do-yun looked down at his sword in mild surprise. Collecting the three pieces of standard-issue gear—sword, dog tags, and combat boots—had unlocked a second set effect: every three uses of the same skill granted one free cast. He had regarded it merely as a minor cost-reduction bonus. He had never expected it to apply to an S-rank skill.

This is actually pretty useful.

The unexpected windfall tugged the corner of his mouth upward.

“Then shall we take a look at exactly what they’re hiding in here?”

Countless machines that wielded mana yet were not returnees. The time had come to uncover their secrets.