"We'd like to be part of your team."
"Hold on, we were here first. We should be the ones joining his team." Ryan glanced at the newcomers who had suddenly appeared, expressing their desire to join him.
'How long has it been?' Ryan reflected on the moments when people sought to join his team, offering praises after witnessing his victory over the fearsome beast.
'This feels like paradise.' Ryan soared with pride as the students lauded his triumph.
'Yeah, this is what you took from me, Newt Salamander. Too bad you're dead, or I would have taken you down with my own hands.' Addressing the crowd, Ryan declared, "I've already formed a team for now."
"So, perhaps in the future—"
"Let's keep in touch." Ryan extended this parting message, eliciting positive responses from his new admirers.
"Ryan, you're amazing. No one was willing to include a barbarian on their team, but you took him in out of compassion."
"You're an awesome guy, Ryan." Most of the students showered Ryan with praise while exchanging their contact details with him.
On the sidelines, Newt observed the group and eventually departed with thoughts swirling in his mind. After learning the name of the fat guy as Ryan Wood, memories flooded back, and Newt deduced the reason behind the sudden attack in the tests.
Ryan harbored an obsession with Newt Salamander. The traumatic encounter from a young age left an indelible mark on Ryan's psyche. The impact left by Newt's actions lingered in Ryan's mind, fostering a deep-seated fear of the name "Newt Salamander." When news of Newt's demise reached Ryan, the obsession transformed into a desire for vengeance against the person responsible. Unable to confront Newt directly, Ryan channeled his anger towards anyone bearing the name, thus becoming fixated on the word "Newt."
Upon returning to his room, Newt resumed his true form and headed to the training hall, initiating his breathing exercises.
As he inhaled, the aura from his surroundings surged towards him like a tempest but halted just before entering his body.
"Is there truly no level beyond Martial Artists?" Newt contemplated this question.
"Though I've already surpassed my previous life's strength, could this be the pinnacle of human evolution?" The uncertainty lingered in Newt's thoughts. Having already surpassed the pinnacle of strength he attained in his previous life through Neverlink, Newt found himself at an impasse after reaching Rank 1. Despite possessing the capability to vanquish the woman who claimed his previous life, he grappled with an insurmountable bottleneck, unable to discern the path forward.
"It's been four years since I achieved Rank 1," Newt mused.
In just seven years, he had ascended to the pinnacle of Martial Artists, reaching Rank 1. Commencing aura training at the tender age of five, he achieved Rank 1 by the age of twelve. Over the last four years, he sought methods to enhance and store aura in alternate locations through cores inside his body. Newt successfully increased his aura and distributed it throughout his body, successfully saturating his entire body. Now, however, he faced the predicament of being unable to channel even a trace of aura into his body.
His body was now saturated with aura, prompting him to explore external storage methods. While he succeeded in storing it externally, his body had reached its limits. Even with external containers, he couldn't break past these confines.
"All I can do is store it outside my body. But for how long can I persist? The container will eventually reach its capacity, and breaking through my limits seems impossible."
"It only grants me the ability to unleash a few attacks surpassing the Martial Artist realm." Doubts lingered within Newt as he contemplated when he would discover a path beyond his current limits. Yet, as he continued breathing, the halted aura surrounding and outside his body began entering his storage ring.
One could only wonder how far Newt had advanced within the confines of the Deathbringer Academy.
***
In a distant realm,
"Die, Deathbringer Academy, you've brought this upon yourselves!" A woman clad in blue robes screamed, wielding a staff to summon a tornado that enveloped the desolate city. Her focus honed in on an individual with a single arm, resolutely swinging a sword.
Facing the oncoming tornado, the man calmly declared, "Void Strike," slashing through the tempest with an aura-infused sword. The blade cut through the tornado, striking the woman.
The one armed man knelt, realizing, 'I have no aura left.' Though bloodied, he wore a triumphant smile. "But I still emerged victorious."
"I can break through beyond Rank 1, as long as I obtain this treasure," the man said, gazing at a door beyond the magician-induced smoke.
"It's premature to declare a winner," the unharmed woman, now being carried by an elderly man with a white beard, countered. She floated in the sky, unconscious, beside someone who appeared to be in his eighties.
The one-handed man narrowed his eyes, unflinchingly meeting the gaze of the elderly man. "Do you know who I am?" inquired the white-bearded figure.
Undeterred, the one-handed man narrowed his eyes, meeting the elderly man's gaze with unwavering fearlessness.
"You're Frolign Welsburg, the high-ranking magician of the Southern Continent, a Rank 1 Wizard," the man replied.
"Your Void Strike is noteworthy; few martial artists have ever breached the defenses of a Rank 5 Magician," Frolign commended.
"Most Rank 1 martial artists are akin to Rank 7 magicians, but your ability surpasses many. To slash a sword capable of penetrating the barriers of a Rank 5 magician is a rare feat," the old man acknowledged.
Amused, the one-handed man questioned, "Am I really that exceptional?"
"You are indeed, and I'll grant you the courtesy of sharing your last words before I end your life painlessly," Frolign offered.
The one-handed man laughed, "My strike is remarkable, you say?"
"Do you know how many graduated from Deathbringer Academy this year?" he asked Frolign.
"Five people, marking this batch as the weakest among all previous graduates," Frolign responded.
The lower the number of survivors from Deathbringer Academy, the stronger the individuals. Typically, only one or two would graduate, with the rest perishing. This year, five survived, deeming this batch the weakest.
The one-handed man regarded Frolign seriously and retorted, "Weakest batch? I merely mimicked the Void Strike technique from the girl who ranked fourth this year. You call them the worst?"
"She's just a Rank 2 Martial artist," Frolign explained.
"And yet, that's how I lost my arm." The one-handed man displayed his severed limb, the wound ceasing at his shoulder.
Frolign pondered on this revelation.
"Can you identify the code name of the top graduate this year?" the one-handed man asked.
"Death, the highest-ranking code name reserved for the most formidable individual among all past, present, and future graduates," Frolign replied.
"He's changed everything—the academy rules bent for his batch alone," declared the one-handed man.
"Master, why converse with him? End his life," urged the woman in blue as she regained consciousness.
"Yes, end me." declared the one-handed man harshly, continuing, "Let the graduates of this year come forth, once they know the way."
"Even though you are my adversary, I will share this with you and hope you never encounter him."
"Master." The woman urged the old man.
Ignoring her, the one-handed man continued, "Let him grow a few more years, and you'll understand. He will come once he realize there's a path forward. Once you see him—adorned in white robes, eyes shining blue, a face like porcelain white, with silver hair and the most handsome visage, you might mistake him for an angel. But don't be fooled, for that's when Death himself comes for you.Witness the truth that the peak of martial arts surpasses your expectations and the devil in him. Once you see his white robes drenched in crimson, stained by countless lives, you'll understand the terror that awaits. Allow him to mature, and he'll grasp a path that surpasses even legends. No one can halt him, whether they be martial artists or magicians. Bow down before him unless mythical beings from heaven intervene. You will witness the dread and insanity I've experienced.Just let him be aware, and you shall see; none can halt him. Death itself shall arrive."
The one-handed man was overwhelmed by a mix of awe, terror, and various emotions, leading him into maniacal laughter. Witnessing the madness, Frolign conjured a sword out of thin air, aimed it at the man's heart, and released it, ending his life in an instant.
"As such, I eagerly anticipate the day when I encounter someone capable of challenging me on an equal footing," Frolign declared, addressing the lifeless form of the one-handed man. With that, he departed the scene alongside the woman in blue robes.