Chapter 123. Children Who Wake Up Convinced They Own the Universe
"I’M NOT DONE YEETTTT!!!"
The masked man twisted away just in time, but the movement was clumsy and desperate, a panicked flail rather than a calculated evasion. The edge of William’s blade still found purchase, carving a shallow but stinging furrow across his ribs.
Blood seeped instantly through the gaps in his armor, painting his side in a spreading crimson stain.
William didn’t give him a second to breathe. He didn’t give him a second to regret.
He shifted into Wind again, his body becoming a blur of motion, repositioning with an explosive speed that made him seem less like a man and more like a predator closing in on wounded prey. The masked man was visibly fraying; his eyes darted wildly, struggling to track the impossible cadence of William’s shifting stances.
For the first time, the scholar’s precision was gone, replaced by the frantic twitching of a cornered rat.
"You’re rattled," William said, his voice cutting through the ringing silence of the clearing like a guillotine. "Your breathing is shallow, your footwork is sloppy, and your ’perfect technique’ is starting to look like desperate flailing."
"Tell me, does the textbook have a Chapter on how to handle someone who doesn’t play by your pathetic little rules?"
"I am... reassessing," the masked man spat, but the words were wet, broken by a cough that brought flecks of blood to his lips.
The composed dismissal he aimed for crumbled under the sheer weight of his exhaustion.
William saw the crack in the foundation. He feinted hard with Ember’s deliberate misdirection, shifting his shoulder and weight to sell a crushing strike toward the man’s exposed left flank.
The masked man bit, and he committed his entire weight to a desperate block, his blade rising to intercept what he thought was a finishing blow.
But William was already gone. The feint evaporated into Wind, carrying him past the man’s guard in a burst of supernatural speed that closed the distance before the man could even blink.
Aetherion, still in its single-wield configuration, sang through the air in a decisive, vicious arc.
SHHHHIIIIING CRACK!
The blade connected not with flesh, but with the porcelain visor. The sound was sickening, the wet snap of breaking ceramic mixed with the crunch of bone beneath.
The mask split audibly, a jagged fracture splitting across its surface. The masked man staggered backward as if struck by a sledgehammer, one hand flying up to his ruined face as chunks of white porcelain fell away like dead skin.
Through the gaps, William caught glimpses of an aged, lined face, pale and sweat-slicked, and twisted in agony, but the shadows of his hood kept his full identity a mystery.
The man hit the ground hard, sprawling against the cracked, blood-soaked earth. He gasped for air, his chest heaving as he stared up at the silhouette looming over him.
William stood over him, Aetherion raised high, the blade gleaming with fresh blood. But he didn’t swing.
He savored this. He wanted the man to feel the full weight of his failure before the end.
"Look at you," William said, his voice dripping with contempt as he looked down at the broken wreck at his feet. "All those years of study... All that supposed ’superior knowledge.’ And here you are, bleeding out in the dirt like some common thug who wandered into the wrong alley."
William leaned down slightly, the tip of his blade hovering inches from the man’s throat. "You thought you were playing chess, didn’t you?"
"You thought you could predict me, contain me, categorize me... But there is no category for what I am."
"You aren’t even in the same league as me... You’re not an opponent; you’re a fucking inconvenience."
The masked man tried to speak, but only a gurgling noise escaped his throat.
"Don’t bother," William sneered. "Save your breath for whatever gods you’re about to beg for mercy from..."
"Though I doubt they’re listening."
For several heartbeats, there was only the sound of wet gasping and the distant whistle of wind through the ruins. William stood motionless, a statue of bloodstained steel, waiting for the dying man to beg, to curse, or to plead.
Instead, a sound emerged from the wreckage of the porcelain mask.
"Heh... heh... heh..."
It started as a wet rattle in the man’s throat, but it quickly spiraled into something more—a genuine, hysterical laugh that tore through his damaged lungs.
"HA HA HA... HA HA HA HA HA!"
William just stood there with a disgusted look. "What’s so funny?"
The masked man arched his back against the dirt, blood bubbling between his teeth as he laughed with a terrifying, manic glee. William’s grip tightened on Aetherion.
Something about the sound set his nerves on edge; it wasn’t the laugh of a madman, but the laugh of someone who had just seen the punchline to a cosmic joke.
"You really... you really are something else, aren’t you?" the masked man wheezed, his laughter dying down into a shuddering cough. "I’ve met dozens like you..."
"The Reincarnators."
"Children who wake up in new worlds with godlike systems and broken abilities, convinced they own the universe because they can read a status screen."
He looked up at William through the shattered remains of his mask, his eyes bright with a feverish intelligence. "They’re all the same... cocky... and hollow..."
"They rely on their ’gifts’ like crutches, and the moment someone fights back with real blood and real teeth, they crumble."
"But you..." The man’s lips curled into a bloody smile. "You’re different..."
"You have that same insufferable arrogance, that same filthy mouth... and yet, every word you say proves to be true."
"Your skill... it isn’t a gift... It’s a scar."
William didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.
He let the man’s words hang in the air, not because they wounded him, but because they were irrelevant. The man was trying to analyze him, to categorize him one last time, to find meaning in the carnage.
"Philosophy is a luxury for those who still have something to lose," William said coldly, his voice cutting through the man’s revelation. "You talk about systems and reincarnation as if they matter."
"But here’s the truth you missed in all your reading: Power isn’t a prize to be won or a system to be exploited."
"It’s a burden that crushes everyone who isn’t strong enough to carry it."
"When you wield the power to rewrite reality, you don’t become a god... You just become the person responsible for every corpse you leave behind."
William’s eyes shifted momentarily toward the side, where Catherine lay motionless before, and he can remember her breathing shallow and unconscious amidst the debris.
"I’m not going to grant you the mercy of my blade," William continued, turning his gaze back to the broken man, his expression turning glacial. "That would be too clean..."
"Too easy for someone who thinks they understand the world."
He stepped forward, the shadow of his body completely eclipsing the dying man.
"I’m going to let Catherine kill you."
The masked man’s eyes widened slightly, the laughter dying instantly.
"But she’s still asleep," William muttered, more to himself than to his opponent. "And I’m not known for my patience."
William’s muscles coiled. With a slow, deliberate motion, he raised Aetherion high above his head.
The blade caught the dim light, reflecting a silver promise of finality. The air seemed to grow heavy with the inevitability of the strike.
"I do hope you learn your lesson for today..."
"And Catherine is going to be alright..."