Chapter 32 - Old Empire (9)

Peter could feel the weight of the world crushing him as the Darkness Incarnate's grotesque, inhuman form loomed over him. Each blow the creature delivered was a direct assault on his body and soul, as though the very essence of darkness itself was bearing down on him. His aura blade, once so sharp and precise, now barely deflected the massive scythe the creature wielded, and each clash left him further battered and shaken. He was losing ground, fast.

But even amidst the whirlwind of chaos, Josephine's words whispered to him in the back of his mind.

"Remain calm. When it's tough, don't panic. Stay in control."

Peter steadied his breathing. He could feel his chest heaving, his muscles screaming in protest, but he forced himself to listen to the rhythm of his breath. He couldn't afford to falter now. He couldn't afford to fail her.

Another swing from the Incarnate's scythe came, so fast and vicious that Peter barely had time to react. He shifted his blade just in time to block, the force of the blow sending a shockwave through his entire body, but his grip remained firm. His body was numb, his mind frayed, but somewhere deep within, he held onto a single thread of resolve.

The creature advanced again, tentacles and shadows whipping out in every direction. Peter closed his eyes briefly, focusing on his next move. Josephine had once taught him a technique, one that required absolute stillness, a technique called Dead Calm.

It was during one of their training sessions. Peter, already frustrated by his lack of progress, had questioned her methods. He couldn't speak, but his body language had said enough.

Josephine had smirked, knowing exactly what he was thinking. "You think my technique has flaws," she said, folding her arms. "On paper, maybe. But it's not about strength or speed. It's about control."

Peter watched as she moved, her body ceasing all unnecessary motion, her breath slowing to an imperceptible whisper. In that moment, she became still—almost unnaturally so. Then, in a blur of movement, she deflected every attack Peter had thrown at her. No matter how fast or strong his strikes had been, they never connected. Her blade, sharp and precise, moved with such speed that it seemed like she wasn't even trying.

"You see, Peter," she had said afterward, her voice calm but firm, "In the midst of chaos, you don't win by brute force. You win by staying calm. Dead calm. When you find that place, you'll know it. The attacks won't matter. They'll never land because they can't touch you."

—-

Back in the present, Peter could feel the Darkness Incarnate closing in again, but this time, he didn't rush to meet it. He didn't force his body to strike back wildly. Instead, he allowed the technique to wash over him, slowing his movements, calming his mind. Everything became still, his breathing steady as he entered the Dead Calm state. His body ceased all unnecessary movements, and his mind, once cluttered with panic, was now clear.

9th tier. He has reached it.

The Incarnate's scythe came down once more, but this time, Peter was ready. He stepped aside with grace, deflecting the blow with ease, the movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible. Another strike came, and Peter parried it with perfect timing. His blade moved effortlessly, slicing through the Incarnate's tentacles as though they were made of air.

The more Peter fought, the more attuned he became to the Incarnate's patterns. There—he saw it. The creature had a slight gap in its defenses, a tiny window that appeared just after it lashed out with its tentacles. Peter's eyes flashed with determination as he moved, his sword cutting through the air with surgical precision.

He dashed forward, his aura flaring as he delivered a devastating series of slashes, his blade moving so quickly that it left afterimages. Each strike was perfect, each one landing in the exact spot he intended. He severed tentacles, dodged blows, and parried attacks with a calmness that surprised even him.

Peter's body flowed through the movements that Josephine had drilled into him, the technique she had perfected now guiding his every motion. He felt something shift inside him—he was no longer just reacting to the Incarnate's attacks. He was dictating the fight. His strikes were faster, more precise, and with each one, he felt his power grow.

Finally, he saw the opening he needed. With one powerful, arcing motion, Peter slashed through the creature's torso, his aura blade tearing through its thick defenses. The Darkness Incarnate recoiled, its grotesque form writhing as black ichor spilled from its wounds. Peter didn't stop. He followed up with another strike—this one a clean, vertical cut that sliced through the creature's core but it screamed in agony.

As the beast roared, the air around them thickened with the ominous energy of darkness, and the entire old capital trembled as if the world itself was bending to its will. The miasma that surrounded the battlefield began to swirl, and the dark spawns—creatures of twisted shadow—were sucked into the vortex like leaves caught in a storm. Their screeches pierced the air, blending into a cacophony of despair as the swirling mass of darkness condensed around the Incarnate's hulking figure.

