Infinite Extraction System Can a Beast Reach Havenly Tier?

CHAPTER 7: OUT OF THE DARK

The dark blue system windows did not vanish with a quiet chime. They shattered into a storm of glowing blue dust that settled slowly over the flooded vault.

Light bled back into the subterranean cavern, casting long, crooked shadows against the cracked basalt walls. The air was heavy with the metallic stench of spilled beast blood and the lingering acrid tang of boiled acid, but the suffocating pressure of the fight had completely evaporated.

Lucian stood amidst the wreckage of the reservoir, looking down at his palms.

The thick, blackened acid blisters that had scorched his skin during the fight with the Mire-Gorged Toad were completely gone, replaced by smooth, unblemished skin. His limbs felt light, charged with a quiet, dense vitality. His stats had surged, and every breath felt smooth, steady, and effortlessly deep.

Beside him, Pip’s nine-foot silhouette towered over the shallow water—a terrifying, dark mountain of slate armor, translucent scythe claws, and glowing crimson eye sockets.

A disaster class.

In the upper districts of Aethelgard, the Guild Association classified beasts by strict, rigid matrices. A Class-F beast was a gutter pest. A Class-E was a street hazard. A Class-D was a lethal threat requiring a fully equipped, coordinated party of registered hunters.

Pip was an unrecorded Chimera—a double-subspecies fusion born from a broken System hierarchy. If the High Guilds saw him like this, they wouldn't assign him a rank; they would send Enforcers, mobilize military regiments, and deploy specialized suppression arrays to exterminate him.

Lucian looked down at his bent iron pipe lying in the mud, then at his ruined, blood-soaked rags.

For two years, he had clawed through the filth as an F-rank Scavenger, risking his neck for copper pennies while High Guild Tamers sat in marble halls, backed by noble wealth and registered beasts. He didn't care about proving his physical strength to anyone anymore. He didn't need to swing a rusted pipe ever again, and he certainly didn't need to hunt every low-tier monster in the dark just to test his muscles.

He was a Tamer. His beast was his strength.

And right now, his objective was simple: get the hell out of the Catacombs, go back to the surface, and return to the human world.

Tuk. Tuk.

As Lucian turned on his heel toward the upward tunnels, the floating blue dust in the air liquefied, coalescing into a single, blood-red system interface directly before his face.

[System Notice: Hidden Milestone Conditions Met!]

[Evaluating Accomplishments...]

- Companion Mutation Success Rate: 100% (Anomaly Detected)

- Evolutionary Leap Count: 2 Steps within a 24-Hour Cycle (Class-F ➔ Class-E ➔ Class-D)

- System Hierarchy Bypass: Achieved via Class-F Extraction Authority.

[Calculating System Rewards...]

[Achievement Unlocked: 'Architect of the Irregular']

The blood-red interface flashed once, the text dissolving into a swirl of dense, golden particles that drifted down into the palm of Lucian's right hand.

[Special Milestone Reward Dispensed: 'Concealment Artifact - Veil of the Nameless']

The golden light dispersed, leaving behind a small, understated ring forged from matte-black metal, carved with microscopic, shifting runes that resembled flowing smoke.

[Item: Veil of the Nameless]

[Grade: Unique (Bound to Host: Lucian)]

[Type: Passive Companion Concealment / Illusion Artifact]

[Description:]

A localized spatial artifact forged to obscure irregular entities from external perception. Engineered specifically for Tamers operating outside standard Guild matrices.

[Active Effect 1: Absolute Form Suppression]

- Suppresses all higher-tier evolutionary traits, physical size expansions, and mutated skeletal structures.

- Reverts the target companion's visible physical form back to its original Base Creature state (Class-F Sewer-Spite Rat).

- Completely conceals internal mana density, core rank, and trait signatures from external appraisal skills, guild detection arrays, and high-tier inspection magic (Up to S-Rank).

[Active Effect 2: Unbroken Matrix]

- Form Suppression DOES NOT restrict, seal, or diminish the companion's true stats, acquired skills, or combat performance.

- Upon entering combat, receiving damage, or executing a direct host command, the companion can instantly manifest its higher evolutionary forms without delay.

Lucian stared at the floating text, a long, quiet breath escaping his chest.

Absolute concealment.

This ring changed everything. To the rest of Aethelgard, he would remain "Lucian the Scav"—a broke, low-grade Tamer with a worthless sewer rat. They would ignore him, pass him over, and let him walk straight through the gates.

And behind that useless appearance, he held a disaster-class asset capable of tearing through High Guild formations.

"Pip," Lucian called out softly.

The massive war-beast lowered its armored head. Lucian slid the matte-black ring onto his left index finger.

WIRRRRR.

A soft, weightless shroud of black mist erupted from the ring, wrapping around Pip’s nine-foot frame like a velvet blanket. The obsidian armor melted into shadows, the scythe claws retracted, and the terrifying aura vanished into thin air in a silent, breathtaking implosion of spatial magic.

The mist cleared.

Pat.

