Chapter-27

Even within the protective bubble of the pocket dimension, the sheer power unleashed by Roland's Bankai rippled outwards, affecting the very world beyond the sand sea. In the grand hall of the World Dungeon Council, a collective gasp escaped the assembled members.

The air, once comfortably temperate, hung heavy and dry. It felt as though the very moisture was being sucked from the room, leaving their skin parched and their throats scratchy. Even the normally glossy lips of the few female council members felt strangely dry and cracked. A discomforting warmth settled over them, a sensation that went beyond simple temperature and spoke of a deeper, more fundamental power at play.

Belial, ever the observer, watched with a fascinated grin as droplets of condensation began to form on the goblets of water held by some council members. The water, previously still, started to bubble and churn, the air around them shimmering with heat. Then, with a startled yelp, a particularly portly orc named Grog found himself levitating a few inches off his seat. The water from his goblet, now boiling hot, erupted in a cloud of steam, propelling him upwards.

Pandemonium erupted. Orcs roared in confusion, dwarves swore in their guttural language, and the lone elf present fanned herself languidly with a delicate fan, her normally serene face etched with a hint of concern. Grok, now dangling helplessly a few feet above the ground, sputtered in outrage, water cascading down his beard.

Mugen, ever the enigmatic figure, remained calm. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes closed but his brow furrowed in concentration. He could sense the power emanating from the pocket dimension, a power that resonated with the very fabric of reality. This was not your average transcends power; it was something more, something… different.

"By the Founder's beard," boomed Grok, finally managing to release a gout of water that propelled him back down to his seat with a splash. "What in Yggdrasil's name was that?!"

Belial chuckled, his voice laced with a hint of awe. "That, my friends," he announced, his voice cutting through the rising cacophony, "was the true power of Zanka no Tachi or what he called it before. It seems Roland doesn't just possess the power of a other worlder, he possesses a power that transcends even this realm."

The council members stared at him, their faces a mixture of fear and fascination. The implications were staggering. This isekai tourist, this unorthodox dungeon designer, held a power that could potentially reshape the very world they knew.

The image they witnessed on the viewing screen only served to solidify their fear. Roland, his figure silhouetted against the desolate gray landscape, the charcoal blade of Ryujin Jakka casting an eerie glow, looked more like a harbinger of destruction than a playful adventurer.

Back in the pocket dimension, the silence stretched on. Dino, humbled and terrified, stared at Roland, his fiery spirit cowed by the bleak power of Zanka no Tachi. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was no mere threat. This was a power that could erase him from existence, leaving behind nothing but a ashes.

Terror etched itself onto Dino's face. Roland's casual upward swing of the charcoal blade wasn't directed at him, but at the sand beneath their feet. But the effect was far more horrifying. With a sound like a world splitting open, a colossal crater ripped through the ground, swallowing sand and rock in a swirling vortex.

The tremor that shook the pocket dimension wasn't a simple rumble; it was a primal scream of a reality being torn apart. Cracks snaked across the sky like malevolent fissures, glowing with an ominous red light. The once vibrant sand sea began to lose its color, draining away like water from a drying well. The very air crackled with raw power, making it hard to breathe, heavy with the anticipation of a cataclysmic event.

The air shimmered, and a ripple of raw power pulsed outwards, shattering the comfortable stasis that had held within the hall. Even through the dimensional gap, the council members felt it - a tremor that shook the foundations of reality itself. It was a primal sensation, a deep-seated fear that clawed at their very core.

Mugen's eyes snapped open, a flicker of alarm replacing his usual stoicism. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his katana, the ever-present glint of battle in his eyes replaced by a steely resolve.

Belial's grin faltered for a moment, replaced by a grimace of concern. Despite his amusement at Roland's unorthodox methods, he couldn't ignore the sheer power emanating from the pocket dimension. It was a power that transcended anything he had ever witnessed, a power that threatened to unravel the very fabric of their world.

The cracks in the pocket dimension widened, spreading across the sky like a shattering mirror. The once vibrant sand sea, now a desolate wasteland, seemed to crumple inwards, sucked towards the growing fissures. With a deafening roar, the bubble imploded inwards, creating a swirling vortex of sand, debris, and raw energy. The vortex churned and pulsed, a chaotic maw threatening to devour everything in its path.

For a terrifying moment, Roland and Dino found themselves suspended in the churning chaos, the world around them a swirling kaleidoscope of sand and light. The wind howled in their ears, a deafening shriek that drowned out all thought. Roland, ever the pragmatist, gripped Ryujin Jakka tighter, the only source of stability in this maelstrom of destruction. Dino, his bravado shattered, could only roar in defiance against the inevitable, his fear a primal scream lost in the howling wind.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the vortex began to collapse. The swirling mass of sand and energy condensed inwards, forming a blinding white light that momentarily eclipsed everything else. When the light finally faded, Roland and Dino found themselves sprawled on a cold, hard floor, the sounds of shouts and gasps ringing in their ears. They had been ejected from the collapsing pocket dimension, landing with a heavy thud right in the center of the World Dungeon Council hall.

Silence descended, thick and heavy. All eyes were on Roland and Dino, who lay sprawled amidst the scattered sand and debris. Roland, ever the pragmatist, was the first to rise. He dusted himself off with a nonchalant shrug, the charcoal blade of Ryujin Jakka still radiating an eerie heat as he maintained his Bankai.