Chapter 123
Plop.
An Amunar participant collapsed onto the arena floor, the system’s mechanical voice immediately ringing out:
[Winner: Japan]
The Crown Princess stood at the center of the stage, her eyes still closed, her mirror clutched delicately in her hands. She hadn’t moved from that very spot since the match began, yet both of her opponents now lay defeated.
In truth, neither side had taken more than a single step. The match was over before it truly began.
The moment the signal to start rang out, the Crown Princess had acted with breathtaking speed. Her Force surged, illusions blooming into her opponents’ souls before they even had a chance to activate their domains. Two Specialists—caught in the endless loops of her conjured trials, their willpower tested and strained with each passing instant.
One faltered almost immediately. His willpower wasn’t strong enough to separate illusion from reality, and once he lost his grip, the Crown Princess wasted no time. Her soul-based attacks rained down relentlessly, dismantling his defenses until he collapsed.
The second opponent had been luckier. When the illusion took hold, she had been in the middle of drawing her weapon. A tiny slip of the blade nicked her palm, jolting her enough to sense that something was wrong. That flash of pain gave her the foothold she needed to recognize the illusion.
But the Crown Princess had been ready. Her aether surged, reinforcing the illusion again and again. She cycled through several layers at once, shifting scenes faster than her opponent could track. The Specialist’s will wavered under the constant barrage until her defenses cracked. Soul attacks followed swiftly, and in moments she too collapsed.
Silence lingered for a beat before the Crown Princess exhaled softly, raising a hand to wipe sweat from her forehead.
“Specialists are still difficult to deal with if I don’t catch them off guard,” she muttered, almost irritated at the effort it took despite her victory.
Her teammate, still standing idly at the edge of the stage, gave a careless shrug.
“Sure. I was basically here to fill quota anyway.”
Seeing the defeat of Amunar’s participants, Kei Y couldn’t hold back a laugh. His voice rang out, laced with mockery.
“Are these the people you planned to use against me? Really?” He leaned back, smirking at the Specialist team leader. “For a gang leader, you’ve got a talent—recruiting useless people.”
The man he spoke to was none other than Veylor, the same thug who had confronted Kei Y after his death match with Nekhtem. The same man who had tried to threaten him into sparing Nekhtem’s life.
“Tch. Does your mouth ever stay shut?” Veylor snapped.
“Not really,” Kei Y shot back casually. “But hey, it’s different when you keep your mouth open… to pleasure your friends in private.”
The words echoed across the arena, deliberately loud.
“W-what?!” Veylor stammered, panic flashing across his face. “That’s not true!”
The way he froze, his frantic denial, only made it worse. Whispers rippled through the stands. Even his own teammates shifted uneasily, giving him sidelong glances.
Kei Y’s smiled tauntingly. “Don’t be ashamed. Since the first time we met, I’ve been listening. Paying attention to your… activities.”
Veylor glanced down as he felt a slight gust of wind—and froze. A faint shimmer of wind runes glowed on his arm. Monitoring strokes. The same kind Kei Y had once used on Nekhtem.
“H-how long—?” Veylor’s voice cracked as the realization sank in. If those strokes had been there since their first encounter, then every indulgence, every secret “activity”… Kei Y knew.
So enraged, Veylor could do nothing but simmer in silence. His jaw clenched, his fists trembling at his sides.
The memory of their first encounter burned in his mind. Back then, he had thought Kei Y was just a weak, meager Recruit—someone to threaten, to toy with, to bend into submission with nothing more than his reputation. But the boy he mocked wasn’t the boy standing before him now.
Kei Y had proven himself far more troublesome than anyone expected. Not only had he survived, but he had willingly thrown himself into fights with Specialists far above his rank—that even Amunar’s king had been forced to intervene to pull him back.
And Veylor knew, deep down, that his instincts hadn’t been wrong. Kei Y wasn’t just troublesome. He was dangerous.
“Relax,” Kei Y said mockingly, feigning sympathy. “You did try the opposite sex. Didn’t work out. And when Nekhtem lost, the Crown Prince cut you off. No protection, no easy prey. So you did what you had to. Right? Needs to be met and all that.”