It wrapped itself in this chaos, forming a grotesque cocoon. The sight was horrifying—a pulsating, writhing sphere of miasma and dark energy, feeding on everything around it. The shadows themselves seemed to scream as they were devoured, vanishing into the dense, suffocating blackness. It was as though the very fabric of the world was being absorbed into this monstrosity.

For a moment, everything was still. The eerie silence that followed was heavier than any battle, laden with a sense of impending doom. And then, with a bone-chilling crack, the cocoon split open.

What emerged was no longer the chaotic beast Peter had been fighting. The Grim Reaper was a creature of order and purpose, standing tall, its skeletal form cloaked in a dark, flowing shroud. Its once amorphous body had reshaped into a humanoid figure, sleek and terrifyingly precise. It exuded an aura of death, its every movement deliberate and cold, as if it had shed all weakness and become the very embodiment of finality.

Its head was obscured by a dark hood, shadows dancing within the empty void where its face should have been. In its skeletal hands, it wielded a massive scythe, the blade shimmering with an unearthly light, blacker than the darkest night. The scythe's edge seemed to warp reality itself, its aura pulsating with the promise of death.

Where the Darkness Incarnate had been a beast of rage, wild and uncontrolled, the Grim Reaper was calm, calculated. Its presence radiated a sense of inevitable doom, as if time itself bent around it, and with each breath Peter took, the Reaper's power grew more suffocating.

The old capital was blanketed in a deathly chill, as though the Reaper's very existence drained the warmth and light from the world. Every shadow in the ruined city bowed to it, drawn toward its sinister form, and even the sky above seemed darker. It was no longer just a force of darkness—it was death incarnate, a being that commanded absolute fear.

The moment the scythe swung towards him, it was as if the entire world had slowed. He tried to block it, but his sword barely managed to deflect the attack, and even then, the force behind the blow sent shockwaves through his body. His feet dug into the ground as he skidded back, his arms trembling from the impact.

The next attack came without mercy. The Reaper was relentless, swinging its scythe with brutal precision and unnatural speed. Peter barely had time to react as the blade cut through the air, slicing through his defenses and sending him crashing through the ruins of the old capital. The world spun as he tumbled across the rubble, struggling to regain his footing. His body felt like it was being torn apart. He could feel the strain in his muscles, his bones aching with every movement.

I can't keep up...

The Grim Reaper moved faster than anything he'd ever faced before, its strikes impossibly swift, its presence overwhelming. Each time Peter tried to mount a defense, the Reaper would adapt, its attacks becoming more vicious, more calculated. The scythe came down again, and this time Peter wasn't fast enough. The blade grazed his side, and though Josephine's blessing kept him from physical harm, the sheer force of the blow sent him crashing into a building. The structure collapsed around him, dust and debris clouding his vision.

His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe. He was losing. Every movement felt sluggish, every strike he attempted was blocked or countered. He felt the weight of despair creeping in. Was this it?

But then, in the midst of the chaos, Josephine's voice echoed in his mind once again.

"Stick to the fight when you're hardest hit—it's when things seem worst that you must not quit."

Peter's grip tightened on his sword. He remembered her training, her words, the countless times she had pushed him to the brink only to show him that the path to power was through perseverance. Calm. That was the key. No matter how dire the situation, no matter how overwhelming the enemy, he had to stay calm. Panic would only cloud his judgment, make him sloppy.

He forced himself to stand, his body shaking from the strain. The Grim Reaper loomed before him, its glowing eyes watching him intently, almost as if it were waiting. A strange, almost respectful pause. It seemed to say, "Give me your best."

Peter took a deep breath. He could feel the mana coursing through his veins, mixing with his aura. But that wasn't enough. Not for this. He needed more.

"Sorry, Josephine. I'm not even angry over you anymore."

"I bear no grudge against anyone."

"It's just that the world feels so, so wonderful right now."

However, even in this world only a scant few know about this. Take the aura and the mana, then combine those two different expressions of power to create and push out another expression of power. Ki.

