Timeless AssassinC421: Anxiety On Both Sides
Chapter 421: Anxiety On Both Sides
(A few hours later, Soron's POV)
Once the two elders had left, Soron's frame gradually reverted to its weakened, mortal form.
He clutched at his chest, grimacing in pain as the effort of maintaining that earlier facade of strength had clearly taken its toll.
"I had long suspected the Council to be rotten... but I did not think it had decayed this far," he muttered under his breath, as he closed his eyes and recalled the information he had pulled from within the thoughts of the two elders.
As beyond the words that the two elders had spoken aloud, Soron had also peered into their thoughts and emotions. He had felt everything they carried in that moment: every fear, every lie, every hope.
He had studied them thoroughly, even before they were allowed inside the castle, examining the truth buried beneath their expressions and carefully chosen words.
By the time they entered the throne room, he already knew what they truly believed and what they secretly wished to accomplish.
The First Elder sought to have six councilmen dismissed from their posts, convinced beyond doubt that they had colluded in treason.
The Second Elder, on the other hand, came only to seek pardon.
Although he could not say for certain why the Fourth Elder had decided to teach Veyr forbidden techniques, the Second Elder had acted out of a genuine belief that Veyr was destined to become the next Dragon.
In his mind, it was not rebellion, but preparation. He had broken rules, yes, but not with ill intent.
And so, while the law had indeed been violated, Soron chose not to punish the Second Elder immediately. For despite his mistakes, his heart still beat for the Cult, and his actions, however misguided, were not rooted in malice.
It was with this understanding that Soron devised the condition he had proposed. Rather than pass judgment from behind closed doors, he would allow the truth to be revealed through battle. A public match, where strength, merit, and fate would speak louder than politics.
The winner would be made Dragon, while the loser, should that be Leo, would still be groomed for the position of Vice Sect Master.
"Fate will do as fate wills, however, I don't believe that it will be too bad for the boy to lose the bout.....
In more ways than one, the life of the Dragon is cursed.
Rather than reporting to a rotten council, it will be better for him to solely be groomed by Charles and moulded for the position of Vice Sect Master.
That way, he may not hate the Cult as much as he would should he become Dragon...." Soron mused to himself, as he let out a deep sigh and climbed on his bed to rest.
—-------------
Meanwhile, the First Elder on his way back from Ixtal, quickly typed a message on his data slate and sent it to all the other elders that were still his ally, informing them about the decision that Lord Soron had made.
'A public duel against a Transcendent-tier opponent?' The First Elder wondered, as he couldn't help but shake his head in dismay, when he thought about the odds of Leo's victory.
"The Skyshard boy is talented, yes, but he can't possibly fight and win against someone that's a tier stronger than him.
Even for him that's impossible—" The First Elder mused, as his heart sank, not only from a lack of belief, but also from the bitter restraints of time.
Two months wasn't enough for Leo to train for a fight against Veyr.
"Unless he breaks through," the First Elder muttered under his breath. "He has no chance."
And yet, even as those words left his lips, he couldn't bring himself to give up hope, as he started to wonder if Charles could help Leo achieve that breakthrough in time?
---
Meanwhile, the Twelfth Elder, sat with his head between his hands, feeling utterly dejected as he read the message that the First Elder had sent him via the data slate.
"It's almost like Lord Soron wants Leo to lose and go down Charles's life route instead of becoming a Dragon..." Noir concluded, as he clicked his tongue and shook his head.
He had fought hard to support Leo's growth from the shadows.
Had gone through a lot of difficulties to make him a viable Dragon Candidate, yet just when it was about to pay-off big time, unforeseen circumstances had taken his victory from him.
"A duel like this, at different tiers... it's not a real test of worth, it's a public humiliation fest," he muttered, his fingers drumming nervously against his side.
The only way out of this mess was if Leo did the impossible.
Which was to tier up within the next two months, and then face Veyr on equal terms, because without that, Noir saw no other road to success.
---
Meanwhile, the Fourth Elder, also sat dejected inside a dimly lit chamber, the faint light of a data slate illuminating his clenched jaw.
The second elder had also informed his camp of Lord Soron's decision, and the Fourth Elder did not feel happy about it at all.
If Veyr lost, his seat at the council and everything he had worked so hard for over the years would be forfeit.
And this spooked him to no end.
He wanted to laugh. After all, what chance did a lower-tier brat have against their chosen Transcendent Champion?
But then again...
Leo wasn't just any random brat.
He was the Rodova Circuits Champion.
The Underdog of Underdogs.
The man who had already neutralized a Transcendent Tier operative on live television.
That cursed boy had a way of ruining predictions.
And that terrified him more than he cared to admit, because if Leo won, it would be all over for him in politics.
---
Finally, the Seventh Elder also felt as horrified about this whole situation as the Fourth, as he froze in the middle of his routine tea drinking session when he got the message from the Second Elder, informing him of Lord Soron's cruel decision.
He had placed a bet, a dangerous one, on Veyr's future, by joining the Fourth Elder's camp a month back.
But now that future was about to be tested.
And the stakes weren't just pride or reputation—they were seats. Power. Everything.
"Leo Skyshard... don't tell me you'll actually pull this off," he whispered.
Because deep down, the Seventh Elder had a sinking feeling that the boy just might, and that horrified him to his core.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC422: Cocky Arrogance
Chapter 422: Cocky Arrogance
(A couple days later, Charles's POV)
Charles was informed about the public match just one day before the official announcement was scheduled to go out.
The news didn't come through a message or courier, but from the First Elder himself, who made the journey to planet Juxta in person to deliver Lord Soron's verdict.
Charles burst into laughter the moment he heard what had unfolded inside the council room.
"Hahahaha..."
It sounded loud and genuine at first, but the rage bubbling beneath his skin was impossible to miss. His expression twisted with disgust as he spat onto the floor, the glob landing right beside the First Elder's feet.
"You lot never fail to impress me with how low you can sink," Charles growled, his eyes narrowing. "You're lucky Soron still thinks you're essential to the Cult's peace and prosperity, because if it were up to me, I would've strangled the lot of you myself."
His killing intent surged with every word, blanketing the air around them as he took a step closer and stared the First Elder directly in the eye.
"And now you want me to force the boy to break through to the transcendent realm within two months? When he's not even ready?"
He scoffed.
"No. Absolutely not. I'm not ruining his future over some council-made disaster."
"We don't have another option," the First Elder replied, trying to stay composed. "A Grandmaster cannot defeat a Transcendent in an open arena. This isn't an ambush or stealth mission. There will be no tricks. No advantages. This is public combat... and if Leo's not at the same tier, he won't last ten seconds."
He tried to reason, however Charles had none of it.
"If he can't, then so be it," Charles snapped. "Let him lose. Let him step down. He can live his life as Vice Sect Master under my guidance. But I'll be damned if I compromise his foundation just because you failed to secure his appointment the proper way."
*Spit*
He spat again, this time even closer to Mavern's shoe.
"Do you even understand how gifted this kid is?"
Charles's voice shifted, softening slightly with awe.
"He's passed eight prison-break simulations in the last eleven days.
Eight fucking simulations in eleven fucking days, Mavern! EIGHT!