“Hey!” Veylor shot to his feet, flustered. “Even if we had no luck with women, that doesn’t mean we met each other’s needs!” His voice cracked, defensive to the point of desperation.
Inpu burst out laughing, the sound carrying across the arena.
“You think this is funny?” Veylor’s glare snapped to him.
Inpu flinched—but then straightened his back, Scale Force simmering in his words. “Veylor, I’m not scared of you anymore.”
“Hmph. You’ve got a little power now and think you’re a man?” Veylor scoffed.
“Don’t worry,” Inpu hissed. “I’ll tip the scales and kill you myself. And when I do, I’ll make sure you’re never welcomed in the afterlife.”
Kei Y groaned, rubbing his temples. “Seriously? First Kei stealing my chance to deal with his idiot brother, now you’re after this pervert too? Fine, whatever. Just wash your hands after you deal with him.”
Veylor sneered, forcing a laugh. “Tch. That mask suits you. You’ve got the laugh of a jackal—and now you look like one too.”
The laughter died instantly.
“You laugh a lot,” Inpu said coldly, “for a man who likes to get his asshole busted open.”
Just a reminder, Inpu is barely than 10 years old.
The words slammed into the air like a hammer.
Kei Y choked violently, coughing into his sleeve, eyes bulging. Even Silvie and Kei M blinked in stunned silence. Mia, too young to understand, still gasped dramatically—because she didn’t want to be left out.
The crowd went dead quiet. Then the silence cracked—snickers, whispers, laughter breaking out like wildfire. Veylor’s face burned crimson, darker than blood, every chuckle cutting deeper than a blade.
“THAT’S NOT TRUE!!!” Veylor shrieked, his voice cracking through the stands and climbing in pitch until it sounded absurd. Kei Y laughed—low, amused, entirely unconcerned.
“All right, all right,” Kei Y said, waving the grown man off as if shooing a child. “It’s not true. Don’t cry. I was just having a bit of fun. Besides, I’m not the one who’s going to kill you.”
Nekhtem watched from a short distance, unable to tear his eyes away. Kei Y only spared him a passing look. Seeing how the former slave trader was genuinely trying to make amends for all the wrong he’d done, Kei Y couldn’t bring himself to keep antagonizing the big guy. For once, his tongue stayed sheathed.
Kei Y remembered what had happened after the fight. Veylor and his gang had hauled Nekhtem’s singed, broken body away. They hadn’t cared for him. They’d punished him for the embarrassment of losing to a Recruit: for all the aether crystals Veylor funneled into “training,” for the salvaged Soldier core he’d secure from a fractured zone. To Veylor, it wasn’t a human being who’d failed—it was an investment gone to waste.
Nekhtem’s punishment had lasted days. The wind-rune strokes Kei Y had placed—meant for spying, a silent ledger of movement and choices—had witnessed every humiliating moment. Kei Y didn’t take pleasure in the physical pain. He recoiled at the sight of Nekhtem’s emptiness: the way the man responded like a hollow shell, eyes drifted and distant as if the blows had stripped out more than flesh.
And Zeus’s arrival didn’t help. The gang’s patron had been visibly embarrassed by Nekhtem’s failure in front of the others, and that humiliation festered into fury. Veylor and his men had been useful once to secure cheap labor for the wealthy, but that utility had limits. After Nekhtem lost, after the whole fiasco with Auserre and Emory, Zeus saw them as liability, not asset.
He terminated them then and there.
“Consider your services revoked,” Zeus had said, voice flat as iron. The threat that followed wasn’t rhetorical. If Veylor or his crew ever stepped out of line again—ever traded illegal deals or endangered Zeus’s interests—Zeus promised to personally exterminate them.
The promise hung in the air like a blade. Veylor’s blood boiled at the sting of it; he wanted to roar and strike back. But he was too smart to act on blind rage. For now he simmered—humiliated, furious, and painfully aware that the man he’d once bullied was more dangerous than he’d ever imagined.
