Chapter 190: Zane’s Ultimatum

The lecture hall had fallen into chaos.

Students screamed and scrambled, some frozen in terror, others dragging injured classmates away from the ruined walls. Dust hung thick in the air, mixed with the sharp metallic stench of burned mana. What had once been a place of learning now looked like the aftermath of a siege.

At the center of it all, Grom knelt on the shattered floor.

“Mira… stay with me,” he said hoarsely, pressing his hand against the cauterized edge where her arm had been, trying to heal mira wound. His voice trembled despite himself. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

Mira’s face was pale, lips trembling as pain wracked her body. She tried to speak, but only a strained breath escaped. Her vision blurred, the ceiling above her spinning slowly.

Above them, the air shifted.

Dren descended another few meters, boots never touching the ground. The completed Heart of the Deep Forge hovered obediently at his side, its liquid-metal casing rippling softly, runes pulsing in a slow, confident rhythm. Infinite mana leaked from it like heat from a furnace, pressing down on everyone below.

“Master,” Dren said, his voice echoing unnaturally through the broken hall. Calm. Almost gentle.

“You always told me progress demands sacrifice.”

Grom’s head snapped up, fury blazing through the shock.

“You did this… to your fellow students? To her?!” he roared.

Dren tilted his head slightly, studying Mira as if she were a failed experiment.

“She was always in my way ,” he replied. “I always wanted to do that to her.”

Grom roared, the sound tearing out of his chest like a breaking anvil.

“Dren—!!!”

The ground cracked beneath his feet as he launched himself upward. In a single blur of motion, he closed the distance and swung his hammer with everything he had left—rage, grief, regret, and the weight of a lifetime of mistakes packed into one strike.

The hammer connected.

The impact thundered through the hall, a shockwave rippling outward. Dren’s eyes widened for a split second—then his body was hurled backward like a broken doll, smashing through stone and steel alike. He vanished into the far wall in an explosion of dust and debris.

But Grom didn’t stop.

The instant the blow landed, he released the hammer midair and reached out instead.

His hand closed around the Heart of the Deep Forge.

The artifact shuddered violently in his grip, liquid metal writhing as if resisting him, runes flaring in protest. Infinite mana surged, scorching his palm, threatening to tear his arm apart—but Grom gritted his teeth and held on.

“Stay… still…!” he growled.

Across the hall, Dren’s body hit the wall with a sickening crash. Stone collapsed around him, burying him in rubble. For a moment, there was nothing but settling dust and the distant cries of terrified students.

Silence.

Grom stood there, chest heaving, the Heart clenched tightly in his hand. The pressure in the hall lessened slightly, as if the world itself had exhaled.

He looked down at the artifact—at the thing that had ruined everything.

A bitter smile twisted his face.

“…It’s over,” he said hoarsely. “Without the Heart, you’re nothing, Dren.”

The dust at the far end of the hall continued to fall.

And for a brief, fragile moment—

It truly seemed that way.

A cold, amused voice cut through the ruins.

“You truly are a fool, old man.”

The dust parted.

Dren stepped out of it—unharmed, unburned, not even a scratch on his body. His coat was pristine, his muddy pink eyes glowing with malicious satisfaction.

Grom froze.

“I… have the Heart,” he said hoarsely, gripping the artifact harder. “You can’t do anything—”

Dren smiled.

A thin, sharp sound echoed.

Shing.

Grom looked down.

There was a hole in his chest.

Not torn.

Not crushed.

Burned clean through.

A precise beam of mana—silent, instant—had pierced him from behind. The Heart in his hand trembled violently, then tore itself free, slipping from his grasp like liquid light and floating back to its rightful master.

Dren’s fingers closed around it effortlessly.

“The Heart belongs to me,” he said calmly. “No matter the distance. No matter who holds it. It accepts only me.”

His gaze sharpened.

“Your anger blinded you. You, a so-called inventor, couldn’t even anticipate that.”

Grom’s knees buckled.

He collapsed to the floor, blood spreading beneath him.

“Master—!”

Mira’s scream tore through the shattered hall.

“Uahhhhhhhhhhh….No…!”

Tears streamed down her face as she dragged herself forward with her one remaining arm, nails scraping against broken stone. Pain meant nothing now—only him mattered.

“No… no… Master…!”

Grom’s vision dimmed. The world blurred at the edges. His breathing came shallow, uneven.

“M–Mira…” he whispered.

Dren watched them with open amusement.

“Ahaha… how touching,” he said lightly.

“Why don’t I kill you both together? That way you can enjoy the afterlife side by side.”

Darkness crept in.

Grom’s sight faded—and memories surfaced.

A small girl, fidgeting nervously.

“I–I’m Mira Sorenhal, mister Grom—no, Master Grom…”

Another memory.

Mira, older now, eyes shining.

“Master! I finally made a mana-sensing device with a larger range!”

He remembered ruffling her hair. Her proud smile.

Then—

A younger Dren, standing tall, confidence sharp.

“I made one too, Master. With even more range.”

He had ruffled his hair as well.

The darkness deepened.

Grom stood alone in it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the void.

“Sorry, Mira… sorry, Dren…”

His voice broke.

“I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t stop you from walking this path. It’s all my fault…”

Then—

Footsteps.

The darkness split.

Grom’s eyes snapped open.

All he could see was a back—long grey coat fluttering gently despite the still air.

He had Black hair and an overwhelming presence.

The man turned toward Grom.

Purple eyes glinted like distant stars.

A calm voice echoed through the ruined hall.

“I’m here.”

And the world seemed to hold its breath.

Dren’s smile faltered the instant he saw him.

Zane hadn’t descended from the sky.

He hadn’t stepped out of a portal.

He was simply there.

No warning. No ripple. No distortion.

“…You,” Dren said slowly, eyes narrowing. “So you’re here, human. I thought you ran away.”

The Heart of the Deep Forge pulsed harder at his side, reacting to Zane’s presence like a cornered beast.

Zane didn’t look at it.

He didn’t even look at Dren at first.

His gaze was on Grom—collapsed, bleeding—then on Mira, trembling beside him, her face streaked with tears.

For a moment, it seems the world went quiet.

Then Zane spoke.

His voice was calm and flat and utterly devoid of humor.

“I’m going to feed you that so-called Heart of the Deep Forge.”

Dren stiffened.

Zane finally lifted his eyes to him—deep purple, cold and absolute.

“And then,” he continued, as if stating a simple fact,

“I’m going to kill you.”

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