Even my best Transcendent-tier operatives couldn't manage that with six months of preparation.
The boy is a monster in the making. A real prodigy. There's no doubt in my mind."
Mavern stood in stunned silence. Praise like that, coming from Charles of all people, was almost unbelievable.
He had known Charles for decades, and never once had he heard him speak of someone this highly.
"He'll grow the right way," Charles continued. "Even if it means losing this match. Even if it means being humiliated in front of the Cult. I don't care. In the long run, this boy will be one of the cornerstones of the Cult, and I'll make damn sure of that."
He made it clear that Mavern would not be allowed to meet Leo, nor would there be any forced breakthrough.
The discussion, as far as Charles was concerned, was over.
But just before Charles turned to leave, Mavern's voice cracked through the air, softer this time.
"At least train him properly... give him real combat drills. Not just those prison break missions. If he's going to lose, at least let him lose with dignity. That much, you owe me... old friend."
Charles stopped, then exhaled deeply.
"That much I can do," he said with a sigh, before shaking his head and taking off, vanishing into the sky.
Mavern remained behind, alone with his thoughts, wondering if perhaps, just perhaps, Charles's combat training would prove to be enough for him to upset the odds.
"No.... What am I even thinking? A Grandmaster can't beat a Transcendent in open combat..... if Charles won't push him for a breakthrough, then this fight is as good as doomed," Mavern said to himself in a low voice, as he began to mentally lose hope of any victory.
—---------------
(Meanwhile, Aegon Veyr's POV)
Probably the only person who found genuine satisfaction in the announcement of the public bout was Aegon Veyr himself, as this was exactly the kind of outcome he had been hoping for all along.
He stood inside the Fourth Elder's private training ground, his arms folded loosely across his chest as he looked down at the written message that had just come through via the messenger, as a slow smile crept across his face.
"Heh... I was waiting for this regardless," Veyr muttered, a glint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Old man Soron has done me a favor here."
He tilted his head back and chuckled, the sound rising from his throat like it couldn't be helped.
"Now I get to be named Dragon, and finally put that arrogant little brat in his place.
He's been roaming as the little circuits champion for long enough, but it's time to shrink him down to size!"
His fingers twitched at his side, the thrill of battle already coursing through his veins as he imagined the smug expression on Leo Skyshard's face twisting in confusion, then fear, then defeat when they eventually met in battle.
"Hahaha... this is perfect," Veyr laughed to himself, louder this time, his voice carried by the wind.
"There won't be any politicians deciding our future, just a single fight.
One that I'm going to win so convincingly, it'll leave no room for doubt. I'll drag him through the dirt and make sure everyone knows who the true deserving candidate to become Dragon is."
He could already see it— the crowd roaring his name, the ceremonial robes of the Dragon being wrapped around his shoulders, and Leo lying at his feet, broken and humiliated.
"A Grandmaster versus a Transcendent? Tch. This won't even be a fight."
He turned away from the training ground, the grin still plastered on his face as he walked back toward his resting room.
"Train hard, Leo," he whispered, barely loud enough for the messenger behind him to hear.
"Make it interesting, so when I crush you, there's at least something worth remembering."
And with that, Aegon Veyr began his preparations for the bout, confident that the outcome had already been decided.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC423: Perfect Life Choices
Chapter 423: Perfect Life Choices
(Planet Juxta, Just outside a prison cell, Leo's POV)
Leo had just successfully broken out of his ninth prison cell in the past twelve days when he spotted a slightly concerned Charles waiting for him near the exit point.
"What's up, Commander? Why do you look so dejected? Don't tell me you finally ran out of prisons to throw me in," Leo asked with a cocky grin, stretching his shoulders as if expecting another challenge.
Charles, however, didn't return the smile. Instead, he raised a hand and gestured for Leo to settle down, his expression more serious than usual.
"Look, son..." Charles began, his voice slower and heavier than usual.
It was then that Leo, the last person to learn about his own circumstances, felt a familiar pounding in his temples, as the moment Charles told him about the public bout, a massive headache began to form in his head, as if the universe had chosen this exact moment to remind him of how absurd his life had become.
"The fuck? Who the hell even wants to be Dragon? Not me for sure..." Leo muttered, exasperated, because in the first place, he never had any desire to become the Cult's chosen Dragon.
It was the Twelfth Elder who had tried to forcibly push the title onto him, even going so far as to hold his family hostage to ensure cooperation. But when the moment came to convince the rest of his political allies, the man suddenly failed to deliver.
"I swear, the Twelfth Elder is seriously the most incompetent fool I've met. He bullies me relentlessly, but when it's time to walk the talk, he's absolutely useless!" Leo snapped, throwing his hands in the air as he bit back a string of curses he badly wanted to let loose.
"Commander Charles... Can I just throw this match? I really don't care about the title of the Dragon, it feels like way too much hassle anyway. If this Veyr guy wants it so badly, let's just give him the damn thing and be done with it—" Leo asked, half-serious, half-joking, as Charles simply shook his head in firm refusal.
"You can lose with your dignity intact, but you can't throw the fight. The entirety of the Cult will be watching this, and if you make a bad first impression, it'll stick to your name for life," Charles explained calmly, his voice carrying a rare kind of seriousness.
"Whether you win or lose, you need to show heart. So that when you eventually join the army, or take up some other post, your men look at you with respect... not as some coward who backed out of his first real test."
Leo rolled his eyes in disbelief, struggling to understand who in their right mind ever thought it was a great idea to pit a Grandmaster against a Transcendent in open combat.
To make matters worse, this farce of a duel would mark his formal debut within the Cult— the very place he now had to build a life in, considering he was already branded a wanted criminal back in the righteous faction.
"Perfect... just perfect. It seems like I've made excellent life choices by allying myself with you people—" Leo muttered sarcastically, as Dumpy, who was sitting perched on his shoulder with folded arms, nodded in agreement like an old sage.
"Lord Father, please allow me to face this Veyr guy on your behalf. I assure you, I will whoop his candy ass and bring great honor to your name. You only need to say the word..." Dumpy offered proudly, his tone filled with ridiculous conviction, as Leo couldn't help but chuckle at his words.
"You want to be the next Dragon, Dumpy? I think you'd make a fine messiah," Leo teased, watching as Dumpy puffed out his chest in pride and nodded smugly.
"Why would I want to be an inferior creature like a Dragon, Lord Father? When I am a beautiful, mythical swamp frog? I love my race the best!" Dumpy declared, completely straight-faced, and Leo burst out in full-blown laughter.
For all the chaos surrounding his life lately, having Dumpy around at least brought some light into his otherwise grim days.
"On a serious note, son..." Charles suddenly said in a graver voice, drawing Leo's attention back to reality.
"Do you want to win this fight or not? Because depending on how badly you want it, I'll curate your training regime accordingly for the next two months." Charles asked, as Leo gave him a self-deprecating smile, feeling unsure on how to even answer that.
On one hand, he didn't care about becoming Dragon, not even a little.
But on the other hand, he wasn't exactly the type who enjoyed losing either.
If he was going to show up and fight for real, then naturally, he wanted to fight to win.
"Commander... to be honest, I want you to train me as hard as you can for the next two months.