“If you’re strapped for money, Mama can spare you a few coins,” Mia offered sweetly to Veylor, though her eyes gleamed with a greedy, money-hungry glint. She reached into her inventory and pulled out a purse so stuffed with gold coins it nearly spilled over.
Inpu’s eyes bulged. “H-Hey! You made me buy you and Olly food when you had that much money?!” His voice cracked with pure injustice.
“Don’t worry about it, Mama’s been placing bets.” Mia waved him off casually, her grin greedy for money. “And you guys made me a pretty profit.” She dug into her purse, scooping out a heavy pile of gold. “Here you go, this is some of what I earned from your fights. Go buy yourself something pretty.”
She winked as she pressed the coins into Inpu’s hands. The poor boy went silent, jaw slack, any urge to complain obliterated on the spot. Instead, his fingers tightened around the gold, and a dangerous thought crept in: maybe fighting more wouldn't be a bad idea… especially if Mama kept spoiling him like this.
Veylor, meanwhile, sat frozen. His jaw hung open as he stared at Mia’s overflowing purse. That brat had earned more through a handful of bets than he had ever made through years of slave labor.
The Vendor blinked, just as speechless. “All this honest work… outdone by a kid.” He sighed, muttering darkly. “Selling food all day, and I still make less than her.”
Auserre was gone before anyone could blink, reappearing right beside Mia. She leaned down, rubbing her student’s head. “My pretty student. Master’s been good to you, hasn’t she?”
Mia wasn’t naïve. She knew exactly what her Master was angling for—and her mischievous grin only widened. “Hey, Master,” she said slyly. “How about we team up? I make the bets, you be the muscle that collects?”
Auserre didn’t hesitate for a single second. “Deal.”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The rest of the matches for this round played out, each bout more explosive than the last. When it finally concluded, so too did the tournament for the day. The next stage would resume in a few days’ time.
By this point, the average combat level of the remaining participants—Recruit or otherwise—was staggering. Even the so-called “weakest” among them displayed power comfortably at the Specialist realm. The strongest stood on the verge of challenging Commander Class.
Those who advanced departed with their kingdoms, each returning to prepare for the next round. The atmosphere was heavy with reflection. Many replayed the fights in their minds, awed or shaken by the combat capabilities they had witnessed. For some, it was humbling. They couldn’t help but feel out of place, realizing they would soon be clashing with fellow Recruits whose strength far surpassed the title.
Pharaoh made a brief stop before leaving, approaching Auserre’s students in particular. His presence carried an uncomfortable weight, the air thick and awkward—especially with Inpu and Silvie, who had only recently learned the truth of Kei M’s past from Kei Y. Kei Y himself had held back from telling Mia, insisting it wasn’t his place. Instead, he pressed Kei M to decide whether he would finally reveal to her what happened back then.
The tension between Pharaoh and his sons was palpable. Zeus, for his part, offered his younger brother a curt apology before vanishing in a bolt of lightning, streaking directly toward his mother who had already left for Amunar since his match concluded.
“I should follow him,” Emory muttered, shaking his head. “Otherwise that airheaded woman might kill her own son for whatever reckless thing he’s about to do. Still…” He turned to Kei M, bowing low. “It’s always good to see you fighting, young master.”
With that, he flashed away.
“...Young master?” Mia echoed, puzzled. She’d already been confused by Zeus apologizing to Kei M. Emory’s words only deepened her bewilderment.
Pharaoh turned his gaze to her, his expression softening. “It’s good to see you well, young one. Your condition is far better than the last time I laid eyes on you.” His voice grew heavy, regret laced in every syllable. “I am… truly surprised by how powerful you’ve become. And I owe you an apology—an immense one—for my misjudgment and my poor characterization of you back then.”
Then, to the shock of all present, Pharaoh sank to both knees before Mia, bowing deeply and profusely.
“What’s happening, Kei?” Mia asked softly.
“I…” Kei M exhaled, his chest tight. “I used to be the Crown Prince of our kingdom.” He drew in a long, shuddering breath before continuing. “The day we met—when you collapsed—I carried you back to the palace. But the Queen… she isn’t my mother. She hated the idea of some poor, dirty girl from the streets being brought inside. She used my brother—the current Crown Prince—to poison me, flooding my body with toxins.”