A tiny, ragged black rat landed lightly on the wet stone floor. It was barely eight inches long, with scruffy fur, a notched ear from an old gutter fight, and a twitching pink nose. It looked like the most pathetic Class-F Sewer-Spite Rat in the entire Catacombs.

"Squeak!"

Pip bounded forward, scrambled up Lucian’s trousers, zipped past his jacket, and perched comfortably on his left shoulder, resting his tiny front paws against Lucian’s neck.

Lucian reached up, using his thumb to gently stroke the top of the rat's head. Not a single drop of mana leaked from Pip. No corrosive haze. No terrifying aura.

"Good boy," Lucian whispered. "Let's go home."

He didn't waste another second. Leaving the ruined reservoir behind, Lucian headed straight for the primary ascending shafts.

He didn't look for fights on the way up. Whenever the distant screeches of Class-E beasts or roaming hounds echoed down the stone corridors, he simply stepped around them or walked past in the shadows. He had nothing to prove to the dark.

After twenty minutes of steady climbing, the damp, suffocating reek of sewage began to fade, replaced by a cool, fresh breeze filtering down from above.

Lucian pushed through the heavy, rusted iron gates at the top of the stairwell, stepping out into the blinding glare of natural sunlight.

Fresh wind hit his face. The sky above Aethelgard was a vast, brilliant blue, framed by the towering white-stone archways, marble spires, and sprawling avenues of the surface city.

Lucian stopped at the edge of the gate platform, taking a long, deep breath of clean air into his lungs. The weight of two years spent suffocating in the dark finally lifted off his chest.

He adjusted his torn coat, keeping his head low as he stepped into the bustling street. He didn't waste time gawking at the shops or the crowd. He walked down the cobblestone avenue directly toward a familiar, imposing three-story building made of dark granite—The Iron-Clad Guildhall.

Inside, the grand hall was buzzing as usual. High-ranked Tamers in polished steel and enchanted leather armor laughed near the quest boards, flanked by sleek elemental hounds and heavy stone golems. Clerks moved back and forth behind long oak counters, processing dungeon loot and issuing payouts.

Lucian bypassed the main combat counters and walked straight to the Scavenger trade desk at the far back—the desk where bottom-tier hunters turned in rat tails for copper pennies.

"Lucian?"

The clerk behind the desk—a tired, middle-aged man named Garth with ink-stained fingers—looked up from his ledger in genuine shock. He blinked, staring at Lucian’s torn, blood-stained clothes, and then at the tiny black rat sitting lazily on his shoulder.

"You've been down in the lower sector for over thirty hours," Garth said, leaning over the counter and lowering his voice. "Word was a pack of Dread-Hounds migrated into the lower pipes. People thought you got cornered and eaten. What happened to your gear?"

"Got pinned near the lower reservoir," Lucian said smoothly, his tone completely flat and unbothered. "A High Guild strike team came through and cleared the big stuff. They took the soul cores and didn't bother carving the heavy parts before the water rose. I salvaged what I could and ran."

Lucian reached into his coat and placed three items onto the heavy wooden counter.

Thud. Thud. Clack.

First were two dense, crystalized Class-E magic cores. Second was a pristine, emerald-green organ dripping with concentrated acid mana—the unruptured core gland of the Mire-Gorged Toad.

Garth froze.

The clerk pulled a brass jeweler's glass out of his vest pocket, jammed it into his eye socket, and leaned in close to inspect the glowing green gland. His hands trembled slightly as he ran a diagnostic charm over it.

"A fresh, unruptured Class-D Toad acid gland..." Garth muttered under his breath, his eyes wide with disbelief. He looked up at Lucian, his gaze darting between the youth's calm face and the scruffy rat resting on his shoulder. "Lucian, do you have any idea what the alchemists upstairs pay for an uncorrupted Class-D gland? They use this to refine high-grade armor-melting solvents!"

"I know what it's worth," Lucian said quietly. "Calculate all of it. Cores included."

Garth quickly pulled out his brass scale, weighing the cores and scribbling notes on a parchment slip.

"Twelve gold crowns each for the Class-E cores... and seventy gold crowns flat for the Toad gland," Garth said, shaking his head in awe. "That's ninety-four gold crowns total."

Garth reached beneath the counter, pulling out a heavy, jingling leather pouch and sliding it across the wood.

"You hit the lottery down there, kid," Garth said, giving Lucian a mixture of envy and respect. "Ninety-four gold is more than an F-rank Scavenger sees in a year. You can buy proper iron armor, get a real sword, maybe even buy some decent feed to upgrade that little rat of yours."

Lucian picked up the pouch, feeling the solid, heavy weight of ninety-four gold coins resting in his palm. He glanced down at Pip, who gave a quiet, sleepy "squeak" from his shoulder.

"Right," Lucian murmured, a faint, cold smirk touching his lips as he tied the pouch securely to his belt. "Upgrades."

He turned on his heel and walked out of the Guildhall, stepping back into the bright, open streets of Aethelgard.

He had ninety-four gold crowns in his pocket, a clean slate, and a disaster-class monster resting on his shoulder that nobody in the city knew about.

The Catacombs were behind him. Now, the real game began.