Not because I particularly want to become the Dragon or anything—because I genuinely could not care less about that title. But because I want to train for it regardless.
Growing stronger and pushing myself is never going to be a waste of my time."
"If I win, I win. If not, at least the training I did won't go to waste. And I'll take that as my real win." He said nonchalantly while shrugging his shoulders, as Charles stared at him in silence, feeling something stir deep within.
Listening to Leo's mindset, Charles felt a spark light up within him, a rare spark that he hadn't felt in years.
It was rare to find a child at Leo's age with a warrior's mentality like that of a sage.
At Leo's age, most kids were blinded by vanity and obsessed with results, titles, and recognition.
But Leo wasn't one of them.
"Good," Charles finally said, his voice laced with resolve. "If you're ready to put in the work, then I promise you—Veyr won't win easy, no matter the tier advantage he holds."
Leo gave him a bright smile and a thumbs-up, completely unaware that in this exact moment, he had just awakened a sleeping giant.
Up till now, Charles had only been training him out of obligation, however, from now onwards he decided to take it seriously.
Over the next two months, Charles planned to push him through hell and back, ensuring that he showed up to fight Veyr while being armed with skills that no normal Grandmaster warrior should know.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC424: The News Breaks Out
Chapter 424: The News Breaks Out
(Across Cult Territories, The Day of the Announcement)
When the announcement about the next Dragon being chosen finally became public, the emotions it aroused from the masses were nothing short of cataclysmic.
They had been waiting for their next messiah for over three long decades—thirty years of silence, thirty years of fractured hope, thirty years of watching the Cult stagger through uncertainty without its spiritual leader.
And then, without warning, one fine morning as sunlight cracked over the horizon, it happened.
The skies on each and every single Cult controlled planet flickered with shimmering glyphs and projection banners, each spelling out a singular message.
[ In 57 days, the next Dragon will be chosen! ]
The news burst through radio towers and satellite streams, rolled off the tongues of holographic anchors, and echoed across every corridor of the Cult's domains.
From high-tech metropolises to mountain-side hamlets clinging to the edge of the world, the same message rang out in perfect unison.
["The Elders Council declares: The Next Dragon shall be chosen in 57 days' time.
Two candidates, Leo Skyshard, a Grandmaster-tier warrior, and Aegon Veyr, a Transcendent-tier warrior, have been shortlisted by the Council.
These two will face one another in a public match to determine who shall bear the title of the Dragon.
Further details regarding the venue and combat protocols will be released shortly..."]
The moment those words were spoken, entire city blocks came to a halt.
Work ceased without command.
Schools released children mid-lesson, shoppers stood mid-bargain in market streets, hands still gripping half-weighed produce.
Even trains paused mid-transit as conductors choked on the breath they were holding.
And for one brief moment, a silence deeper than any dead battlefield's fell over every Cult-controlled world.
Until it shattered—
With sobs.
Old men wept openly beneath stone statues of Dragons long passed, reaching out with wrinkled fingers as if trying to grasp the presence of something divine.
Elderly women collapsed to their knees right where they stood, clinging to prayer beads as if the announcement itself had poured holy mana into the world, weeping uncontrollably with joy they hadn't dared feel in decades.
Veteran soldiers stood in parade stance by instinct, turning to face the notification screens in their cities as they raised trembling hands in salute, while battle-hardened warriors who had long buried their emotions behind scars and protocol now bowed their heads, overcome by something no words could encapsulate.
Mothers clutched their children tighter than ever before, kneeling beside them, whispering dreams into their ears through tear-streaked cheeks.
"Grow strong, my love.
Grow fast.
Train with pride and honor.
For the Dragon shall rise again... and perhaps you will live long enough to serve under him."
Even in places where the light of the Cult barely reached.....
Remote border towns, swamp colonies, half-forgotten spaceports and cliffside monasteries...
Even there, people gathered barefoot in dusty squares, huddled together around flickering old-world screens powered by salvaged cores, straining to hear the names as they were read aloud.
Leo Skyshard.
Aegon Veyr.
Two names.
Two warriors.
And a promise so old and sacred it was etched into the bones of the land itself.
"The Dragon would walk again....."
As within a few hours of this announcement being made public, recruitment offices that had been shuttered for years reopened with a renewed enthusiasm, only to be mobbed by a flood of new pledges.
Teenagers too young to wield a blade and elders far past their prime stood shoulder to shoulder in those lines, unified by purpose, unified by faith.
They came in droves, declaring with clenched fists and proud eyes that they would train, they would bleed, they would serve, because the Dragon was returning and they wanted their lives to mean something when he did.
This wasn't politics.
This wasn't propaganda.
This was faith in its absolute purest, blindest form.
Ballads thought lost to time were sung again, echoing from balconies, taverns, and temple steps alike.
Ancient verses were dusted off and given new breath, as flames of old pride flared back to life in every forgotten corner of the Cult's shattered territories.
Fireworks ignited the night sky without ceremony or order, as the commoners expressed their joy over the Dragon's return.
And yet, buried beneath all the faith and fervor, a different energy stirred in whispered corners.
Curiosity.
Doubt.
Wonder.
Leo Skyshard.
Aegon Veyr.
These names now belonged to mythic figures.
They were debated over steaming tea in kitchens and shouted across training halls.
They were the first and last words on every channel.
They were written into chalk drawings by children and chiseled onto the walls of alleys by wandering monks.
But who were they... really?
Aegon Veyr was a mystery. A name never heard before today, a prodigy raised away from the public eye, molded in secret by the Council's hand, rumored to be powerful but untested.
And then... there was Leo Skyshard.
Leo, the prodigy from the Righteous Territories, the boy who crossed over and emerged as the Circuit's Champion of Rodova.
A name whispered with reverence among elite students and feared within military academies across the universe.
A warrior who didn't need any introduction even within the Cult, where he had many fans after his circuit's performance.
But he was a Grandmaster.
And his opponent was a Transcendent.
So why had he been chosen?
How was this fair?
Some jeered at the absurdity.
Some claimed corruption or spectacle.
But many, far more than anyone expected, felt excited.
Because when they reviewed Leo's old match footage....
When they rewatched the Circuits and saw Leo fight without fear, without pause, without weakness.....
When they read the rumoured reports of his battles and the trials he had endured during his time within the Black Serpents, the public opinion shifted.
"Maybe... he is no ordinary Grandmaster."
"Maybe the Elder's Council sees something in him that we do not."
"Maybe he's just that special."
"Maybe... he's someone who transcends tiers."
And so the countdown began.
Fifty-seven days.
Fifty-seven days until the next Dragon rose to reshape the world.
Fifty-seven days until history was carved into stone and blood.
Until one name soared into legend, and became the next holy leader of the Cult Of Ascension.
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Timeless AssassinC425: Lacking
Chapter 425: Lacking
(56 Days Before the Fight, Leo's POV)
When Leo asked Charles to train him as hard as he could, he did not expect the Monarch to directly challenge him to a friendly sparring match, where he was asked to go as hard as he could to try and land a blow.
*SHING*
*SHING*
Leo's daggers clashed against a crooked piece of scrap metal, something Charles had picked up while casually walking through the military base, not because it was special, but because it was there, and because even a piece of junk in his hands became a lethal weapon.
