Return of the Tower Conqueror

Chapter 316

Ascendance (XVII)

Cain felt it--the pace of the fight had changed. It wasn’t as fast as before, not nearly as explosive or world-bending. While still virtually impossible to follow without decent level of strength, the very framework of the fight had shifted. The attacks, though slower, were much heavier. Each with it bore a stench of death, like a warhammer flattening the world from the open skies.

Every moment became twice as valuable, every action twice as momentous, every single movement of the body, no matter how minute, a bridge between death and life.

Cain charged his fingers with Mana, weaving them together into a bullet-like arrays of starlight that he spearheaded toward the incoming blade, deflecting the attack and retaliating mildly while repositioning. The world around slowed down into a blur, shapes and colors melting as though on a wet canvas.

Blinking to the side and dodging a jet of black fire, he slammed his fist forward, sending forth a gigantic burst of fire. It proved pointless, however, as a secondary jet of black fire burned straight through it, cleaving it in two. It gave Cain time to dodge, however, and gain some distance.

Beginning to prepare a set of skills, he knew that he had to buy time now--at least two minutes of it. Though insignificant in the grand scheme of things, for a battle of this size, magnitude, and speed, it was virtually impossible. Yet, he had to make it possible.

The relentless onslaught began--the blade of the sword seemed to have a mind of its own, consistently stabbing and slashing through the void itself, aiming directly for his jugular. Every single strike carried with it a dash of Chaos embroiled within the jets of colorless fire. A single hit that merely grazed him forced Cain to expend nearly 10% of his Mana just to suppress the wound and not let it consume further inward.

This further added pressure, forcing him to focus more. He no longer fought the way he knew how to fight--he fought like a madman, like those people he used to mock who went blind into fights and just winged it. His confidence had melted the chains that held him back, affording him enough courage to face something like this head-on whereas he’d not even close the gap of a million miles in his previous life.

Shuffling to the side, he blinked back thrice in a row, using spells relentlessly as to mask his real intentions. He was burning through his Mana, having already used several potions to sustain himself above the 50% mark. Though he had a lot of life-preserving options and could trade blows, there was no need. Deep down, he knew he could win this battle. He was strong enough. Fast enough. Clever enough.

It had nothing to do with items, with titles, or his bounding arrogance--but confidence he’d gained over the course of all his previous fights. Raising his right arm, he heaved it back and shuffled it forth immediately after, forming a half-a-mile long spear cradled in raging flames that he barreled toward the distant figure that replied by slashing the sword in the shape of a slanted cross.

The world around them continued to bend and cry, visible dents in spacetime forming like bubbles beneath the skin. And yet, strangely enough, the world didn’t break. Even the few times they managed to puncture into void, the world repaired itself within some few seconds at most. Furthermore, it felt like a living organism--the same way a human body would swell as a countermeasure, it, too, seemed to do the same. Take the points of beating and balloon them. He didn’t know why or how or what purpose it served, but it felt conscious rather than reactive and instinctual.

The very fact, however, that he had the mindpower to even consider these things proved to him how much he had grown. In pure technical terms, he still wasn’t as strong as he was in his previous life. The caveat was, however, that he was very close--even with the insane gap between levels. A lot of that gap was bridged through titles and items and the uniqueness of his Class, but a good chunk of it was also due to his raw skill which shot up.

The greatest reason for it was that he fought harder and harder opponents, ever since he started. Both First and Second floors were equivalent to somewhere in the forties and fifties for his last life in terms of who and what he fought. He used the cheat items and titles he obtained to forcibly reinvent his core and shape his battle skills to where they were today. To where he could fight a King, something he didn’t even know existed the last time around.

Deflecting a strike, he felt a sudden shift in atmosphere; his heartbeat sped up, alarms ringing inside his mind, his senses tingling. Locking his eyes on the distant figure he saw the embellished fires dancing around the frame, spilling out like ink. The world around him bent and rippled, the sheer oscillations of Mana causing a convergence.

