[Soul Anchor!]
In an instant, spiritual energy surged outward in an invisible shockwave, slamming into Xeron’s core. The air itself seemed to freeze as the technique took hold, locking his spatial coordinates in place.
[Spirit Shock] rippled through Xeron’s body. For exactly 1.5 seconds, the Nightmare Emperor stood completely still, his movements halted by the stunning effect.
The remaining echoes struck immediately.
Some hurled poison bombs that detonated in toxic clouds. Others fired crossbow bolts from multiple angles. Several ignited concentrated flames that roared toward him. A few triggered ice explosions that sent crystalline shrapnel flying in all directions. More attacked with replicated daggers, striking at vital points with mechanical precision.
The coordinated assault converged from all angles, a devastating barrage timed perfectly to exploit the brief window of vulnerability.
Xeron’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable. A faint smile crossed his youthful face as the attacks closed in on him from every direction.
BOOM!
The world erupted.
The training dimension trembled violently as the combined assault detonated simultaneously.
Flames, ice, poison, and steel merged into a chaotic maelstrom that tore into the ground where Xeron stood.
Explosions bloomed one after another, each detonation feeding into the next, creating a devastating chain reaction that shook the very foundation of the dimension. Smoke and debris billowed outward, obscuring everything in a thick, choking haze.
The bombardment continued for several seconds before finally subsiding.
When the final explosion faded and the smoke began to clear, a massive crater marked the spot where Xeron had been standing. The earth was scorched black, still smoldering with residual heat. Shattered ice and the acrid stench of poison lingered in the air.
However, the crater stood empty.
Through blurry, fading vision, Amaniel forced his eyes to focus. His gaze swept across the devastation until it caught a small figure standing far in the distance. Over thirty meters away from the blast zone, Xeron stood perfectly still. His clothes remained pristine, not a single hair out of place, as if the entire assault had never occurred.
Despite the pain tearing through every fiber of his being, Amaniel’s cracked lips curved into the faintest smile.
He... had made Xeron move.
"I... won," he whispered hoarsely.
The words barely left his mouth before his strength gave out completely. His eyes rolled back, vision going dark. His body collapsed onto the scorched earth, consciousness slipping away like sand through his fingers.
Silence descended over the wasteland.
Xeron remained motionless for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the unconscious figure lying in a pool of blood dozens of meters away. Then, slowly, his expression shifted. Layers of emotion flickered across his youthful face—surprise at the cunning displayed, appreciation for the persistence shown, anticipation for what this student might become, and something deeper that resembled genuine respect.
He began walking toward Amaniel’s broken body. Each step was measured and deliberate, his small frame casting a long shadow across the cracked earth. When he finally reached the fallen guardian, he crouched down and placed two fingers against the bloodied neck, checking the pulse.
It was weak, barely there, but still present.
A soft chuckle escaped Xeron’s lips.
"Yeah," he murmured quietly, his gaze lingering on the unconscious face streaked with blood and dirt. "You won."
He lifted one hand, and gentle silver light poured forth, enveloping Amaniel’s battered form in a warm, healing glow. The worst of the injuries began to stabilize. Broken bones shifted back into proper alignment with audible clicks, torn flesh knitted together, and in the blink of an eye, Amaniel was fully healed.
Xeron stood, lifting Amaniel’s limp body with casual ease, as if the young man weighed nothing at all.
"Very well then," he said softly, more to himself than to the unconscious student in his arms. "I accept you as my pupil."
The smile on his face slowly transformed, taking on a predatory edge. Excitement gleamed in his dark eyes as he gazed down at the broken figure.
"Now let us see if you can survive what comes next."
_____ ___ __
After who knows how long, Amaniel’s eyes slowly fluttered open.
The first thing he registered was softness beneath him. Not the hard, cracked earth of the training dimension, but the familiar comfort of a proper bed. His gaze drifted upward, finding an ornate ceiling adorned with intricate carvings rather than the perpetual twilight sky.
He was back in his room.
Confusion clouded his mind for a brief moment before the memories resurfaced like a tidal wave.
The battle, the beatings, the mockery, the final gambit, and...
His own whispered declaration of victory before darkness claimed him.
A grin slowly etched itself across Amaniel’s face, growing wider with each passing second.
His body ached in places he didn’t know could ache. Every muscle screamed in protest as he shifted slightly against the sheets. The phantom pain of broken bones and torn flesh lingered despite the healing, a reminder of just how thoroughly he had been beaten.
Yet despite all of that—despite being crushed, humiliated, and broken repeatedly—satisfaction bloomed warm in his chest.
After all... His meticulously crafted plan had worked.
From the very beginning, he knew the truth with absolute clarity: he couldn’t defeat Xeron through sheer strength or superior technique. The gap between them yawned too wide, an insurmountable chasm that no amount of raw power(except those trump cards) at his disposal could bridge. Brute force would accomplish nothing except a quicker, more painful defeat.
So he had done the only thing he could.
He planned.
He bided his time.
He endured.
And the most valuable asset in that entire brutal battle had been none other than the Echo-Walker Resonance Art.
Throughout the fight, even as he teleported, attacked, and desperately defended himself, a significant portion of his focus had remained dedicated to that single technique. Each exchange, each brief moment between strikes and counterattacks, he activated the art. Over and over again, he created temporal echoes and positioned them strategically around Xeron’s body and across the battlefield.
Programming each one had demanded a vast amount of mental energy. Every echo required precise instructions—when to activate, what action to perform, which weapon to use, which angle to strike from. The mental strain of maintaining that many dormant echoes while simultaneously fighting for his life had been excruciating, pushing his concentration to its absolute limits.
But it had been necessary.
He had planted them like invisible landmines across the entire battlefield, waiting for the perfect moment to detonate them all at once.
And when that moment finally came, when Xeron lowered his guard after declaring the fight disappointing, Amaniel had sprung the trap.
Everything—well, almost everything—had worked out exactly as he had planned.
The only thing that hadn’t gone according to plan was losing consciousness before he could witness the aftermath with his own eyes.
’It doesn’t matter.’
Amaniel’s grin softened into a quieter, more satisfied smile.
’Because...’
He had already won!