They sparred in the heart of an active military zone, surrounded by thousands of soldiers and staff, many of whom had stopped mid-task to witness the bout, their attention completely drawn to this violent dance, ignoring the distant artillery strikes echoing in the sky above Juxta as if this duel unfolding on the ground mattered more than the war itself.
"That's him, isn't it? That's Leo Skyshard, one of the two Dragon candidates."
"Hah, look at him being thrown around by Commander Charles. The kid can't even make him move half a step."
"Of course he can't. The Commander is a Monarch. Even if every soldier on this base charged him at once, I doubt we'd manage to make him retreat."
The crowd murmured in hushed awe, their words flowing over one another, some with admiration, others with skepticism, as they tried to see just what one of the two Dragon Candidates was potentially made of.
"Slow."
"Weak."
"A two-year-old with blurred vision could have seen through that feint."
Charles criticised without holding back, his tone sharp and direct, as he blocked everything Leo threw at him with laughable ease.
This was their first real day of training, and Charles simply wanted to get a sense of Leo's combat abilities and overall level so he could guide him more effectively, but what he had seen so far left him visibly disappointed.
He let Leo burn through every ounce of stamina, every burst of mana, every last variation of technique, before even considering the idea of counterattacking.
As Leo, drenched in sweat and struggling to catch his breath, tightened his grip on his blades, his mind racing through options that had already failed him a dozen times in the last forty minutes.
No matter how he moved or what combinations he used, whether it was Blade Switch transitioning into Dark Blade, or Astral Hook Bind linked through Stormflash Traverse, or even Mirror World paired with Vanish, nothing seemed to break Charles's defence.
Nor did it seem to even come close.
It was as if Charles could see beyond illusions and feints alike, as if he could read Leo's thoughts before they ever translated into motion, and strike preemptively by sheer instinct honed over a thousand battles.
Leo grit his teeth, a bitter realization blooming in his chest as fatigue dulled his steps, and his mana reserves started to run low.
The gap between them was too wide.
Too absolute.
Too unfair.
He could not touch Charles. He could not even shake him. And hence, when he started to run out of tricks to perform, it was Charles who finally got bored and decided to end the fight.
"Alright, I'm bored now. Time to knock you unconscious." Charles declared, as he charged towards Leo with the intention to hit the pressure point on his neck, his expression calm and unimpressed, as if even the act of ending the fight wasn't worth much effort.
Yet the moment his feet moved, Leo's instincts screamed at him to back off. He knew what was coming. Knew where the strike would land. Knew that Charles was aiming for the pressure point on his neck, and still—
Still, there was nothing he could do.
Leo raised both arms in defense, keeping his forearms tucked in and his daggers angled inward to guard his throat, using the classic defensive posture that relied on tight spacing and predictive movement to create a small but iron-clad window of protection.
And Charles saw straight through it.
As instead of going for the neck, he went for the elbows first.
*Bam*
A sharp flick of his wrist, and the edge of his scrap-metal weapon clanged against Leo's outer elbow joint with just enough force to rupture the balance of his guard.
Leo's arms trembled and twisted out of formation, his muscles buckling from the impact as his daggers staggered wide.
And then came the follow-up.
Before Leo could even re-adjust his stance, Charles's hand was already on the move, two fingers curled together like a miniature spear, aimed straight for the side of Leo's neck.
*Thwip*
The hit was surgical, clean, and precise, striking the cluster of nerves just beneath the skin.
Leo's body froze mid-motion.
His legs gave out half a second later.
The world tilted sideways.
And the last thing he saw was the faint smirk curling on Charles's lips, not smug, not arrogant, but quiet and knowing, like a craftsman who had seen this play out a hundred times before.
Then everything went black.
—------------
"WOHOO! LET'S GO COMMANDER!"
"Hahaha, the Dragon Candidate is still too green. In the end he's no match for the Commander!"
"That was a great finishing move, Commander!"
The soldiers erupted in cheers from the sidelines, their voices echoing across the military complex, as Charles gave them a brief wave and a warm smile before slinging Leo's unconscious body over his shoulder with practiced ease.
Yet, despite the relaxed grin on his face and the casual chuckle that followed, Charles felt a deep weight pressing down on his thoughts, his mind consumed by concern for Leo's future.
There was no denying that Leo possessed an extremely high battle IQ, paired with a level of agility and reflexes that bordered on the unnatural. His ability to read situations, adapt on the fly, and strike with precision was nothing short of impressive.
But his flaws were just as glaring.
His raw attack power and defensive durability were sorely lacking. He depended too heavily on speed and tactical ingenuity, often dancing around brute force rather than confronting it head-on.
While that strategy could work against opponents of similar or slightly superior level, Charles could see how it would crumble against someone with overwhelming power or an impenetrable guard.
'Two months is not enough time for me to completely patch the holes in your fundamentals, son,' Charles thought, pausing to light a cigarette as he walked.
He took a deep drag, inhaling nearly a third of the bud in one breath, the familiar burn doing little to ease the storm of thoughts in his head.
'So we'll need to double down on what you already excel at, and sharpen those tools until they're so refined that they can pierce through even higher-tiered defences.'
He exhaled a long stream of smoke, eyes narrowing slightly as his thoughts circled in on a single possibility.
"The only viable path I see for you to win this fight is if you complete the first stage of the Sevenfold Revelation Codex and ascend from the realm of colors into the realm of intent.
That's the only way you'll gain the tactical advantage you need to bridge the gap in tiers." Charles mused to himself, as although the solution became clear in his head, so did the obstacle.
"But how do I show you green and help you comprehend the last color?"
He took another long drag, finishing half of what remained of his cigarette, the ember glowing bright as he stared blankly ahead, caught in contemplation.
"The most straightforward way would be to push you to the brink of death and hope that your willpower responds with green... but that's a method even I hesitate to use, simply because it's too cruel and extreme...."
His steps slowed for a brief moment as he looked down at the unconscious boy on his shoulder, the weight of the responsibility to help him improve at any cost necessary settling in his bones.
"Do I really need to go that far just to help you complete the first stage of the Codex?" he wondered aloud, flicking the cigarette stub from his lips and grinding it under his heel with a sharp stomp, the smoldering tip snuffed out in silence, as he tried to make up his mind on just how far he needed to push Leo, to finally help him see Green.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC426: Collapse
Chapter 426: Collapse
(56 Days Before the Fight, Leo's POV)
When Leo opened his eyes again, he found himself staring at a crude farming tool, one that looked completely out of place in a world as advanced as Juxta, as it seemed like a primitive way to farm, created during times when farm animals were the best way to till fields.
The tool had a rusted iron frame that twisted into a wide-toothed tiller, its wooden handles cracked and splintered, wrapped in fraying wire where nails once held it together.
The base was caked with dry blood and old soil, and it reeked of rust and age, as if it had been passed through generations of dead men too stubborn to let it rot.
It sat at the center of a circular track, etched crudely into the rocky terrain of the military base's outer fields, where new recruits were usually sent for isolated punishment, usually being asked to run 100 or 200 rounds of the area with their hands raised above their heads.