He recounted everything: the betrayal, the manipulation, the chain of events that had driven him from his birthright.
Mia blinked. “Oh… okay.” Her tone was calm, almost unbothered. “You’re still my Kei, aren’t you?” Her eyes were genuine, her concern disarmingly simple.
The reaction left Kei M stunned. It wasn’t what he expected at all.
“Um… I also have something to confess.” His voice shook, the weight of what he was about to say trembling in his throat.
“You killed my parents?” Mia asked before he could speak—her voice natural, almost matter-of-fact, as if she’d already known.
“…” Kei M froze. His heart lurched.
“There aren’t that many people who can use Sound Force,” Mia explained, her tone steady. “Let alone teenagers. And I’ve been around you long enough to recognize your frequency. It was the same one echoing through my village that day.” She gave him a small, knowing smile. “Actually, I realized it the moment you cushioned my fall with your Sound Force when we first met. Don’t worry—I’m not mad.”
She stepped forward and hugged him.
“You took me into your home. You gave me snacks. You had healers tend to me. You tried to cure my brittle bones.”
Kei M felt his world collapsing. His body trembled, sweat dripping down his brow. She always knew?
“Mia…” His voice broke.
“It’s fine,” she said firmly, pulling back enough to look him in the eyes. “Really. You gave up being Crown Prince for me. If it weren’t for me, the Queen wouldn’t have used your brother to poison you. It’s my fault you lost everything.”
Watching from nearby, Pharaoh’s chest tightened. His son’s voice, his guilt, Mia’s quiet acceptance—it all tore at him. In the next instant, his expression hardened. He vanished in a blur, his speed eclipsing even Zeus’s lightning. Emory, walking calmly behind, watched him streak ahead and shook his head.
“Finally,” Emory muttered under his breath. “I always hated that woman.”
“CLEOPATRA!!!” Pharaoh’s roar split the skies, shaking the very foundation of Amunar. The kingdom itself seemed to tremble beneath the weight of his wrath.
In her chambers, the Queen stirred lazily, lounging as though nothing were amiss. She yawned.
“Don’t shout. I’m not deaf,” she drawled, even as her husband stormed inside, eyes blazing with murderous intent.
Breaking Force surged outward in a violent flood, the very walls of the chamber fracturing, stone and wood disintegrating under the pressure of his rage.
“Oh, sweetheart… you lose your temper so easily when you miss me,” Cleopatra purred, smiling sweetly.
“I’ve allowed your schemes to run unchecked for too long,” Pharaoh snarled, every syllable dripping with venom. “I let you hold the reins as Queen… and in doing so, I allowed one of the greatest misfortunes to ever befall my son. I let you use my other son—your own child—as a pawn to carry it out.”
Cleopatra’s lips curved into a smile, though her eyes gleamed sharply. A pinkish mist spread from her body, saturating the room in the intoxicating allure of her Enchantment Force.
But Pharaoh only scoffed. With a wave of his hand, he shredded the haze into nothing.
Her eyebrow twitched. “So strong,” she mused aloud, genuinely surprised at how easily he dismissed what once enthralled him.
“I always admired your Force alignment,” Pharaoh admitted with a grim smile. “It let me indulge in the highest pleasures a man could experience. But those same pleasures blinded me—let me overlook how deep your poison truly ran.”
Voices echoed suddenly across the chamber. Multiple, layered, commanding.
“Pharaoh, are you done with this performance?”
“It’s unbecoming of a king.”
“Do not forget your place.”
Figures stepped forward from the mist—phantoms of power, yet tangible. They were the past kings of Amunar, the hidden trump cards of the kingdom. Their presence pressed heavily on the chamber, each one radiating the overwhelming might of Commanders at the Mortal Realm’s peak.
Cleopatra’s smile widened. “Sweetheart, let’s have a talk,” she whispered, her voice laced with potent pheromones as she unleashed her strongest skill, her Enchantment swelling to full force.
The combined pressure of the past kings bore down on Pharaoh, their will as heavy as mountains. To any other mortal, it would have been suffocating, irresistible.
