The air trembled as the Void-Touched Warg lunged toward the Empress, its monstrous form surging like a cot of death.
But Asher didn’t move.
He remained at the edge of the battlefield—hands folded behind his back, silvery-white hair caught in the rising winds, crimson eyes half-lidded as if watching a lesson unfold. His coat fluttered gently as wave after wave of enemies thundered toward his Reapers.
He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t raise a hand.
He didn’t need to.
The Six-Eternal Empress didn’t blink. Her white hair billowed around her, her six soul orbs swirling into a vortex of power behind her back. As the Warg lunged, she extended a single finger.
And snapped.
The world froze.
A tidal surge of soul pressure erupted outward in all directions. The Warg’s charge slowed. Chains binding its back shattered mid-air, unraveling into threads of grief and ancient agony. The nine soul cores embedded in its chest flickered wildly, then cracked.
The Empress raised her other hand, her six orbs converging above her palm and forming a scythe-like arc of condensed law.
She slashed downward.
Reality tore.
The Warg was bisected—not just physically, but taphysically. Its soul was flayed apart before its body even hit the ground. By the ti its corpse struck the blood-soaked grass, it had already faded from every Law that held its existence together.
It didn’t die screaming.
It didn’t get the chance.
Asher watched it fall, expression unreadable.
The battlefield kept shifting. The orc horde had been thinned to half its size, but now they adapted. Warlocks at the rear began fusing together using blood rituals, forming grotesque multi-headed fusions with sharpened bones and stolen laws. The Shaman raised his totem again, summoning down a rain of green fire and soul spikes.
Still, Asher stood quietly, absorbing everything.
He was evaluating.
Studying how his Reapers moved, what flaws remained in their synergy, how well they adapted to chaos without command. Every mont was another data point. This wasn’t a battle—it was a live demonstration of three perfected summon paths working in tandem.
The Dread Dragon King landed again, crushing a fusion beast beneath its claws, then lifted its head and roared—not out of fury, but dominance. The roar echoed with Soul Law, resonating with the core of every living thing on the floor. Dozens of orcs collapsed instantly, their soul resistance overwheld.
The Hollow Knight pressed deeper, his body bleeding shadows, cutting through cursed champions and Law-wielding berserkers. His path was a clean line of ruin.
The Empress floated in the sky, untouchable, conducting destruction like a silent symphony.
And Asher, the Summoner King behind them, observed everything with that sa distant calm.
One orc charged him.
A desperate soulbreaker warrior, skin branded with curse-lore, leapt toward Asher with a burning warblade in both hands.
Asher didn’t react.
He simply blinked.
And a mont later, the orc’s body split in half, falling behind him in two twitching halves. The Hollow Knight stood where the orc had been, sword dripping, no sound made, then vanished again—returning to his work.
Asher exhaled softly. "...Still a little slow," he muttered.
Then his gaze turned forward.
The battlefield was thinning. The final line of elite orcs prepared for a last suicidal charge. And above them, the Shaman was gathering his true spell—one that required three full minutes to cast, drawing energy from every corpse on the field.
But Asher raised a brow.
"No," he whispered.
He lifted one hand.
The Empress stopped mid-air. Her soul orbs paused.
The Dread Dragon King took flight and hovered.
The Hollow Knight halted mid-swing.
All three turned their heads toward Asher.
He gave a simple nod.
And in that mont, the three Reapers moved as one.
The battlefield exploded.
A triangle of soul-light and death-energy ford between them. The space inside collapsed, warping reality itself. It beca a cage of absolute destruction, a triangulated void where Law collapsed and ti stuttered.
Every orc within the boundary evaporated.
Even the Shaman, mouth open in a scream, had no ti to react.
The soul totem he raised shattered.
His body imploded.
Then—silence.
The grasslands went still.
Not a single enemy remained.
Asher lowered his hand. His Reapers returned to his side—wounded, slightly battered, but victorious.
A soft chi echoed.
[ Congratulations, Trainee. Floor 1001 Cleared. ]
[ Reward: Soul-Spliced Beast Core – Low World Rank ]
[ Can give Spiritual Wisdom to any beast and and even mak ethem cpable of using Worldy mana, in nut shell, it makes one mage ]
A gleaming core of swirling black-gold energy materialized before him.
Asher studied it for a mont, then smiled faintly.
"That’ll work nicely."
He took the core and turned toward the next portal, his voice calm and steady.
"Co on," he said to his Reapers.
"Let’s see what Floor 1002 thinks of us."
The ascension from Floor 1001 onward beca a relentless climb.
Unlike before—where the battles offered pauses between each wave—now, the Infinity Tower quickened its pace. Every ten floors blurred into the next. There were no safe zones, no waiting rooms, no long breaks. Asher welcod it.