'Why am I here?' Leo wondered, as he gently stroked the sore spot on his neck where Charles had hit him to knock him out.
'Fuck, even though I knew he was going to hit me here, I could do nothing to stop him–' Leo recalled, as he grit his teeth and shook his head in disappointment.
He had made a lot of simple mistakes in his previous spar against Charles, and if given a second chance, he knew he could do much better.
"Where's Dumpy?" He mused next, as looking around, he tried to find his pet, however, couldn't find him anywhere.
Since yesterday, Charles had separated the two, as while Leo embarked on a new tangent of training, aimed at getting him ready for the big fight in 56 days, Dumpy was made to continue with his prison break regiment and barred from meeting Leo until he successfully broke out of 5 prison set-ups alone.
"Hang in there Dumpy! I know you can do it even without me," Leo muttered with confidence, as Charles suddenly appeared before him at that moment.
"So.... Looks like sleeping beauty is finally awake–" Charles joked, as he stood a few feet away, face contorted into a smile, yet eyes devoid of any warmth, as he looked at Leo as if he was ready to hurl down a world of pain on him.
"Yeah, I'm up!" Leo responded, getting back up to his feet, as Charles nodded and pointed towards the crude farming tool in front of him.
"After sparring with you once, I've decided that your next assignment is going to be old school.
You are going to push that thing in a loop around this circle," Charles said, gesturing lazily to the barely marked path.
"Again, and again, and again, until you've dug a hole 100 feet deep. You stop before then, and you'll pay like hell for it." Charles explained, as Leo blinked in disbelief.
He waited for a grin to break out on Charles's face, something to show that he was only kidding, however, none came.
"A hundred feet Commander Charles? Are you fucking kidding me?" he said, his voice cracking in disbelief, as he looked at the crude tool, then towards Charles then back at the tool yet again.
"Son, you said you wanted me to train you to the limits.
Now is the time when you walk the talk and show me what you're made of.
There's no hostility between us. I'm not asking you to do this because I derive some sadistic pleasure from seeing you walk in circles like a farm animal.
I am giving you this task, because I genuinely think you can do this if you put your mind to it. However, if you can't, then the consequences will be harsher than what you want to bear.
So for your sake, I do strongly hope you manage to complete this task, because if you can't, I swear son, you'll see a side of me that I usually reserve for my worst enemies," Charles warned in a cold voice, his tone much more serious than usual, as Leo instantly frowned when he heard those words.
It seemed like Charles really wanted him to go through with this, and although he did not understand what benefit this training could possibly bring him, he let out a long sigh and began to walk towards the old machine while shaking his head.
"As you say, Chief–" Leo said, as he gripped the old handle of the machine and began to push forward with both hands, his boots braced firmly against the uneven gravel beneath.
However, the moment the wheels scraped against the dirt, Leo realized this task was going to be far harder than it looked.
The ground wasn't soft soil that could be parted with effort, but was rather a jagged mix of dry clay, embedded stones, hardened roots, and stubborn patches of grass that refused to yield.
Every inch felt like pushing a giant rock up a 45 degree incline. The tiller barely moved, its rusted joints screeching with protest, and the metal teeth at the base refused to cut deeper than a couple of inches without catching on something solid and jolting violently.
He leaned his entire weight into the handles and forced it ahead, feeling his muscles strain with each step as the contraption grudgingly rolled forward with all the grace of a dying ox.
The handles dug into his palms with every uneven patch, the wires tearing into his skin and drawing fresh blood within the first few minutes.
The circle he was told to walk wasn't small either—it was the size of a mid-scale arena, and completing even one full loop took over twenty minutes with how much resistance the ground gave.
*Clink*
*Scrape*
*Drag*
The sound of rusted metal gnashing against pebbles filled the air with an agonizing rhythm, echoing through the emptiness of the training ground, broken only by the occasional gust of dry wind or the cawing of the scavenger crows circling above.
Leo kept his head low and eyes focused on the path ahead, not allowing himself to look at Charles even once.
He didn't need to.
He could feel the Monarch's eyes on him the entire time, like a predator watching not to attack, but to judge whether the prey deserved to keep living.
By the end of the fifth hour, Leo's shoulders were on fire, his forearms cramping, and his hands shaking from the constant vibration.
By the fifteenth, his legs began to buckle with every step, the pain creeping into his thighs and calves, each rotation of the circle becoming more and more impossible to finish.
His vision swam at the corners, and sweat poured down his face in thick streams, soaking through his robes, drenching him entirely until even the inside of his boots squelched with moisture.
The sun didn't help.
The sky above Juxta blazed a cruel orange, casting long shadows that seemed to taunt him, as if the ground itself knew he couldn't complete this trial.
But despite the difficulties, Leo kept pushing.
Grinding.
Dragging.
Loop after loop.
He lost count after his twentieth round.
Time became irrelevant, his breaths short and shallow, muscles twitching involuntarily, but his grip never loosened.
One more step. One more circle. One more lap.
It became a rhythm that replaced thought.
Pain was no longer a warning, it was the only sensation reminding him that he was still alive.
And finally, somewhere deep into the next night since he had begun moving in circles, when even the crows had long vanished and the wind had grown deathly still, Leo's knees gave out.
He didn't grunt, nor did he scream with frustration.
He just collapsed, wordless and silent, his chest heaving like a bellows trying to breathe life into a broken forge, as his face hit the dirt and the tiller stopped moving for the first time in nearly two days.
After all those hours, he had barely carved a trench ten feet deep.
Only ten.
And after completing just 10% of his goal, his arms and legs refused to move at all.
His body had reached its absolute end.
He blinked once, vision blurred, half-conscious, as he tasted a metallic taste in his mouth.
And then, through the haze, came the sound of boots approaching—slow, steady, heavy—and the flicker of a match being struck, as the scent of freshly lit tobacco filled the air.
Charles knelt down beside him, blowing a cloud of smoke into his face.
"Ten feet," he muttered under his breath. "After all that, ten feet?"
Leo couldn't speak.
Couldn't even produce a retort, as he literally felt too exhausted to even talk.
All he could do was stare blankly at the sky above, the stars swirling overhead, as the Monarch loomed over him, his eyes devoid of mercy, as thick red killing intent began to pool around his body.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC427: Why?
Chapter 427: Why?
Leo felt confused as to why Charles had killing intent pooling around his body at this moment, however, his thoughts were too sluggish, his body too broken, and his mind too hollow to piece together any meaningful answer.
The only explanation that floated weakly to the surface was that perhaps Charles was angry at how little progress he had made.
Ten feet. Just ten feet.
Far less than the hundred he had been tasked with.
But even in his most far-fetched, nightmare-laced thoughts, Leo couldn't have imagined the kind of punishment that was about to follow.
"I–I'm sorry, Commander," he croaked, voice cracked and brittle. "But there was... was no fucking way I could have dug a hundred feet non-stop. I don't have that kind of strength or endurance."
He forced himself to lift his head, blinking hard in an attempt to focus on Charles's expression, hoping to see a flicker of sympathy, or at the very least, understanding.
But before his eyes could fully adjust, the only thing he saw coming towards him was not a hand reaching out to help but rather a clenched fist barreling straight for his face.
