After completing Level 3, Derek didn't push any further. Instead, he sat down on the ground, breathing heavily.

Taking a few deep, steady breaths, he muttered between them, "It hasn't been that long since I started… but no way I'm doing any more mastery training right now."

After a short pause to calm his breathing, he added, "Let's try cultivating instead."

With that, he crossed his legs and settled into the lotus position.

He began to cultivate, focusing on his breathing technique. As he guided the energy flow, Derek couldn't help but be amazed by the sheer speed at which he was absorbing Qi. With his Void Realm Breathing Technique combined with the chamber's unique properties, his absorption rate had increased nearly tenfold.

A faint vortex formed in front of him — subtle, yet visible to anyone who would look closely.

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes into hours, but Derek didn't move. He remained perfectly still, immersed in his cultivation.

He was still far from reaching his bottleneck, yet his internal energy continued to soar rapidly.

If anyone else had witnessed it, they would've been utterly stunned.

He only stopped when night fell. Finally opening his eyes, Derek ended his training session and left the chamber.

After returning to his room, he took another quick shower, then joined Art and Henry for dinner in the dining hall. Unlike lunchtime, dinner was completely uneventful — no arguments, no surprises, just quiet conversation and food.

Once the day's schedule was over, Derek went back to his room and collapsed onto his bed. He didn't cultivate today. Instead, sleep claimed him almost instantly.

Meanwhile, far away, deep inside a dark cavern, a creature sat upon a throne carved from black stone.

Two enormous, curved horns jutted from its head, their surfaces etched with glowing runic lines that pulsed faintly with green light. Long strands of jet-black hair spilled past its shoulders, streaked with eerie emerald highlights that shimmered whenever it moved.

Its face was partially hidden behind an obsidian mask shaped like the fanged jaws of a beast. Yet even through that mask, the creature's eyes burned vividly — each pupil forming the digit nine, glowing like molten emerald fire. Those eyes held both madness and intellect, as if they could pierce through the soul of anyone who dared meet its gaze. Its rest of the body looked like a human.

Upper rank nine!

In front of the towering demon, several figures knelt on the cold stone floor, their heads bowed low in fear and reverence.

"How is the progress?" the Upper Rank Nine asked, his voice deep and echoing, carrying a weight that made the cave itself tremble.

"Master," several of them responded in unison, their tones laced with submission. "We have collected several suitable hosts and are ready for the implantation process."

But not all spoke. A few among them exchanged nervous glances, shifting uneasily as if hoping to hide behind the others and see if someone else was also in the same group. Their hesitation did not go unnoticed.

The Upper Rank Nine's glowing eyes narrowed, and his tone turned razor-sharp. "Rats… You dare stay silent before me? Do you wish for death that badly?"

The trembling figures fell prostrate, their voices breaking. "M... M... Master, please! Grant us a little more time! You said the cores for implantation are extremely valuable, and you do not want any failures. Finding candidates that meet your requirements is… difficult."

A low growl rumbled from the demon's chest, and the green glow in his eyes flared brighter. "If I replaced you with others, do you think they would find it difficult? Should I erase your existence and test the theory myself?"

The kneeling ones froze, their faces pale, not daring to move. Even breathing too loudly in that suffocating silence felt like an offense worthy of death.

The demon leaned forward slightly, his voice cold and venomous. "You have one last chance. Bring me success… or bring me your heads. You will get one last month."

"Yes, Master," they all replied in unison this time.

Back at the academy…

Derek woke up very early the next morning.

After washing up and brushing his teeth, he headed straight toward the training chamber.

"Let's do some balance training before breakfast today," Derek murmured with excitement as he walked down the training chamber.

It didn't take him long to reach the place.

But just before he could step inside, a sharp voice stopped him. "Who are you? And what are you doing here?"

Derek stopped. Turning around, he saw a man in his early thirties standing there. From the looks of it, the man had just come out of another training chamber — his chest rose and fell rapidly, and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

"I'm Derek Hale, a first-year student. I came here for training," Derek replied calmly. Since he had the housemaster's permission, he saw no reason to be anxious.

The man frowned slightly. "A first-year student? Are you lost? Who's your guide? This area is reserved for instructors only."

"I know this area is reserved for instructors," Derek replied evenly. "But I'm not lost. I have permission to use one of the chambers here."

"What?!" The instructor's eyes widened in disbelief. "You have permission? Don't joke around here, kid! Get lost before you end up being punished."

His tone was sharp, laced with irritation — clearly, he didn't believe Derek in the slightest. And honestly, who would?

Derek, however, didn't lose his calm or composure.

"If you don't believe me," he said steadily, "you can speak with the housemaster, Mr. Yami Black. After all, he's the one who gave me permission."

The instructor fell silent, staring at Derek as if trying to read the truth in his eyes. After a long moment, he spoke again, his tone turning cold. "So, you're really itching for punishment, huh?" he sneered, loosening the wand hanging from his waist.

"Get ready to be disciplined."

'What a pain,' Derek thought inwardly, sighing. 'How can someone like him even be an instructor?'

With a trace of reluctance, he shifted his feet and raised his hands, taking a fighting stance.

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