Chapter 150: Engine For Migration

Sage didn’t respond to Gregor right away. He remained perched on the edge of the desk, his pale fingers resting lightly against the Dungeon Guide Book, while the expansive Guild Hall hung in a silence so thick it felt almost tangible.

Hundreds of Adventurers stood frozen, weapons at their sides. Though Gregor’s question hadn’t been loud, it reverberated through every mind present.

Without protection and control, ownership meant nothing. If the dungeons truly existed, anyone could walk into them and claim them. Those who seized them could wage war over them. Anyone strong enough could obliterate everything Sage had built in a single night.

Slowly lifting his gaze, Sage scanned the hall, allowing the tension to build and unease to transform into anticipation.

He observed worry etched into hardened faces, calculation flickering behind narrowed eyes, and hunger lurking beneath forced calm. These were men and women who had dedicated their lives to battling monsters but now faced something far more perilous: the unsettling notion that power had shifted.

“You’re right to ask,” Sage finally said, his voice calm and steady as it carried effortlessly across the hall. “And you’re right to be concerned.”

He closed the Dungeon Guide Book and set it aside before directing his attention toward the receptionist desk.

“Boren,” he continued, pointing toward a tall cabinet tucked away in a corner behind the counter. “Open that one.”

Boren jolted as if awakening from a trance. He hurried forward, nearly tripping over himself as he reached for the cabinet. When its doors swung open, a faint glow poured out, subtle yet unmistakable, washing over his face with pale light.

Inside were rows of scrolls stacked meticulously atop one another; their surfaces shimmered faintly with thin streams of mana gliding across like liquid starlight.

Boren froze for several seconds, staring into the cabinet as if gazing upon something unreal.

Swallowing hard, he carefully reached inside and withdrew a single scroll, cradling it with both hands as if it might shatter if handled too roughly.

The moment his fingers made contact with it, warmth spread across his palms; faint runes etched into its surface pulsed once softly, like a living heartbeat.

Turning quickly back to Sage, Boren handed him the scroll. As soon as it passed into Sage’s grasp, murmurs that had been suppressed throughout the hall began to stir, a quiet wave of shock rippling through those present.

Sage held up the scroll for all to see. “You asked about protection,” he said to Gregor before shifting slightly so everyone could see what he held. “What you are looking at is neither weapon nor contract; it is something far rarer.”

He took a slow breath. “It is a product of formation engineering.”

The reaction was instantaneous. A wave of restrained shock swept through the hall, faces tightening, eyes widening, breaths hitching.

“Mana formations,” Sage continued, “are barriers.”

He raised the scroll slightly, allowing the faint golden patterns to shimmer. “They are systems, the pinnacle of rune theory and mana architecture. A mana formation doesn’t merely stop power; it redefines reality within a specific space.”

The Adventurers listened as if rooted to the spot.

“A formation dictates how mana flows, gathers, reacts, and even recognizes existence itself. To place one isn’t just to block an area; it’s to rewrite it entirely.”

He let those words resonate in the silence. “In nature, mana follows instinct. In a formation, however, mana obeys law.”

The hall remained still.

“To create even a simple mana formation requires a true Runesmith, not just someone who carves symbols or trades charms but an individual capable of constructing layered mana logic and binding principles into space. Such people are rare; their services aren’t found in markets nor secured by mere coin.”

He paused deliberately. “And the cost of materials alone can bury lesser factions.”

A chill crept up many spines as they recalled tales of formations: ancient battlefields sealed for centuries, impenetrable relic vaults, cursed ruins that consumed those who dared challenge their rules. Mana formations were not mere tools; they were formidable constructs.

“Each of the three dungeons under this Guild’s control,” Sage continued, “is protected by a mana formation.”

These words struck deeper than his earlier revelations.

Some Adventurers stiffened while others inhaled sharply. Even skeptics felt a shift within them, this wasn’t about wealth or power; this was about infrastructure.

“They are not guarded by soldiers,” Sage stated evenly. “They are not protected by walls.”

His gaze slowly swept across the hall.

“No matter your strength or bloodline, no matter how many allies stand behind you, if you approach those dungeons without authorization, you will not enter them. You can touch the gate or strike it; you can drown it in mana or bleed yourself dry before it.”

His eyes sharpened further. “The formation will not recognize you.”

“For that reason,” Sage said firmly, “what I hold is not merely a scroll.”

“This is a Dungeon Pass.”

The runes along its surface brightened faintly in response to his voice’s mana.

“A Dungeon Pass is a keyed formation imprint,” Sage explained. “It carries an authorized mana signature bound directly to the dungeon’s outer system. When brought into range, the formation reads it and validates it before opening.”

He tilted the scroll slightly.

“Without a Dungeon Pass,” he continued, “one cannot enter these dungeons.”

He lowered the scroll slightly again. “And only those who receive one from this Guild will have access.”

The words settled heavily across the hall. Gregor stood rigid, his gaze fixed on the scroll before him.