*BAM*
Leo's head snapped sideways from the force of the blow, his cheekbone catching the full brunt as he tasted copper and dirt at once.
His mind reeled, the pain blooming instantly: raw, sharp, and radiating, yet more than the physical shock, it was the confusion that crushed him first.
What the hell was that?
Why?
Why did Charles just hit him?
Still crumpled on the ground, Leo blinked rapidly, trying to reset his spinning vision as he shakily raised one arm to shield himself, instincts kicking in far too late.
"Wait—wh–"
*CRACK*
The second punch landed square on his forehead, snapping his head back with such force that he heard something pop inside his neck.
His guard was torn apart like paper, his limbs too slow, too weak, too drained to mount any real resistance.
And just like that, he understood.
This was no accident.
This was the punishment that Charles swore would come if he did not fulfill his expectations.
"Well fuck!" Leo hissed through a busted lip, spitting blood as he tried to glare at the blur that was Charles. "Beating a man when he's down bad and absolutely exhausted, that's real fucking mature of you—"
*THUMP*
Charles drove his knee straight into Leo's ribs, sending him skidding a few feet across the gravel like a sack of broken bones.
The skin on his shoulder and back shredded as he rolled to a stop, coughing violently as blood sprayed from his mouth in a crimson arc.
The Monarch didn't answer.
He didn't speak.
He simply followed, step by calm step, before kneeling down beside Leo and slamming his elbow into the boy's collarbone.
*SNAP*
Leo screamed, his cry sounding short, guttural, and raw, as pain unlike anything he'd felt before shot down his left side, his arm going completely numb.
His shoulder bone cracked like dried twigs, and for the first time, a very real flicker of panic crept into his mind.
This wasn't just standard discipline.
This couldn't be part of a training drill.
This wasn't even punishment anymore.
This was him being beaten to a pulp for no reason at all.
"You're... breaking my bones...?" Leo gasped, his chest heaving, his eyes wide as Charles raised his hand again without pause and drove his knuckles straight into his sternum.
*BOOM*
Something gave way, something in the middle of his chest, and Leo felt a horrifying crack across his ribs, the pressure instantly flooding his lungs with blood and agony.
The shock made his limbs spasm, his body convulsing violently from the inside out as the taste of iron returned, thicker this time, darker.
That's when it hit him.
'He's not just hurting me.... The fucker is trying to kill me for real—'
"Too far..." Leo wheezed, barely able to speak as his voice trembled. "You're going too far..."
In desperation, he reached deep inside himself and triggered [Stormflash Traverse], willing his body to vanish, to blink away from the nightmare that now wore his mentor's face.
But the moment his form began to shimmer—
*GRAB*
Charles's hand shot out like a serpent and clamped around Leo's leg mid-teleport.
"Going somewhere?"
Leo's scream tore through the night air as his ankle twisted grotesquely in Charles's grip, a sickening crunch echoing across the empty military grounds.
Then came the slams.
One.
*THUD*
Two.
*CRACK*
Three.
*CRUNCH*
Again and again, Charles hurled Leo's body against the ground like a blood-soaked ragdoll, the rocky surface splitting skin, tearing muscle, and cracking joints in ways that shouldn't have been possible.
Blood flowed freely now.... from his scalp, his ears, his nose, every open wound spilling his life away onto the dust-soaked earth.
Every nerve in his body screamed. Every bone begged for mercy.
And through it all, the only thing Leo could do was breathe shallow, fragmented breaths and mutter one broken question.
"Why...?"
"Why are you doing this....?" He asked in a raspy voice, as Charles stopped with his violence only momentarily.
He stood over Leo, his boots soaked in Leo's spilled blood, as he stared down at the battered boy clinging to life by threads.
Then he crouched.
And leaned in.
Close enough that their foreheads nearly touched.
"Why?" Charles echoed, his tone twisted into something cruel and mockingly thoughtful. "What does it matter why?"
He let the question hang in the air as a manic gleam flashed behind his deadened eyes.
"Maybe Veyr bought off my loyalty last night, and I'm here to finish you off.
Maybe I'm just a psychopath who enjoys killing his students.
Maybe I snapped today after watching you fail my expectations."
His breath was hot against Leo's face, filled with smoke and madness.
"What does it matter why?"
Another punch.
Another rib shattered.
Another bolt of agony.
And as Leo choked on blood, pain, and terror all at once, something inside him whispered—
'What does it matter why?'
'I always told you.... Trust No-one!'
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC428: The Boss Is Not Done Yet
Chapter 428: The Boss Is Not Done Yet
(Charles's POV)
Charles never really wanted to beat Leo down so bad.
With every punch he landed on the boy's battered frame, a small grimace twisted his expression, fleeting and buried beneath the cold mask he wore.
Deep down, he kept hoping that the next blow would be enough, that it would finally push Leo within an inch of death where the line between quitting and clinging would begin to blur.
But Leo was a stubborn bastard.
Too damn stubborn for someone who was just a Grandmaster, as it actually took Charles far longer than expected to systematically dismantle his body, to peel apart the fight layer by layer until it began to flicker.
"I will kill you kid," he muttered beneath his breath, as his fist arced down again, slamming against Leo's ribs with a sickening crunch. "If you don't fight for your life, if you don't protect yourself against my attacks, you.... will....die!"
Leo's body spasmed under the impact, blood spurting from his nose and lip, his chest caved slightly on the right side, and his arms barely twitching as he tried to move.
His eyes were half-lidded now, barely responding.
His breaths were so faint that Charles had to lower his head slightly just to confirm he was still alive.
But that didn't stop Charles from delivering another blow.
And then another.
Until Leo's right femur snapped clean, his body jerking once, then going still again.
"Come on..." Charles repeated, tone quieter now, not mocking but strained. "Don't you dare go out like this."
His knuckles were stained with Leo's blood, his boots soaked through, and yet the kid still hadn't passed out. He was drifting, clearly, spiraling toward unconsciousness—but not quite letting go.
It frustrated Charles. But more than that, it scared him. Because if the boy didn't show any spark of green now, then everything he was doing here... all of it would be for nothing.
He paused.
Stood over Leo's broken frame, fists clenched, chest rising and falling slowly.
And waited.
Waited for something.
Anything.
But Leo didn't move.
Didn't cry.
Didn't scream.
Didn't even tremble anymore.
His breaths were like whispers lost in wind—short rasps, as if his body had finally abandoned the idea of resistance.
Charles stepped forward slowly, raising his hand again, this time drawing back with perfect coiling, every muscle along his shoulder tensing as his fist hovered above Leo's chin.
"You can close your eyes now, son," he said quietly, voice devoid of aggression. "And I promise you, you won't wake up again."
He stared down at the boy who was more talented than any other kid he had ever come across in his life, but was now lying before him like a fallen bird with its wings snapped off.
"Maybe it's not too bad," Charles added, his voice carrying a hint of something mournful. "Maybe closing your eyes now will save you from a world of pain in the future. Maybe you weren't meant to go the distance. Maybe dying here... like this... is better than what's coming."
Silence.
Leo didn't respond.
Charles's lips tightened as he knelt beside the boy again, not touching him, but speaking right into his ear now.