Each floor offered greater resistance.
The enemies beca sharper, not just in strength but in design. World-Rank entities—beasts, warriors, summoned warlocks, even fractured projections of forgotten deities—began to appear more frequently. The Tower was no longer testing him; it was sharpening him.
On Floor 1010, they faced a Colossus ford from Law-bound stone and runic chains. The Dread Dragon King ripped its heart out with a soulfire dive.
On Floor 1025, spectral clones of Asher himself attacked, each wielding a twisted mockery of his Sanguine Supre abilities. The Hollow Knight carved them apart, proving the original had no equals.
On Floor 1050, a dozen archangels descended—manifestations from a Law of Judgnt realm long lost to ti. They wielded spears of purity and divine authority. The Six-Eternal Empress unleashed her first full dominion: "Soulbreaker Bloom." The floor died screaming in flowers of white fla.
At Floor 1075, enemies began appearing in teams—intelligent, cooperative, and ranked. So were forr Sovereigns of distant galaxies, now reduced to mory-bound warriors.
Yet through it all, Asher never drew his own blade.
He never summoned his blood constructs.
He never used his Celestial War Scripture.
He simply commanded.
By Floor 1100, the Tower acknowledged his intent.
[ Summoner Designation Confird: Middle World ~ Peak World Class ]
[ Trials will now scale accordingly. ]
The battles evolved.
Instead of random enemies, the Tower began summoning counters.
On Floor 1110, a Reaper-Hunter appeared—a monstrous humanoid created to consu summoned entities and sever soul-links. It nearly consud the Empress.
But the Hollow Knight stepped in and used Law Severance to split its bond from reality, locking it in a frozen mont and deleting it cleanly from the battlefield.
On Floor 1150, they faced an army of beast-kings bred from the Tower’s inner archives—summoned monsters powered by unstable astral cores, mutated with hybrid bloodlines. The Dread Dragon King laughed.
Literally laughed—for the first ti.
And then tore through them in the sky with one wing cloaked in Law of Eclipse Fla.
From Floor 1200, enemies stopped being singular.
Each floor beca a battlefield—a warzone. Dozens of elite foes. Reinforcents every five minutes. Moving hazards. Law storms. Dinsional ruptures.
And still, Asher did not lift a hand.
He walked through the chaos, a ghost in white hair and red eyes, hands tucked into his black coat, each step echoing like judgnt.
By the ti he reached Floor 1250, even the Tower began to stutter. The enemy AI started recycling formats. Their laws were strong—but limited.
Asher’s weren’t.
His Reapers had grown.
The Dread Dragon King evolved during the assault on Floor 1260, devouring a core of Void Lightning and fusing it with his Breath of Ruin.
The Hollow Knight began fusing Stillness and Silence into Null Walk—a state of motionless travel that allowed him to strike from anywhere on the field, bypassing Law defenses.
The Six-Eternal Empress’s orbs matured into Soul Thrones, each now able to project independent dominion fields. Her sixfold pressure beca a miniature world law unto itself—each orb acting like a realm core.
Floor 1280 presented a temporary threat—twin Sovereign-class entities fused with Chaos Law, wielding ti-shifting axes and weapons ford of reality flaws.
But they never even reached Asher.
His three Reapers moved as one.
In perfect sync.
And erased the twins from ti.
Floor 1290 was quiet. Too quiet.
The platform was empty.
No enemies ca.
Instead, a soft voice echoed:
[ You have reached the boundary of Peak World-Class Trials. Beyond this point, the Tower activates Ancestral Mode. Combatants drawn will be peerless beings of ancient realms—defenders of Law, forr trial keepers, and fragnt echoes of divine warfare. ]
Asher simply said, "Proceed."
The light flared.
He stepped into Floor 1300.
And this ti, the wind carried a scent of ash.
The sky above was red. The ground was obsidian. The walls of the arena weren’t walls—they were dead Titans, fossilized in a standing war, their faces screaming in rage and pain. The air buzzed with broken divine whispers.
A new voice echoed—lower, older, colder.
[ Welco to Floor 1300. ]
[ Challenger: Asher. Summoner Rank: Peak Woeld Rank. ]
[ Trial Rank: World-Ender. ]
A portal opened.
And from it ca not one—but seven adversaries.
Each radiated pressure strong enough to collapse a small world.
Each was a different class: Beast King. Soul Sage. Law Monarch. Reaper Slayer. Spell Weaver. Blood Soverign. And the final one... a Tower Warden.
They did not speak.
They did not pose.
They simply stepped forward.
And the true trial began.
Asher exhaled for the first ti in thirty-nine floors.
"...Now we’re talking."
He raised one hand. His three Reapers moved.
And the battlefield scread.
Reviews
All reviews (0)