Lanqi's Great Demon Mark

Looking around after waking, one found the entrance hall of Basement Level 4 even vaster and darker than the teleportation hall on Basement Level 1. The circular hall's walls were adorned with chilling bas-reliefs in an entirely Demon Realm style. Flickering, faint lights were embedded throughout, providing only minimal illumination and casting the entire space in hazy shadow. "How are we going to get to the exit teleportation hall on the other side later?" Hyperion asked, looking toward the black-haired, green-eyed Poet of Great Love. To locate the cell of Antanas of Protection, use Herrom Prison's system functions to open it, and attempt to communicate with the prisoner, they first had to unlock the duty point exchange privileges for the current floor. And exchange privileges would only unlock once all conditions for leaving the current floor had been satisfied. Of the three conditions, two were already met: having team duty points over 4,000, and obtaining Basement Level 4's warden's clearance and evaluation. The remaining condition was successfully reaching the Basement Level 4 exit teleportation hall—that is, the end of the long corridor stretching out past the entrance hall. Along the way, they would need to traverse numerous dream zones, repeatedly triggering Gentle Land of the Fallen. Under the standard mechanics of the Protos Royal Magic Academy's prison guard internship, moving across this floor would normally take a great deal of time, even if they helped one another. "Keep some distance behind me. Once I've stepped on the tiles and dispelled the illusions, you can follow," Lanqi said to her in a low voice. "..." So on top of me waking too late and you waking too early, you've even fully adapted to this Gentle Land of the Fallen spell? Hyperion felt like she hadn't brought along a companion player, but hired a god-tier booster. From acing evaluations down to clearing the path, he handled everything for her effortlessly. And it didn't even cost her anything. It truly made her wonder what the difference was between dream and reality. And so, Hyperion watched as the Poet of Great Love ambled leisurely forward. Now and then, she stumbled and fell as she walked, but she stayed on each tile for only a fleeting moment. If anyone else saw this, they might mistake the magic of Basement Level 4 for not being an illusion at all, but simply a spell that made people trip. More than thirty minutes passed like this. With the Poet of Great Love blazing the trail alone ahead, they successfully arrived before the exit teleportation hall. Its layout mirrored the entrance hall, presenting a completely inverted, symmetrical architecture. The Poet of Great Love stepped into the exit hall and, before long, broke free of the illusion effortlessly once again, regaining consciousness. For him, someone entirely incapable of getting lost in such dreams, it made little difference how deep each fall went or how many times the effect repeated. Meanwhile, in the center of the teleportation hall, the previously stable barrier mana began to fluctuate, as though triggered by some arcane law. The hall's lights suddenly dimmed even further, drawing the wary attention of Hyperion and the three Domination priests to this unusual disturbance. All they saw was an indescribable surge of mana gathering in midair. It radiated fluctuations similar to Gentle Land of the Fallen, yet far more dread-inducing, resembling the supreme might of the Demon Realm. This mana gathered and wove together, causing the air itself to tremble, until it finally descended upon the black-haired, green-eyed Poet of Great Love. A silver halo coalesced around her, spinning and shimmering at her side, culminating in a beautiful, mysterious aura of light and shadow. As this mana intensified and took form, the others outside the hall felt a crushing pressure, yet they were so captivated by the wondrous spectacle that they could not tear their eyes away. They watched as the light and shadow contracted rapidly, layering between the Poet of Great Love's brows into a unique mark. The mark shone with a profound luminescence, inscribed with incomprehensible runic incantations of the demon race. Throughout the entire process, an invisible power shielded the Poet of Great Love, forming an isolated domain in the space around her. When the mystical mark fully took shape, the surrounding mana fluctuations gradually subsided, the light dissipated, and normalcy returned. Yet a faint glow still flickered between the black-haired, green-eyed figure's brows, as though whispering of some yet-to-be-revealed secret: [Mark of the Fallen] [Type: Soul Imprint] [Rarity: Orange Epic] [Tier: 1] [Passive Effect: Grants a degree of resistance against illusion-type magic.] [Note: Recognized by Caliera of the Fall.] ... Protos Royal Magic Academy. Seated in a reception room inside the Redmond Building, Lanqi pressed a hand to his forehead. "What's wrong, Luoqi? Are you feeling unwell?" Warden Bakas raised a concerned hand, seemingly deliberating whether to call for a doctor. "Pardon me. I've just been a bit tired lately and prone to intermittent headaches. It's nothing serious." Lanqi gathered his senses and shook his head. Even though he was borrowing a demon body, the soul imprint had indeed been bestowed upon him. "There is a warden named Selena in Herrom Prison who excels at treating this kind of mental fatigue. If you'd like, I can contact her to examine you." Although Bakas loathed having contact with those three in the inner prison, if it could help Mr. Luoqi, he would find a way to negotiate with them. "No need, no need, Bakas. I appreciate the thought, but there's no need to trouble Miss Selena," Lanqi waved a hand politely, declining so as not to impose on Warden Bakas. ... Herrom Prison, Basement Level 4, exit teleportation hall. After absorbing the impact of the mana surge, the Poet of Great Love's soft body teetered as though going limp once again. Before she could hit the ground, Hyperion stepped forward in a flash to catch and steady her. The black-haired, green-eyed Poet of Great Love kept her eyes tightly closed until the stinging in her mind gradually faded. When she slowly opened them, her gaze had returned to Lanqi's serene expression. In that instant, a mark formed of faint, translucent lines seemed to flicker deep within her pupils. "No way... you got a great demon mark?" Hyperion gripped the Poet of Great Love's shoulders, scrutinizing her. As a fellow demon, she could sense that the Poet of Great Love now carried an extra trace of high-ranking demon aura. It had been particularly intense the moment the mark was bestowed, though now it had receded and vanished beneath her disguise magic, completely concealed once more. If one gathered three title marks—including a mark of martial might—one would truly become a great demon. In this era, no new great demon should have been able to arise. The Poet of Great Love steadied herself, signaling to Hyperion that she was fine. "It seems that after stepping on all the tiles, the conditions were fulfilled automatically." Some Great Demon Trials had to be initiated intentionally, while others were fulfilled passively by meeting hidden, exacting criteria. Evidently, Gentle Land of the Fallen required repeatedly plunging into illusions until a certain count was reached. Channeling through the Poet of Great Love, Lanqi examined the Mark of the Fallen. He discovered that having this mark permanently consumed a portion of his soul space, and a Tier 1 Purple Rare magic card he had previously bound was directly ejected from his soul space, its bond severed. Currently at Tier 4, he had originally been able to bind magic cards totaling up to Tier 40; now, his binding capacity had effectively dropped to 39. His mental resistance was already exceptionally high, and he wasn't particularly vulnerable to illusions, so this mark could only be called marginally better than nothing. Unless, of course, he encountered enemies specializing in illusions in the future—then he could put on a show of being completely immune to crowd control. Still, great demon marks functioned as passive magic, so having one was practically never a loss.