"It's that simple. Just close your eyes and let go of that last breath you're holding, and you'll get eternal rest. No more drills. No more wars. No more betrayals. Just peace."
His hand twitched slightly, still held above Leo's unmoving jaw.
"But... can't do it, can you?"
Charles's voice changed now, firmer, sharper, cutting like flint scraping steel.
"Can't let go? Then open your damn eyes, kid. Open them wide and tell me to fuck off. Show me you still give a shit."
Still nothing.
Charles rose to his feet again, blood dripping from his knuckles as he let the silence drag on for a moment longer.
"Because if you won't," he said, voice low and final, "then thirty seconds from now... this fist right here, I'm going to drive it through your chin and send you to sleep for good."
He tilted his head, locking eyes with the barely-conscious boy.
"It's either you decide to fight for your life now... or you sleep forever."
And then... he waited.
Fist trembling.
Timer ticking.
Not moving an inch until the boy made his choice.
—----------
*SCREECH*
Leo couldn't even clearly hear what Charles was mouthing.
There was this sharp, metallic ringing in his ears, like the screech of a blade dragging across steel, relentless and invasive, that made it nearly impossible for him to process sound in any coherent way.
Every word that left Charles's lips arrived distorted—muted, echoing, warped—as if spoken through layers of broken glass.
But pain?
Pain he felt perfectly.
Raw and untamed. Stretching across every nerve ending in his body like wildfire.
It wasn't localized anymore. It wasn't just his ribs, just his arms, just his face that hurt anymore.
The pain was everywhere. Soaked into his bones, embedded into his muscles, pressing into his lungs with every breath that refused to come.
It was the kind of pain that should have made him want to die.
But it didn't.
Not once did that thought cross his mind.
Not once did he think of surrender.
Even as his body shut down inch by inch, even as his limbs refused to respond, even as he lay sprawled in a pool of his own blood, Leo never once considered letting go.
Because letting go meant giving up.
And giving up meant saying goodbye to everything that he held dear in this world, including his family and ambitions.
And that? That was never an option, not now, not ever.
His mind was clouded, yes. Sluggish, battered, flickering between unconsciousness and a shallow, fractured awareness, but at the core of it, at the very bottom of that dark abyss, there was still a single ember that refused to die.
'You'll have to do more than that...' he thought, unable to speak it, his jaw too loose, too broken. 'You'll have to break more than bones if you want to kill me.'
His memories bled into one another. Faces flickered behind his eyes, some known, some forgotten.
The ache of loss, the fury of betrayal, the whisper of Amanda's laugh, the 'thief' brand from the time-stilled word. All of it swirled around him in a fever haze, stitched into every shattered fragment of who he was.
And then, finally, through the haze, he caught Charles's voice.
Not clearly. Not sharply. But enough.
"Open your eyes wide and tell me to fuck off. Show me you still give a shit.
Thirty seconds, I give you thirty seconds to show me heart, or I'll put you to sleep forever—"
That much reached him.
And that was enough, as listening to those words, Leo didn't flinch.
He didn't panic.
He simply blinked.
Slowly.
Once.
Twice.
And then, through eyes swollen and bloodied, he peeled them open wide, forcing his blurred vision to find the figure standing above him.
His lips cracked as they moved, torn and trembling, yet somehow still shaped the words he'd been holding back since the moment the first blow landed.
"Fuck... you," he breathed.
And in that moment, something changed.
It wasn't sudden.
It wasn't dramatic.
It was quiet, almost invisible, like a whisper of wind passing through the void.
But it was there.
A glow.
Soft at first, then growing.
Emerald green, flickering to life across his ruined body.
It danced along his skin, shimmered across the torn cloth and blood-soaked wounds, bathing him in a faint light that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, slow, steady... and rising.
Leo didn't know what was happening.
Didn't care.
All he knew was that whatever this power was, whatever force was reacting to him now, was allowing him to open his eyes wider and speak just a little louder, as he made sure to look Charles in the eye, and send the message across that he wasn't going to die today.
Not like this.
Not before settling every score. Not before proving every single bastard that doubted him wrong. Not before becoming everything he was meant to be.
And hence, with blood in his mouth and emerald fire on his skin, Leo glared up at the man who had just tried to kill him and whispered again, voice hoarse and resolute—
"Fuck you and your Cult, The Boss is not done yet."
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC429: Simpleton
Chapter 429: Simpleton
(Charles's POV)
Seeing Leo enveloped in green, Charles grinned wide from ear to ear.
It wasn't a grin of mockery, nor the twisted smile of a sadist who'd broken a toy.
It was the grin of a man who had just pulled off the most dangerous gamble of his career — and won.
'That's it, kid... That's what I was waiting for. That flicker. That freaking spark of defiance,' Charles thought, pride swelling deep in his chest as he let out a long, relieved breath. 'You've got that dog in you, you really fucking do–'
The emerald light wasn't just aura. It was a statement. A scream of will from a half-dead boy whose body had no business surviving that kind of beating, but whose heart had refused to shut up and die.
And it made all of Charles's cruelty feel worth it.
"Good job, son," Charles said aloud, keeping his voice measured, calm. "I guess you're really not ready to die—"
He reached into his storage ring and pulled out a small crystal vial, the liquid inside glowing faintly golden, pulsing with healing enchantments potent enough to snap broken bones back into place and flush out internal bleeding in under a minute.
Without another word, he knelt beside Leo's ruined form and uncorked the bottle, gently tilting it toward the boy's split lips.
Leo's eyes, barely open a moment ago, suddenly flared again, still clouded by pain, but now burning with a very different kind of fire.
He took the sip.
Held it in his mouth.
And then spat it straight into Charles's face.
*Splatter*
"The fuck you think you're doing beating on me like that, huh?" Leo croaked, his voice shredded but alive. "Fuck you and your healing..."
Charles froze for a second, potion dripping down his cheek, as he blinked slowly, and then laughed, a low, deep laugh that rumbled in his chest like thunder rolling over a calm field.
"You little bastard," he muttered, half-smirking as he wiped his face on his sleeve. "Still got that spine, huh?"
Leo tried to move, but even the twitch of his jaw made him wince.
"Damn right I do," he mumbled, coughing hard. "Next time I see your fist coming, I'm biting it off."
"You can try."
And without another word, Charles grabbed Leo by the jaw— firm, but not harsh, as he shoved the bottle back between his lips, ignoring the weak resistance.
"Drink, brat," he said. "You're gonna live, whether you like it or not."
Leo grumbled, weakly trying to spit again, but this time he swallowed the potion with a glare, as the golden liquid began to course through his body, mending slowly what Charles had just spent the last twenty minutes breaking.
The moment the potion slid down his throat, Leo felt its effects.
His entire body arched on reflex as a searing warmth erupted from his core, surging outward like a golden inferno trying to stitch back flesh that hadn't even finished breaking yet.
Usually, healing potions, even those of the highest grade, were blue in color, so the golden potion that Charles had forked out was undeniably unique and with a formulation different to that of traditional healing potions available in the market.
Within seconds of consuming it, every shattered bone, every torn muscle, every ripped ligament in Leo's body began pulsing as if they were being forcibly glued back together by an unseen force that didn't care how much it hurt.
