In the claustrophobic corridors of the Meteor Mine’s North District, the iron-blue rock walls seemed to weep. A thick, violet-black mucus seeped from the jagged cracks, pooling on the uneven ground like the bile of a dying giant. Vivian moved through this stinking gloom, clutching a magical lantern whose golden core was flickering, exhausted by the oppressive mana-toxins of the pit. Her slender fingers were clamped so tightly around the cold metal handle that her knuckles had turned a ghostly, bloodless white.

  Her once-magnificent crimson court dress, a symbol of her fading noble status, was now a tattered ruin. It dragged through the foul sludge of the tunnel floor, making a harsh, rhythmic scraping sound that echoed against the silent stone.

  He has to be dead... he must be dead, Vivian screamed in the silence of her mind. Her lips moved, unconsciously whispering the frantic thoughts aloud like a dark prayer. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a volatile mixture of morbid fanaticism and extreme paranoia.

  "I am a daughter of the Simon family," she hissed into the dark. "My judgment cannot be wrong! That alchemist is nothing more than a broken toy, a cripple clinging to the shadow of Ian’s reputation. That terrifying presence I felt... it had to be a trick. An alchemical illusion designed to scare away the weak. Once Cooch’s poisoned dagger slides into the base of his skull, my fear will vanish. I am not wrong. I will have the formula. I will have the gold. And I will leave this moldy, rotting hell forever!"

  This frantic self-hypnosis gave her a surge of manic energy. When she reached the rusted iron door of Del’s laboratory, a twisted, triumphant smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. She pushed the door open, expecting to see a cooling corpse.

  However, as the heavy iron groaned on its hinges, the smile on her face froze, then shattered like falling glass.

  The laboratory was a scene of absolute devastation. An overpowering, nauseating scent of fresh blood hung in the air, clashing with the sharp, acrid smell of burnt sulfur. The neat rows of alchemical equipment had been violently upended. The heavy stone workbench was tilted to one side, and countless crystal test tubes lay shattered across the floor, their purple contents simmering and releasing thin trails of ghostly white smoke.

  Near the edge of the stone bed, Del was curled into a shivering ball. His thin body was racked by violent, hollow coughs. His pale, trembling hands were stained dark with clotted, crimson blood.

  "Lady... Vivian..." Del lifted his head. His deep, usually calculating eyes were now unfocused and wide with simulated terror. He pointed a shaking finger toward a pile of strange, grey ash on the floor—the only remains of the assassin. His voice was a broken, pathetic rasp. "There was... an assassin... The 'Shadow Blade' of the Morey family..."

  Vivian stared at the pile of ash. Her brain felt like it was being scorched by lightning. A sense of profound absurdity crashed through her remaining sanity.

  "Where is Cooch? Where is he!" Vivian shrieked, lunging forward. She discarded all noble decorum, grabbing Del by his ragged collar and shaking him with hysterical strength. "I gave him the route myself! A peak-level assassin like him... how could he possibly fail against a waste like you?"

  Del didn't resist. He allowed himself to be shaken like a rag doll, his head lolling back as he sobbed out his explanation in disjointed fragments. "He... he tried to seize my 'Blood-Boiling' mother-liquor... the forbidden essence Master Ian left me... He smashed the pressurized container... the alchemical storm... it was too fast... it dissolved him... it melted him into nothing..."

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  Vivian’s hands lost their strength. she slumped onto the cold, damp stone floor, her silk skirts soaking up the toxic filth. Looking at Del—this pathetic, broken wretch shivering before her—the collapse of her inner world was more violent than the mess in the lab. She wasn't right. She was catastrophically wrong. She had not only lost the family’s most dangerous pawn but had also handed Del a leash to wrap around her own neck.

  "What... what do you want?" Vivian’s voice was dry, sounding like dead leaves blowing across a tomb.

  Del wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. Deep within his pupils, a flicker of absolute 'Death' passed, invisible to the hysterical woman. He slowly sat upright. Though his face remained as white as parchment, his tone shifted. It became warm, gentle, and terrifyingly seductive—the voice of a demon offering a contract.

  "Lady Vivian, since you have graciously given me the 'opportunity' to continue living, it is only fair that you pay the interest on that gift." Del gestured toward the door. "An assassin from the Morey family lies dead in my lab. If the word gets out, Lord Simon’s private hoard of Obsidian Gold will not stay a secret for long, will it? We are no longer host and guest, my lady. We are accomplices."

  Three days later, the atmosphere in the North District miner’s camp had shifted into something unrecognizable.

  With the large-scale distribution of the "Blood-Boiling Lucidity Potion" provided by Del, the power dynamics of the entire mine began to warp. Inside the dark, sweltering shacks where the workers slept, dozens of the strongest miners—men whose eyes had once held only madness and despair—were now gathering in secret. On the forearms of every man, a faint, ink-colored mark had appeared, pulsing like a tiny, living serpent beneath the skin.

  This was the "Black Sand Anchor."

  In the cold logic of the Chip’s simulations, these marks were merely energy conduits. But Del had woven the fanatical proselytizing logic of the Eastern "Black Sand Sect" into their design. These anchors had evolved into something far more predatory.

  Del stood upon a crude wooden platform, draped in a simple, unadorned linen robe. He did not preach the mercy of Western gods or the light of the Heavens. Instead, he opened his arms to these downtrodden men of the earth and whispered a new gospel:

  "All life is suffering, but the Sand is eternal. The gods look down upon your agony from the clouds and offer nothing but silence. Only the Black Sand beneath your feet—the very earth that claims your brothers—can grant you the power to strike back."

  As Del spoke, his voice resonating with a strange, magnetic vibration, the miners felt a searing heat rise from within their chests. It wasn't the burning agony of the mine toxins; it was a surge of raw, intoxicating control.

  "I... the pain is gone! My strength..." An old, scarred miner stared at his fists in shock. His skin was beginning to take on the translucent, polished quality of black jade.

  [Chip Feedback: 'Recognition' frequency detected. Resonance levels rising: 15% -> 40%. Black Sand Anchor: Spiritual Feedback Amplification enabled. The Host’s Will is now exerting a 'Blessing' effect on the collective. Subject Strength and Defense: +20%. Endurance: +50%.]

  These anchors would only truly awaken when the miners abandoned their faith in the "False Gods" of the West and fully accepted the dogmas of the Black Sand Sect. It was a brutal spiritual brand, tethering their very life force to Del’s 【Siphon Seed】.

  Late that night, Del sat alone at the highest point of the North District, looking down at the sprawling, ant-like tunnels of the mine. In the sea of his consciousness, over a hundred brilliant ink-colored dots were pulsing in the dark. These were his feelers—the foundation stones of the first fortress he would build in this world.

  "This," Del whispered, watching a black vortex dance upon his fingertip, "is where the City of Black Wind begins."

  Through the Black Sand Anchors, he could perceive the energy ley-lines of the entire mine with surgical precision. Every hidden sentry of the Morey family, every secret warehouse belonging to the Simons—nothing could hide from his sight anymore. He could even remotely siphon the minute traces of essence released by the miners as they struck the ore veins.

  This was the true power of the monster. While the world saw a sickly alchemist, Del was a spider sitting at the center of a web that covered the entire mountain. He was harvesting the world while the world thought it was harvesting him.

  "Vivian, the Morey family, and all you hunters hiding in the shadows..."

  Del closed his eyes, and the 【Siphon Seed】 within his Dantian accelerated to a blur.

  "Welcome to my reaping grounds."