Chương 406: Singularity
Grade 6 arts were a testament to mastery, a fusion of precision, power, and profound understanding of martial principles. Yet they all carried a peculiar flaw—one I had noticed early on in my training. The initial movements, though foundational, grew weaker in comparison to the later ones. They were the creator's first attempts, born from earlier insights and limited by the constraints of their mana rank and martial knowledge at the time.
I refused to let God Flash suffer the same fate.
From the moment I created it, I tore it apart, rebuilt it, refined it again and again until it wasn't just a technique—it was a declaration of intent, a manifestation of my will. I wanted every movement of my Grade 6 art to carry the same weight, the same lethal precision, no matter where it fell in the sequence.
And now, here in the heart of this battlefield, facing the embodiment of darkness and despair itself, I reached the peak of what God Flash could be.
This wasn't merely another strike. This was perfection itself.
The culmination of light magic, time magic, and gravity magic woven into a single moment of transcendence. The entire world bent around me, yielding to the sheer force of my intent, my mana, my will. Space itself seemed to hold its breath, as if even the laws of reality awaited what was to come.
I exhaled, slow and steady, my vision narrowing to the Paladin of Void. His dark astral energy, once impenetrable, now seemed tangible—something I could grasp, something I could break.
God Flash: Singularity.
I moved.
Time folded in on itself, my perception stretching every millisecond into eternity. The gravity around me surged and swirled, pulling the world inward to fuel my strike. Light burst forth from my blade, not in a beam or a flash, but as an undeniable force, radiant and unyielding.
The Paladin of Void raised his blade in defense, dark astral energy surging to meet me. But it wasn't enough. My God Flash wasn't simply faster—it was inevitable.
I cut through him.
Not just his body.
Not just his defenses.
His soul.
The energy of my strike reverberated through the battlefield, an explosion of brilliance that drowned out the darkness. The Paladin's form shattered, his body reduced to fragments of mana that disintegrated into the air. His sword, once an extension of his unrelenting power, clattered to the ground, lifeless.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence.
The strain on my body hit me like a tidal wave. My muscles screamed in protest, my mana reserves plummeting into oblivion. My vision blurred, the edges of the world growing darker with each passing second.
I tried to take a step, but my legs buckled beneath me. The weight of the battle, the weight of my final strike, bore down on me with crushing intensity.
And then, there was nothing. Consciousness slipped from my grasp, and I collapsed into the void.
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"Arthur!" Cecilia's scream pierced the silence, raw and desperate as his body crumpled to the ground. She tried to move, to reach him, but her strength was sapped, her body refusing to obey. Pain lanced through her side where the Paladin's blade had struck, leaving her barely able to lift her hand, let alone stand.
Tears streaked her face as she stared at Arthur's unmoving form. The battlefield was eerily still, the oppressive weight of his final attack lingering in the air. His sword lay beside him, dim now, its radiance spent.
She clenched her fists weakly, frustration and fear clawing at her chest. "Someone... someone help him," she whispered hoarsely. But no one was left. No one could move.
And then, the silence shattered.
The top floor of the Tower of Alchemy exploded outward in a shower of stone and shimmering runes, the force of the blast scattering debris across the night sky. A figure emerged from the chaos, descending through the dust and smoke with a calm, unhurried grace.
Her long red hair caught the faint glow of mana that radiated from her like a second sun. Her emerald-green robes flowed around her, lined with intricate golden runes that shimmered faintly as they absorbed the mana in the air. Her presence was both regal and commanding, like a storm contained within a single, poised figure.
"Sorry for being late, my disciple," she said, her voice smooth yet tinged with amusement. Archmage Charlotte, the Zenith of Magic, had arrived.
Cecilia's tears fell faster. "Arthur," she choked out, pointing a trembling finger toward his prone body. "Please... he—"
Charlotte's expression shifted immediately, the faint smile vanishing as her eyes locked onto Arthur. Her brows furrowed, and without hesitation, she stepped forward, her mana surging like a tidal wave. The ground beneath her feet seemed to ripple, the sheer density of her power distorting the air.
Golden mana coiled around Arthur, lifting his body gently from the ground as if cradling him in an invisible embrace. Simultaneously, threads of mana streamed into his form, probing the extent of his injuries and beginning the intricate work of healing.
Charlotte's lips pressed into a thin line as she worked, her focus absolute. "You've really outdone yourself this time, haven't you?" she muttered under her breath.
Cecilia watched, her heart pounding as Charlotte's mana enveloped Arthur. Relief flooded her, though the tears wouldn't stop. She wanted to get closer, to see his face, to make sure he was breathing, but her body still refused her.
Charlotte's attention flickered momentarily as she sensed something behind her. Her sharp eyes turned toward the lingering darkness at the edges of the battlefield, where faint traces of the Paladin's dark astral energy still clung to the air. The remnants twisted and writhed like shadows trying to escape the light, a haunting reminder of the battle that had just taken place.
Her gaze narrowed, and for a moment, her expression darkened.
Then, she turned back to Arthur, her piercing eyes softening as she observed him more closely. Mana continued to pour into his body, stitching together the fractures in his form and replenishing his drained reserves. But even as she worked, she noticed something else—something far more unsettling.
The space-time axis around him was subtly distorted, ripples of mana bending in unnatural patterns. She could see it now, faint but unmistakable—the very fabric of reality had been twisted by his actions.
Her lips parted slightly in surprise, her expression caught between incredulity and bemusement. "This..." she murmured, almost to herself. "This monster..."
She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "How badly will you break the common sense of this world, Arthur Nightingale?"
Her voice held no malice, only the weary amusement of someone who had long since stopped trying to predict the impossible. But even as she said the words, she worked faster, her mana flowing with renewed intensity.
Arthur's breathing steadied, his pale complexion gaining a hint of color. Charlotte exhaled softly, her shoulders relaxing as she ensured his condition was stable. But she knew better than anyone that this was only the beginning.
She glanced back at young girl she had claimed as her disciple, who was watching silently, her expression a mixture of relief and lingering fear. "He'll live," Charlotte said gently, though her tone carried an edge of gravity. "But whatever he's done here... it's not something we can ignore."
Cecilia nodded, her hands trembling as she clutched at her side. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Charlotte gave her a faint smile before turning her attention back to the young man. Whatever chaos he had unleashed tonight, it was clear to her now: Arthur Nightingale wasn't just a prodigy or a rising star.
He was something far more dangerous—and far more extraordinary.
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