Leo grit his teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it sent another bolt of pain through his cheek.
"Ghh—fuck... what the hell... is this supposed to help?" he cursed, as Charles simply watched, expression unreadable, as he waited for the potion to do its job.
"If it doesn't hurt, it ain't healing anything worth keeping." Charles retorted, however, Leo could barely listen.
His body was twitching, uncontrollably at that, as the magic worked its way through the wreckage.
His right femur reknit with a sickening pop, followed by the dull throb of his shattered ribs forcefully snapping back into place. The numbness in his arm gave way to raw sensitivity, each nerve along the shoulder screaming awake like it had just been lit on fire.
But through the agony, there was something else.
A pulse.
A rhythm.
A quiet hum beneath all the chaos that whispered life into the mangled ruins of his body.
His heartbeat, once faint and fading, now thudded strong in his chest. His lungs, filled with blood and grit, slowly began to clear, each breath coming deeper, fuller.
By the time the worst of the potion's effects ebbed, Leo's vision was no longer swimming.
He could finally see the man crouched beside him clearly.
Charles, with his arms folded, one brow raised and that same irritating calm plastered on his face, looked down on him like none of what had just happened was anything more than a warm-up drill, as Leo couldn't help but fume when looking at his expression.
"Someday, I'm going to pay you back for this. I swear—" Leo said, as Charles chuckled out loud.
"Pay me back for what? To help you see Green? Or for the 7 million MP super potion I just used to heal you?" Charles asked, as it was only then that Leo realized the true intention behind this beatdown.
'So he did this to help me see Green...' Leo finally realized, as while up till now he was too consumed by his rage and the desire to survive to think past it.
Now that his body was mending again, he finally remembered seeing Green, which meant that he had successfully cleared the first level of the Codex.
"Oh shit, I had completely forgotten about that..." he mused, as rolling on the muddy ground, he pulled out the codex from his storage ring, and forced it open to stare at the new golden text that began typing itself on the manual.
"HAHAHA! Look at this simpleton checking on his gains as soon as he can.... Well, I was like this too when I was your age," Charles chuckled from the side, as he gave Leo his privacy to read what the Codex revealed to him.
Contact - ToS
Timeless AssassinC430: The Last Color
Chapter 430: The Last Color
*Flip*
*Glow*
As Leo excitedly opened the [Sevenfold Revelation Codex], a soft pulse of golden light radiated from the manual, washing over his face with a soothing haze.
Words of wisdom began appearing from the top of the page, as the codex explained the seventh and final aura color.
—---------------
> "You have awakened the seventh color of revelation: Green."
> "Green is not strength. Green is not talent. Green is not fate. Green... is the will to survive."
> "To see Green is to answer death's invitation with silence... and keep walking"
> "It is the cry of the soul refusing to be silenced. The heartbeat that continues even when the body has fallen still. The defiance that exists without reason or reward."
> "For the one who endures longer than they should have... longer than they were allowed to... longer than even they believed possible... becomes something more than mortal."
> "Those who see green are no longer merely alive..... they are alive with purpose."
> "For Green is the color of Life!"
—---------------
Leo read every line that appeared on the Codex with rapt attention, as he tried to comprehend the meaning of Green as best as he could.
However, before he could think too deeply about it, the text appearing on the codex changed completely.
—----------------
> "You have now mastered all 7 basic aura colors.
Maroon - Frustration.
Red - Bloodlust.
Blue - Hope and Joy.
Pink - Love.
Black - Lie.
Golden - Fate.
Green - Will To Survive."
> "You have successfully unlocked the ability to convert basic emotions to physical power.
The stronger the emotion you feel, the greater your strength output will be, as your body will now respond in accordance to the emotions you feel."
—------------------
The Codex revealed, as Leo stared at the fresh text in a stunned silence.
He did not feel a rush of knowledge flood his mind, nor did his body suddenly surge with power. Nothing obvious had changed.
And yet... something had.
His muscles felt exactly the same as before : trained, conditioned, reliable, but layered beneath that familiar strength was something new.
A second thread.
Not forged from mana or skill, but emotion.
His body had begun to echo the state of his heart, drawing subtle, amplifying power from his anger, his conviction, his defiance.
It was strange... to feel strength that wasn't entirely physical, nor magical, but rather emotive.
As if his very movements now came with a resonance, a silent inner echo, shaped by what he felt rather than just what he could do.
"Interesting...." Leo mused, as he clenched and unclenched his fists a couple times, just to check this new power.
—-----------
> "You have completed the first stage of your training and are now ready to study the second stage, which graduates you from the realm of perceiving aura, to the realm of perceiving intent."
> "There is a cause attached to every emotion. There is an intent behind every action.
And once a warrior has mastered the perception of aura, the next step is to understand what motivates the birth of aura colors."
> "To spot intent, you must deepen your knowledge of each individual aura color to a level which is beyond the surface level knowledge you have gained so far.
And the method to do that is to spend as much time as you can observing that particular color."
> "The suggested method is to deepen your knowledge with one individual color at a time, with success being achieved when you can see a thread made of the same aura color connect the aura to its intent."
—----------------
The Codex explained, as Leo took in a long breath before exhaling it at once.
*Huff*
'Guess the Codex is back to its vague bullshit!' Leo thought, as once again instead of giving him some proper guidance, the Codex assigned him an extremely vague mission to deepen his understanding of each aura color, and magically find this 'intent'.
Leo kept staring at the page, scanning through the words again and again, hoping for some hidden clue, some special guidance that he might have missed at first glance, however, found nothing.
The instructions remained as vague as they were profound, which basically translated to : you are on your own here! Good luck figuring shit out yourself.
'How long is this going to take me...?' Leo wondered, his thumb gently running along the Codex's edge.
'If perceiving the seven basic aura alone took me over a year, and even then I only managed it by risking my life... so how long will this next stage take?' he asked himself, as the answer brought a dry laugh to his throat, one that never made it past his lips.
This was a manual that expected too much from someone who was just at the Grandmaster stage, as Leo could finally understand why almost nobody could ever complete it.
'Fuck it, I somehow completed the first stage, so I'll find a way to complete the second as well–' he thought, as he closed his eyes briefly, letting his turbulent thoughts settle as his grip on the Codex tightened just a little.
But even through the silent complaint in his heart, he couldn't deny one thing—
The manual was teaching him something about life that no other technique in the universe could.
And although it was tough, once he mastered what it had to teach, he would truly be unparalleled.
'Is this what separates instinct from insight?' he wondered, cracking his eyes open as he looked up at the sky.
It was still night.
Still clear.
Stars shimmered far beyond reach, like quiet reminders that there would always be more above him, more to grasp, more to become.
He let the Codex fall shut with a faint thump, holding it close to his chest—not with reverence, but with a kind of weary respect. As if acknowledging the bond they now shared, teacher and student, tormentor and guide.
Some distance behind him, Charles remained seated, resting against a half-buried crate with arms folded and one brow raised.
He didn't speak, didn't move, just merely observed, a quiet satisfaction playing in his eyes.
Because even without hearing Leo's thoughts, he knew exactly what kind of conversation the boy was having with himself beneath that sky.
And it was the right one for his growth.
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