And there it was—the enlightenment he had been searching for. The fusion of aura and mana, two forces that were supposed to be incompatible, but now, in this moment of clarity, they merged seamlessly within him. A new power surged through his body—Ki. It was different from anything he had ever felt before. Stronger, purer.

Peter's eyes snapped open, his resolve hardened. He had reached the 10th tier.

With a surge of newfound strength, Peter charged at the Grim Reaper. His sword was a blur as he unleashed a singular downward vertical slash in an arcing motion, the blade glowing with a brilliant light as it cleaved through the air. The Reaper's scythe moved to intercept, but Peter was already ahead of it, spinning and twisting his upper body in a circular motion, releasing a 360° slash that severed the Reaper's tentacles with a clean cut.

The Reaper staggered, but its retaliation was swift. It swung its scythe with murderous intent, but Peter danced around it with two consecutive horizontal arcing slashes that deflected the attack. His movements were fluid, almost effortless now, as if the Ki flowing through him had unlocked a new level of speed and precision.

The Reaper lashed out again, its tentacles flailing wildly, but Peter countered with a spiraling slash that extended outward, cutting through the oncoming tendrils before they could reach him. He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Backflipping into the air, Peter performed a singular horizontal slash aimed directly at the Reaper's neck. The creature barely managed to block the strike with its scythe, but Peter was relentless, following up with a rush forward, his blade seemingly enveloped in a heat-haze that masked its true trajectory. The Reaper was caught off guard as Peter's strike landed, leaving a deep gash across its chest.

The Grim Reaper howled in pain, its body shaking as it absorbed more of the miasma from the surroundings. Peter could feel the air grow denser as the creature began to evolve once again, forming a grotesque cocoon around itself. It was preparing for its final transformation.

When the cocoon shattered, what emerged was a being far more terrifying. The Reaper now stood in a humanoid form, its body cloaked in shadows, its face obscured by a dark hood. In its hands, it held a massive scythe that radiated an aura of death. Its presence was overwhelming, its power suffocating.

Peter barely had time to react as the Reaper moved with blinding speed. The scythe came down like a hammer, and though Peter raised his sword to block it, the force of the blow sent him crashing through several buildings. His body slammed into the ground, leaving a deep crater as the Reaper continued its assault. He couldn't keep up.

The Reaper's attacks were relentless, each strike faster and more brutal than the last. Peter was barely able to deflect the scythe with his sword, and every time he tried to counter, the Reaper would be one step ahead, its movements too fast, too precise. He was being overwhelmed, and he could feel the hope slipping away.

But then, once more, Josephine's words echoed in his mind.

"Stick to the fight when you're hardest hit—it's when things seem worst that you must not quit."

Peter forced himself to stand, his body battered and bruised. He took a deep breath, focusing on the Ki flowing through him. Dead Calm. He had to reach that state, the one Josephine had taught him. He had to shut out the pain, the fear, the desperation. There was only the fight.

The Reaper swung its scythe again, but this time, Peter was ready. His body moved with imperceptible speed as he dodged the attack, the blade of the scythe grazing past him by mere inches. He deflected the next strike with ease, his movements fluid, precise. The Reaper's attacks, once overwhelming, now seemed slow, predictable.

Peter saw an opening. He moved faster than the eye could follow, appearing behind the Reaper in an instant. The creature froze, and then, in a delayed burst of power, Peter unleashed a series of aura-infused slashes, each one cutting deeper into the Reaper's body. He followed up with a flurry of strikes, his blade glowing with Ki as he attacked from every angle.

The Reaper let out a deafening roar, but it was too late.

"I thank you."

Peter's final attack—a singular thrust utilizing the tip of his blade—pierced through the Reaper's core, shattering the dark energy that sustained it. The creature staggered, its body dissolving into a swirling mass of shadows.

With one final, agonized howl, the Grim Reaper collapsed to the ground, its body disintegrating into black mist. Peter stood over the fallen creature, his chest heaving, his sword still glowing with the power of Ki.

He had done it.

Peter lowered his sword, the Ki slowly fading from his body as he looked down at the dissipating darkness. His body ached, his mind was weary, but he had won. He had reached the 10th tier.

He had become stronger. Strong enough to protect her. Josephine.

He had risen to stand by her side, and he would never let go.