But Pharaoh only scoffed again.
A sliver of his presence rolled out like a tidal wave. The chamber shattered beneath it. The pink mist evaporated. The past kings staggered, their mighty forms trembling beneath the weight of something far greater. Even Cleopatra faltered, her composure cracking.
“W-what!?” one of the elders gasped.
“Ascended Realm…?” another whispered, disbelief flooding his voice.
“That’s impossible!” a third cried. “Earth hasn’t even completed the Third Expanse—no one can break beyond the Commander of Realms!”
Their shock hung in the air like thunder.
But Pharaoh stood unyielding, his aura undeniable. He had done what no one believed possible.
He had stepped into the Ascended Realm.
As the former kings strained to comprehend the impossible—how a cultivator from a second Expanse world had advanced past the Mortal Realm—they failed to notice the quietest thing in the room.
A sphinx cat padded lazily into the chamber, tail flicking, wholly unbothered by the suffocating forces clashing around it. It brushed its head against Pharaoh’s leg, purring as though this chaos was nothing more than background noise.
Pharaoh did not move at first. His will pressed down, his aura grinding the former kings to the ground, forcing them to bow beneath his presence.
“Pharaoh, wait a second…” Cleopatra’s voice cracked, her usual composure breaking into panic.
He ignored her.
Pharaoh raised two fingers to his mouth and exhaled, releasing a pulse of sound into his fingertips. The vibration condensed into a translucent sphere of resonance—an echo of something far deeper than mere skill.
He bent down and passed it to his sphinx. The little creature accepted it gingerly, eyes glimmering, purring louder as it swallowed the sound into its small body.
Then, with an excited meow, the cat’s presence pulsed outward. The chamber shook, drenched in the raw, overwhelming might of Breaking Force.
This was Pharaoh’s Echo—a skill born from his experience through the Mortal Realm. All of it, distilled and anchored into his most loyal companion since childhood.
The sphinx was not merely a pet. It was his living conduit, a mirror of his accumulated will.
And as it licked its paw, the room shuddered with terror.
One of the former kings froze. He did not scream. He did not even flinch. His body simply… ceased. The truth of his death reached the others only belatedly, as if reality itself had lagged behind the execution. One heartbeat he was alive. The next, they were forced to comprehend his passing.
The remaining kings trembled, their immortal arrogance crumbling into primal fear.
The sphinx leapt lightly onto the bed, padding toward Cleopatra. To any onlooker, it was nothing more than a cat—tail flicking, paws daintily tapping against the silk sheets. It sniffed, licked its paw, and curled lazily. Yet Cleopatra’s breath hitched, her body recoiling, every muscle stiff. Her pulse thundered in her ears, each purr of the sphinx echoing like the tolling of a funeral bell.
And if one looked closely—closer than most dared—they would notice something stranger still. Cleopatra herself wasn’t trembling alone. A subtle shimmer, a faint veil of energy that clung to her, wavered. It flickered like a candle in the wind. The Force entwined around her form—the foreign will pulling her strings—was trembling too. Its grip faltered, slipping, unraveling as though even it was terrified of the tiny creature brushing its head against Pharaoh’s leg.
Far away, in the shadows of another kingdom, a woman sighed. Her tone was laced with boredom, as though all of this was no more than an inconvenience.
“Such a shame. I had such hopes for this ploy. Who would have thought Pharaoh would advance into the Ascended Realm?” Her voice was dry, dismissive. She stretched languidly. “Oh well. If I can’t use the Queen to capture Amunar’s discarded Crown Prince, then I’ll simply do it myself. Such monumental talent… he could easily surpass even that former water princess. Most believe she died when her kingdom fell, but with talent like hers… I wouldn’t be surprised if she survived.”
A low chuckle answered her from behind.
“Oh… so that’s why you’re here on this planet.”
Her body snapped rigid. “Who!?” She spun around, her senses flaring—and froze when she realized she had failed to notice the presence behind her.
“It’s my master you’re after, isn’t it?” the Vendor said, his presence still half-hidden in the folds of creation. “Since you’ve kept your hands out of things directly, I never bothered with you. You left most of your activities in Greece, never worth my attention. But now…”
Before he could finish, another voice cut in, his tone sharp and dark.