Understanding washed over him with a weighty clarity: the danger he had sensed and the instability he had feared were unraveling before his eyes. Sage hadn’t just taken control of the dungeons; he had removed them from the world’s grasp entirely.

As long as those formations remained intact, armies would be meaningless. Raids would hold no value. Control no longer resided in who stood at the gate; it lay with those acknowledged by it.

At the far end of the hall, Valeria’s gaze sharpened like a blade. Her expression was cold, yet something beneath it shifted rapidly, calculations stacking upon each other, implications unfolding in silent waves.

Mana formations of this magnitude weren’t mere assets; they were frameworks that dictated how conflicts arose and determined who could negotiate and who could only threaten. They forced power into negotiations.

Sage wasn’t just protecting the dungeons; he was making them unstealable. Even the Noble Houses couldn’t simply march in and seize them, they would require leverage, infiltration, long-term political erosion, or something far darker. And that meant time, and time meant growth.

Her attention returned to Sage. This man isn’t just amassing wealth…, she thought. He is transforming the entire system.

Sage allowed a moment for tension to build before a powerful voice rose from the front of the crowd.

“Guildmaster!”

Brutus stepped forward, his broad shoulders taut and eyes blazing with barely contained fervor. “How do we obtain a Dungeon Pass?”

The question ignited something within the room.

Sage smiled faintly. “There are three classifications of Dungeon Pass,” he explained calmly, “each corresponding to one of our three dungeons.”

He held up the scroll loosely now. “They are not equal, their depth, monster density, and mana intensity vary significantly.”

He scanned the hall before continuing. “The only way to obtain one… is to purchase it.”

This time, instead of resistance, there was calculation in response.

“I’ve listed prices in the Dungeon Guide Book,” Sage continued, “but I’ll share them here as well.”

He raised his voice slightly: “For our first dungeon, classified as F-Rank, the price for a Dungeon Pass is twenty gold coins.”

“For our second dungeon, E-Rank, the price is forty-five gold coins.”

“And for our third dungeon, D-Rank, the price is seventy-five gold coins.”

The hall fell silent, not because these prices were exorbitant; they weren’t at all. The Adventurers didn’t need to confer; each one understood instinctively what this meant.

They had all paid dungeon fees before, pooling resources, borrowing funds, selling equipment, all just to gain entry through a Noble gate. They’d forked over hundreds in entry fees and security charges while sacrificing most of their earnings afterward. Compared to that reality, this was nothing at all.

Inside the hall, thoughts swirled like a tempest.

Valeria, standing off to the side, was deep in thought as well. As a mercenary, her group primarily relied on contracts for income, but they occasionally ventured into dungeons.

The fees to enter those dungeons were astronomical, so hearing the price of the Dungeon Pass surprised her. In her opinion, Sage could easily raise the price and make a significant profit; she was certain that adventurers wouldn’t complain, instead, they would be grateful.

As she observed Sage’s smiling expression, an odd thought crossed her mind: did he do this on purpose? The more she pondered it, the clearer it became that Sage had intentionally set such a low price.

This would undoubtedly attract a flood of warriors who hadn’t yet become adventurers, those eager to register at this bargain rate rather than pay exorbitant sums to nobles just to enter a dungeon, where they would then have to surrender ninety percent of their loot.

The pricing was low enough not only to draw seasoned adventurers but also unaffiliated warriors.

Her gaze lingered on Sage as realization dawned upon her: he wasn’t maximizing profit; he was cultivating dependence.

Then it clicked for her. A low price meant mass participation; mass participation fostered loyalty; loyalty created pressure. Any noble who dared move against this Guild would soon find themselves facing not just one man but a swelling tide of warriors whose growth now depended on Sage.

Her eyes widened imperceptibly. He’s turning dungeons into an engine for migration.

Sage watched the crowd intently before speaking again. “Unlike the Nobles,” he said steadily, “the Guild will not tax your blood.”

His words resonated deeply within the hall.

“We will not seize what you earn. We will not claim your victories or bind you in contracts that drain you slowly while wearing smiles.”

“The Nobles built their power by treating warriors as expendable labor,” Sage continued. “They opened gates only to chain those who walked through them.”

He let his words sharpen further: “They called it opportunity; they called it structure and protection.”

His eyes hardened as he declared, “It was exploitation.”

“In this Guild,” Sage proclaimed firmly, “what you take from a dungeon belongs to you. What you survive is yours. What you fight for is yours.”

A heavy stillness settled over the room.

“No percentages. No forced handovers. No hidden clauses.”

He spread his fingers slightly and added, “If you enter under this Guild’s banner, you keep what you earn.”

Valeria’s cold gaze widened as understanding struck her like lightning; she finally grasped Sage’s plan.

It wasn’t just her, Gregor standing nearby seemed equally enlightened as he looked at Sage with wide eyes.

Even Pax in the lounge snapped his eyes opened and muttered under his breath,

“What a greedy bastard.”

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