Ex rank talent Awakening: 100% Dodge rate Chapter 293: FIREPOWER IS THE WAY

Clown commanded the shadow slaves to attack Greg, choosing to remain at the rear, a silent spectator. He had no intention of getting his hands dirty—at least, not yet. This was a test, a way to gauge Greg’s abilities from a distance. And if the boy happened to die under the weight of over a thousand shadow slaves and fifty twisted variants? Even better. That kind of force wasn’t insignificant by any stretch. It had buried entire guilds before.

But Greg remained calm—unshaken. His expression was unreadable, eyes glowing faintly with restrained anticipation. In truth, he wasn’t bothered by the overwhelming numbers. If anything, he welcod it.

To him, the horde of shadow slaves was a gift, a divine offering. Each one was an opportunity to accelerate his assimilation with the Law of Darkness, and he was eager to harvest every drop of value they offered.

"Guess I should call in so help," Greg muttered under his breath, his voice low and casual.

Behind him, the air twisted and shimred as a portal to his realm tore open with a low, resonating hum. From the swirling vortex stepped out nine divine clones, each radiating a presence almost as imnse as his own.

These weren’t re copies. They were fragnts of his divinity—reflections of a god in the making.

Thanks to his Divinity Points reaching two thousand and the tireless work of his clones within the demon realm wilderness, Greg’s number of believers had surged to staggering heights. The universe had taken notice, and in response, his divine skills had evolved. No new abilities had been granted, but each existing one had transford—either sharpened in effectiveness or multiplied in scope.

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User: Nesis

Job: ?????

Level: 92 (15,521,926 / 17,000,000 EXP)

Health: 220,000

Strength: 1036 ( 518)

Speed: 1124 ( 562)

Stamina: 1220

Intelligence: 1000

Constitution: 889

Divinity: 2000

Free Attribute Points: 0

Talents:

[S-Rank Talent – Talent Share]

[SSS-Rank – Observer]

[EX-Rank – God of Wealth]

Concepts:

[ABSOLUTE RESOLUTION] – Absolute Concept

[DEATH]

Law of Darkness Assimilation: 0.1%

Absolute Concept of Corruption Assimilation: 20%

Divinity Skills:

[Independent Space (Upgraded)]: 10km³ of fully controllable divine territory for Greg and his worshippers.

[Observation]: Track follower stats, reverence, and skills in real-ti.

[Bestownt]: Permanently grant or revoke stats and skills.

[Exp Generator (Upgraded)]: Gain 60% of experience earned by followers, with 30% of it granted directly by the universe’s will.

[Divine Construction]: Build complex divine structures with reduced divinity cost.

[Divine Might (New)]: Temporarily boost all stats by 2% per divinity point for ten minutes.

[Avatar Creation (New)]: Manifest up to ten avatars, each wielding 70% of Greg’s base stats and 100% of his talents and skills.

[Race Creation]: Design a unique race absolutely loyal to Greg. Limit: 100 per race. Growth is self-sustaining.

---

His divine arsenal had seen remarkable improvent. Independent Space had grown into a small world. Avatar Creation was now a legitimate army by itself. And the upgraded EXP Generator ant Greg could sit back and level up just from his followers fighting.

Most noteworthy, however, was Race Creation. The previous requirent of a thousand divinity points had been lifted. In its place was a strict population cap and exclusivity clause—reasonable trade-offs in Greg’s mind. Observing the eerie coordination of the shadow slaves, ideas for his own race began taking shape.

Nine divine clones now stood at his side. The tenth remained behind in the demon realm, acting as an anchor and observer. These weren’t simple puppets anymore. They had full access to all of Greg’s skills and talents, with only minor reductions in raw stats.

Greg didn’t waste words. His mind was synchronized with his clones—they already knew their purpose.

"Dragonification!" all nine clones roared in unison, voices overlapping like the clash of titanic drums.

Their bodies twisted and expanded, muscles warping beneath scales as wings unfurled with violent force. Monts later, nine colossal dragons, shrouded in abyssal flas, encircled Greg—towering over the battlefield like obsidian mountains with burning veins.

Without hesitation, they opened their maws and unleashed a barrage of abyssal dragonfire.

A wall of dark flas erupted outward, sweeping across the battlefield like a storm of annihilation. Shadow slaves caught in the blast didn’t scream—they simply disintegrated.

> [You have killed a shadow slave and devoured its essence.]

[Law of Darkness Assimilation: 0.001%]

[You have killed a shadow slave and devoured its essence.]

[Law of Darkness Assimilation: 0.001%]

The system notifications rang in Greg’s ears like a torrential downpour. He sighed and muted them—it was getting hard to focus.

This wasn’t the ti for elegance or restraint.

Greg had no interest in playing the refined swordsman. There would be no intricate footwork, no pretty flourishes.

This ti, he just wanted destruction.

Need to locate their cores? That was a beginner’s problem. Just burn everything. If the core turned to ash along with the body, so be it.

He was short on ti—and even shorter on patience.

Yet, as he stood in the eye of the inferno, watching nine draconic versions of himself unleash chaos, Greg couldn’t help but smirk.

Damn... this looks aweso.

"Tsk. Should’ve gone mage class," he muttered with a playful grin.

From the distance, Clown watched with narrowed eyes, his smile fading.

"It seems... shadow slaves won’t be enough," he whispered, frustration evident in his tone. The battlefield was tilting, slipping out of his control.

But still, he didn’t retreat.

"Oh well," Clown said with a shrug, voice low and unsettling. "All I need is one mont. Just one lapse in concentration..."

He continued to wait, eyes locked on Greg. The shadow slave numbers were plumting, lting under the relentless fire.

Greg, anwhile, was still glancing at his status window.

"What’s this... Absolute Concept of Corruption?" he mused aloud, brow furrowed. The fact that 20% was already assimilated stirred his curiosity.

After a mont of thought, it clicked.

It had to be the work of his shadow clone stationed in the demon realm. If killing shadow slaves increased his darkness assimilation, then eliminating demonized creatures—beings warped by corruption—would naturally influence his corruption concept as well.

Still... why an absolute concept? Why not a law?

He pondered that, gaze distant, for a mont too long.

And that’s when Clown struck.

"My chance!" he hissed.

From the darkened shadow cast by Greg’s feet, Clown erged with manic glee. In one fluid motion, he hurled several blackened bombs—each one pulsating with unstable energy.

These weren’t ordinary explosives.

They were infused with Law of Darkness, fine-tuned to detonate on contact. Even Greg’s Absolute Resolution wouldn’t block this kind of attack.

With such short range, dodging was virtually impossible.

Clown laughed—eyes wild like a madman. He stood within the blast radius himself, unconcerned. The bombs had been carefully tuned to exclude him from their destructive effects.

All around him, the air grew heavy, pulsing with corrupt energy.

The bombs closed in.

Clown grinned.

Finally, the storm called Greg had been silenced—or so he believed.