Two hours had passed since my little spar with the giant ape. Ragnar was back in the middle of the cemetery, sitting cross-legged like a sulking monk. He hadn’t spoken a word since then, his eyes closed, though I could feel the irritation rolling off him. I couldn’t really blame him, no one liked being beaten, especially not someone like him.
I had quite literally wiped the graves with his ass, and he knew it. Even with me handicapping myself, he hadn’t managed to land a single clean blow. That fact gnawed at him, and it showed in the heavy silence.
During the spar, I hadn’t used strength, speed, or even a second law. The only thing I relied on was my fresh comprehension of the Minor Law of Time. I bent the fight with ripples of it, and it worked better than I’d expected.
I hadn’t created any proper skills yet, nor woven time into the ones I already had. Still, even the basics, stretching time in small bursts, dilating my own perception, slowing just a fraction of Ragnar’s movements—were enough to tilt everything in my favor. He couldn’t touch me.
The idea itself thrilled me. If this was just the beginning, what would happen once I truly mastered it?
I sat on the ledge of the castle wall with my legs dangling over the side, listening to the rumbling thunder above. My fingers drummed lightly on the stone, my perception locked on the fort beyond the tunnel.
Waiting.
Anticipation coiled in my chest like a spring. I was ready.
Ten more minutes passed before the teleportation circle inside the Lamp Fort suddenly flared to life. The glow of Essence rippled across the fort, and I smiled. Finally.
The first to step out was Roland, his expression tight, carrying that mix of greed and hidden excitement. Beside him appeared the two old schemers who had helped him weave this backstabbing plan. But they weren’t alone. Two more grandmasters followed right behind.
Five in total.
"Let’s go. We will wait outside the flame wall," Roland muttered, trying to keep his tone calm, though I could hear the eagerness beneath it.
In an instant, they all flashed forward, appearing right outside the wall of devouring fire. Their eyes locked on my staff, the one I had planted there to carve out the single safe path through the flames.
I extended my perception and scanned the newcomers.
[Malcolm Max – Level 278]
[Theodore Max – Level 281]
[Abizen Max – Level 272]
[Don Julio – Level 275]
Theodore rubbed his chin, his voice thoughtful. "Fascinating. Doesn’t it look like this was meant to happen? Almost like the conditions aligned perfectly."
Malcolm gave a slow nod. "Yes. Perhaps a specific criteria... or a moment in time that had to be matched."
Their voices droned on, old men fascinated by mysteries they couldn’t even begin to grasp. Roland, however, stayed quiet, his eyes fixed on the staff like it was already his.
Minutes passed, the tension building, when the teleportation circle flared again. This time, three figures emerged together—grandmasters of the Dark Moon faction. At their head shuffled a hunched, ancient man with a cane in hand, his back curved but his presence sharp enough to cut stone.
They flashed forward, landing beside Roland’s group.
I scanned them as well.
[Mandal Moon – Level 288]
The strongest presence here so far.
Roland and the others greeted him with respectful nods. Mandal stepped closer to the staff, his gnarled hand reaching out. His palm brushed it gently, and his cloudy eyes lit up.
"It’s a weapon," he muttered, almost reverently. "And it carries a will of its own. Fascinating..."
The circle pulsed again, brighter, and another group stepped forth. Three more grandmasters, this time from the Half Moon faction, followed immediately by another three from the Full Moon faction.
Porus. Karu. And Mandal—three names that made the entire Peanu tremble. Each one close to level 290.
Within moments, fourteen grandmasters stood gathered outside the tunnel, their voices mixing in low conversations. But even as they spoke, I noticed—every group kept its distance, factions refusing to blend even here.
And then, finally, the teleportation circle flared one last time.
The light stretched higher, brighter, heavier, as the air itself seemed to bow under the weight of the arrival.
The man of the hour had come.
The moment the circle flared, my perception locked onto the man standing in its center.
He looked middle-aged, his brown eyes calm but cold. A bald head gleamed under the light, and his body was built like a mountain, seven feet of solid muscle packed into a frame that radiated strength.
He held a massive greatsword in one hand as if it weighed nothing. Grey armor covered him from neck to toe, every plate fitted perfectly, leaving only his head exposed.
I scanned him.
[Saturn Max – Level 296]
The Emperor of Peanu.
He stood tall on the glowing circle, not rushing, not even blinking. His mere presence seemed to push the air down, heavy and suffocating.
A moment later, five more figures appeared behind him. Grandmasters, every one of them. But unlike the others gathered here, they bore no faction emblem. Instead, each wore plain black clothes and blank masks.
"Let’s go," Saturn muttered.
Step by step, he began walking through the fort. He did not hurry. He didn’t need to. The world seemed to move for him instead.
Every master who had been patrolling or guarding the area froze the instant they saw him. First came the tremble in their bodies, then the immediate bow of their heads. None dared meet his eyes. Fear rippled outward from them.
The five black-clad guards followed a step behind him, moving as one. Each carried a different weapon: a longbow, a spear, a heavy shield, a warhammer, and twin curved blades. I checked their levels.
All between 280 and 290.
A terrifying lineup.
Outside, the gathered grandmasters felt his arrival before they saw him.
Their conversations stopped. No one dared to speak. Slowly, they shifted, spreading apart to clear a wide path. None of them needed to be told what to do. The tunnel belonged to him, and everyone knew it.
The goat had arrived, ready for the slaughter.