He’d taken the control, Cain realized, of every iota of natural Mana for miles on end. Cracking his teeth, he figured that he didn’t have enough time to complete all his plans as the incoming strike would likely obliterate him in the process if he waited. As such, utilizing every bit of Mana he left, splurging on Mana potions, he began to cast one skill after another.

Hundreds of thousands of motes of light alighted the world, some of fire and some of starlight, creating a night’s skyline of the cosmos. In their midst, an interweaving web spread, connecting them all like the hands of gods. Furthermore, Cain blurred and appeared at the very center, causing all the motes to vibrate and shake and dance around him, as though he were a black hole holding the entire galaxy together and preventing it from flying away.

The world changed, seemingly ripped asunder--on one end, darkness bellowed out and consumed everything, striking to the eye. Not even a mote of light could be seen in the eternal visage of nothingness, only a tiny frame, a figure afloat, a bellied beacon in the middle of nowhere holding it all together.

Ripped across from it was a completely different picture, a canvas of breathtaking lights that lit up the world--hundreds of thousands of lanterns, like notes of a song, forming a symphony of beauty, of breathtaking unity of life. Amidst the fire and starlight, a figure floated, cursed and blessed, ignited and untouched. The motes of light danced in place like fireflies, cascading from the high skies to the ground.

Yet, despite their appearance, the deceptive size, they were like bombs--each packed enough Mana to obliterate a small town on its own. Two pendulums starkly gazing at each other, death’s cold arms ripping out of the invisible void, the black tongue lashing out against the dry, cold lips in anticipation.

**

Yuun stared at the sight with a cracked gaze, his fingers clutched in a fist. It was a battle of two Kings, and even he rarely saw them happen in the wild. Despite many things that he was, a King did not fit among them. Even a young pup, a budding flower, shone resplendently with the crown of honor stacked upon his head.

Sighing, he took a sip of wine and let it burn through his throat. Looking to his side, he saw the woman standing there, a grin plastered on her face. She seemed entirely free and unconcerned, even now, fully believing that child fighting.

“He truly is above my expectations,” Yuun said. “But... he’s still weak.”

“Duh, of course,” she scoffed. “He’s pathetic.”

“... then why? Just because he’s a Thief? What’s more, he’s just a Minor Thief.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Thievery hardly impresses me. In fact, he wasn’t even on my radar until he met my late Master. The reason why I chose him... is because he’s quite chaotic.”

“H-huh?”

“He does things at his own pace, regardless of all else,” she continued. “Always pushing, always underestimating. Besides, he’s peeked at the Eleventh. It was for the briefest of breaths, but he peeked at it. He’d seen what has remained unseen for innumerable Cycles.”

“... that’s what I felt, huh?” Yuun mumbled, taking a sip of wine. “Every time I tried to see his Clock, something burned my soul. Impressive though it may be, it’s not a guarantee.”

“There are only ever two guarantees in life. Birth and death,” she said. “Especially when it comes to the Halls. Nothing I do is guaranteed. For all I know, I’ll be discovered tomorrow and beheaded the day after and all of this would have been in vain. And yet, I persist,” she glanced at him, smiling gingerly. “How’s it go? I’d rather cock it out with Heavens than be cocked by them?”

“I don’t think anything goes like that.”

“It should. He’ll make a fine sword. And he will cut through that veil. But we all need to be there. Uphold him.”

“... since he’s a Thief,” Yuun mumbled, sighing and deciding to accept the proposal. However finicky, there was little else he had to live for. He may as well burn the last of the fuel in his soul and see what happens. “It should be easier to bend the Time around him. I will make no promises.”

“Buy him a few centuries,” she said. “It should be plenty.”

“Won’t he go ma---never mind.”

“... besides,” she chuckled. “He’s already plenty mad enough. I mean, he is fighting a veteran King for the Kingdom he had never even seen.”

“H-huh?”

“True story,” she said. “He picked up a Crown and the spirit within it bound him to the promises.”

“... scratch all my praise. He’s a cosmic moron,” Yuun said, drinking the rest of the wine.

“That he is. That he is...”

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