Chapter 72: A Test of Strength

Chapter 72: A Test of Strength "My Lord," Pixia pleaded, her tiny voice a whisper of pure dread. "Please reconsider. The simulations..." "The simulations are about to get a very large, very unexpected new variable," I said, and tapped the plus sign. [Allocate 10 BP to raise Body to B-Rank? Y/N] I hit ’Yes’ without a moment’s hesitation. The effect was not a gentle warmth. It was a volcanic eruption. A wave of raw, physical power, hot and invigorating and utterly violent, surged through me. It felt like my very bones were being flash-forged, my muscles infused with living steel. I felt denser, stronger, my connection to my physical form sharpening to a razor’s edge. I felt... dangerous. I was expecting another confirmation box, one for a C-to-B upgrade, but to my surprise, the system offered more. [Allocate 10 BP to raise Body to A-Rank? Y/N] My finger froze over the screen. "Wait, it’s not exponential?" I muttered. Then I saw the fine print, a tiny line of text at the bottom that I almost missed. [Requirement: Must be Level 10 or higher for A-Rank]. "Damn it," I grumbled, my brief moment of elation soured. "The universe is a badly designed RPG with terrible documentation. Of course there’s a level cap." Still, a B-Rank was a monumental leap in power. But as my body settled, a new notification chimed in my mind, this one grander, more profound. [By raising both your Body and Mana stats to new thresholds, you have met the conditions to unlock a new special ability.] [New Unique Skill Gained: Dark Night Tempest.] [Description: A high-cost, wide-area vortex of pure shadow and chaotic energy. Annihilates all lesser beings and severely damages all others within its radius. Use with extreme caution. And maybe stand back a bit. Seriously. We’re not kidding.] "Oh," I said softly, feeling the knowledge of the new spell, its intricate web of power and destructive potential, settle into my mind. "Oh, that’s good. That’s very, very good." I stood up, the new power thrumming under my pale skin like a caged storm. But a question remained. How good was I now? Was I good enough? I needed a benchmark. I needed to test myself against the best I had. "Chloe," I said, my voice a low growl that echoed with newfound power. My Dark High Elf Bloodkin appeared from the shadows, her twin blades already in her hands. She knew what I wanted before I even asked. Her eyes widened slightly as she felt the change in my aura. "Spar with me," I commanded. "And don’t hold back." "My Lord?" she questioned, a flicker of hesitation in her voice. "You heard me," I said, a sharp, fanged smile touching my lips. "I need to know if I’m a monster, or if I just spent all my savings on a fancy new coat." She nodded, her expression hardening into one of absolute focus. She settled into her combat stance, a perfect picture of lethal grace. I watched her, and for a moment, I saw the blur of motion, the impossible speed that had always defined her. And then I moved. BOOM! The ground beneath my feet exploded. The stone floor shattered, blasted outwards by the sheer force of my launch. I was not a man anymore: I was a blur of black and pale white, a phantom of impossible speed that made Chloe’s own C-Rank agility look like she was standing still. [Chloe] The wind shrieked as I closed the distance between us in less than a heartbeat. My Elven senses, honed over centuries of a life I barely remembered, screamed at me. I brought my blades up in a defensive cross-block, pouring every ounce of my own power into the move. CRACK! The sound was not of metal on metal. It was the sound of a thunderclap in an enclosed space. His open palm slapped against my blades. The impact was an absolute detonation. A massive shockwave of pure force erupted from the point of contact, blasting me backward a dozen feet. My arms screamed in protest, the bones vibrating as if they would shatter. The swords were nearly torn from my grasp. "Impressive," his voice said, and it was no longer in front of me. It was behind me. I spun, my blades scything through the air where his throat should have been. BOOM! The wind howled around my swords, a vortex of deadly steel, but they met only empty space. He was already gone. I felt a light, almost gentle, tap on my shoulder. I twisted, a whirlwind of steel and lethal grace. He wasn’t there. Another tap, this time on my other shoulder. He was toying with me. He, who was once a creature of pure intellect and strategy, was now so physically overwhelming that my own enhanced senses felt like I was moving through thick mud. He was not just stronger. He was on an entirely different plane of existence. "Enough," I heard him say. I lunged, pouring all my will into one final, desperate thrust. BOOM! The ground trembled as I put all my weight and power into the attack, my swords aimed directly at his heart. He didn’t dodge. He didn’t block. He simply raised one hand and caught the tips of both my swords between his thumb and forefinger. The impact was silent, but the force of it sent a shockwave up my arms that made me drop my weapons. They clattered to the floor with a sound that felt like my own defeat. He held me there, motionless, his red eyes burning with a cold, analytical light. "Point made, I think," he said, and released my blades. I stumbled back, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my heart hammering against my ribs not from exertion, but from sheer, unadulterated awe. He had not just defeated me. He had dismantled me. Effortlessly. "That," he said, turning to his other stunned commanders, "was just the physical component." He raised his hand toward the far wall of the Throne Room, a solid, fifty-foot slab of obsidian. "Dark Night Tempest," he commanded. The room plunged into an even deeper darkness. The air grew cold, and a low, terrible hum filled the space, a sound that felt like the universe itself was holding its breath. Then, from my Lord’s outstretched palm, a vortex of pure chaos erupted. It was a swirling, shrieking storm of shadow and raw, untamed energy. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The ground didn’t just tremble: it bucked and shook as if the dungeon itself were trying to flee. The wind shrieked, a deafening, insane howl as the vortex slammed into the far wall. The obsidian didn’t just break. It dissolved. It was unmade, atomized into nothingness, leaving behind a gaping, smoking hole that led into the void between sectors. The spell died down, and a heavy, ringing silence fell over the room. We all stared at the hole, then back at our master, who was looking at his hand with a vaguely surprised expression, as if he hadn’t expected it to work quite that well. "Okay," he said, his voice a little shaky. "So it’s a bit more powerful than I anticipated. We’re going to need to call a demonic contractor to fix that wall." He then looked at us, his eyes burning with a new, terrifying confidence. The fear was gone. The desperation was gone. All that remained was a king who had just remembered what it felt like to hold absolute power in the palm of his hand. Isabelle was the first to speak, her voice quiet but firm. "My Lord, you are magnificent. But she is a mage. A queen of magic. She will not let you get that close." Ragnar’s sharp, fanged smile returned, wider and more dangerous than ever. "I know," he said. "And that’s why this isn’t going to be a battle. It’s going to be a hunt. And I’ve just forged myself a new set of teeth."