“It seems you’re the one behind what happened to the former Crown Prince.”
Emory stepped out, his daggers already half-drawn, his smile thin. Everyone present could feel it—beneath that smile was fury, cold and precise.
The woman stiffened. “You—”
“ ‘Queen’ Rhea,” Emory said flatly. “How do you suggest we resolve this matter?”
It was Queen Rhea—true consort of King Chronos, and the hidden hand behind Greece’s throne.
‘Queen’ Thalia had never been more than a puppet. A mask. A convenient vessel Rhea had installed into Greece’s royalty to act in her stead.
Through layers of guises and enchantments, Rhea not only replaced herself in the eyes of the court but twisted perceptions to ensure no one questioned her absence. Even Cronos, for all his power, had been ensnared in her web. Subtly influenced, pushed, and needled, he came to doubt not only the fate of his Queen but the disappearance of someone far dearer to him.
That absence was the true wound. A hollow that no schemes could heal. A figure once so vital to Cronos’s world that his loss left an echo carved into the marrow of his soul. A void so raw it demanded filling.
And so it had been filled—by his stepdaughter, Dione.
Where once there was light, Rhea left shadow. Where once there was loyalty, she planted doubt. Where once there was love, she carved space for desperation. And in that desperation, Cronos clung to the only tether left to him. Dione became both salve and substitute, a forced replacement for the figure whose absence Rhea had orchestrated with cruel precision.
The Vendor raised a hand, restraining Emory before he could leap. His voice was calm.
“You’ve been on this planet for one reason: you heard of my master’s talent. You were disappointed when you thought she died in her kingdom’s fall. Then word of a new talent in Amunar reached you, and you couldn’t resist. You invaded Greece’s royalty, took the Queen of Amunar as your puppet so you could monitor the boy. You even went so far as to implant your own son in Amunar’s line under false parentage. You had him poisoned, discarded, and cast away—all to watch how he grew.”
Every word landed like a hammer. Rhea’s eyes widened, stunned—not just by the accusation, but by how completely the stranger had laid out her schemes.
“Who are you?” she demanded, regaining a shred of composure. “And what do you mean by ‘your master’? Are you saying the water princess lived?” Her eyes glittered at the thought.
“I’m not anyone a mere Ascended Core-Ascendant like you needs to worry about,” the Vendor replied. “And rather than obsess over whether my master survived, you should worry about this ‘mere Mortal Realm Core-Ascendant’ standing before you. Even I fear crossing a line with him—and you’ve trampled across it several times.”
Rhea scoffed. The idea that a Mortal cultivator could threaten her was laughable. She didn’t even bother to call upon her Echo.
But Emory’s smile thinned further. The air around him fractured. The world itself seemed to crack, pressure radiating outward as if destruction itself had taken human form.
The Vendor patted his shoulder and stepped back. “I’ll leave you to it, Emory. Oh, and Rhea?” His tone warning. “If I represent Creation, then he represents Destruction. Not in Force—though that’s coming—but in spirit, in temperament. Thread carefully. It’d be a shame if you died before I made it back to the water princess you’ve been so desperate to find.”
And with that, he vanished.
Later, back with Auserre, the Vendor relayed what had happened.
“So… Rhea,” Auserre murmured, her expression tightening. “That’s a shame. I always liked her. She came to Earth for me. She never realized she was dealing in business with me.” She laughed bitterly, guilt pressing into her chest.
Her eyes drifted downward, memories surfacing. Her student had suffered at the hands of his kingdom because of her existence, because of her legend. It made sense now. Rhea hadn’t known she survived the fall of her kingdom. How could she? Auserre had merged with water itself, masking her presence with the very element she commanded to avoid those who hunted her beauty.
“Then again,” Auserre muttered, letting out a long sigh of relief as the pieces clicked into place, “I suppose that explains why all these Queens always seemed so airheaded and foolish. They weren’t all incompetent—it was the same useless woman pulling the strings. A Queen, yes… but a hollow one.”