Chapter 185: The Laughing Emperor
[Absolute Dream Anchor (Divine)]
HUMMM!!!!
Back on Kalpa, high atop the windswept plateau of Dreamer’s Peak, Akasha sat just as before, Luna leaning comfortably against his right side while Yume settled close on his left.
A short distance away, Calista lingered in stillness, her gaze fixed on the trio with calm, quiet focus.
Across Akasha’s lap rested the Dreamer’s Scythe, its edge glinting faintly in the light as his hand rested lightly along the smooth length of its haft.
With a single thought, he activated an innate power, and a pristine, circular portal of layered dream-space unfolded in the air before him.
With his Absolute Dream Anchor, he could embed Anchors into anything—even memories—and he’d done just that to Tyron.
He’d sworn Tyron wouldn’t make it to the year’s end, and now, with little else to deal with until Jovian called on him again, he was ready to focus on the one who had slipped through his grasp.
Akasha looked toward Yume and Luna, a small, easy smile touching his lips.
"Well, I’ll be back shortly."
He rose with casual grace, the Scythe settling into his grip as if it weighed nothing, and stepped through the portal without further ceremony.
Calista’s eyes followed him, a clear note of curiosity in her expression.
"Is he actually going to kill someone?" she asked, voice low.
From what he’d said earlier, she was almost certain he was planning to kill someone.
He’d practically admitted it, yet she still couldn’t reconcile that with the picture of Akasha forming in her mind.
That image was basically of a strong man without much ambition—something that couldn’t have been further from reality.
His single ambition, whether he wanted it or not, was already tangled up with plenty of other things he’d much rather avoid entirely.
Yume gave a soft, knowing chuckle, the icy blue in her eyes catching the light.
"Oh... Don’t be fooled by the image he presents. Master enjoys posturing in subtle ways. The calm is deliberate."
Luna’s laugh followed, light and warm with quiet amusement.
"Fufufu~ She’s right. He likes to keep people guessing."
----
On the other side of the portal, the transition was not instantaneous.
No, Akasha wanted time to prepare, so he prolonged the travel a bit.
He moved through a long, twisting tunnel of deep purple light that folded and unfolded around him like a living thing.
His bare feet made no sound against the shifting surface as he walked forward at a measured pace, the Dreamer’s Scythe resting lightly in one hand.
’I should have killed this bastard the moment his favorability dropped...’
The thought burned through him, sharper than he liked.
He was truly a bit pissed at himself for letting the matter drag on this long.
Every additional day Tyron had remained alive was another day the loose end could have grown into something inconvenient.
The more he turned the situation over in his mind, the deeper the frown settled across his features.
’Who the hell knows what kind of luck he’s gotten himself into?’
In that moment, his caution kicked into overdrive at the thought.
’Alright... before I show up, I need to make sure all my bases are covered.’
If he was going to carry out an assassination, Akasha, as always, had no intention of letting it turn into a long, drawn-out fight.
He wanted it clean, efficient, and over in moments.
But with Tyron’s true strength and status still a mystery, it felt like stepping straight into a pit of fire—so preparation had to be absolute.
He looked down at himself as he continued through the purple tunnel.
Baggy dark sweatpants draped loosely over his legs.
A plain muscle shirt hugged his frame.
The look was intentionally plain, almost casual, but every item on him had been dreamed up long ago, each one quietly evolving alongside his rising rank.
At this point, every piece of clothing was Divine Rank Tier 21, each granting +15 BP—or defense, in this case.
That meant he could withstand attacks from power levels up to Tier 30 without even tapping into his real defensive abilities.
He continued preparing without breaking stride.
With a single thought, he placed the Legion Slaughter Array on standby, ready to activate the instant he appeared.
The plan was simple... As always, the Scythe would strike first, and it would be swung with the intent to end the fight before it even began.
’But... in case of some bullshit, I will activate the array the moment something arises.’ He thought internally as his gaze turned inward to his inventory.
For the first time, he selected the Eternal Soul Armor—an item he had received long ago from the Gacha and never once equipped.
This time, he wasn’t taking any risks.
He knew the armor protected the soul itself, a safeguard he’d never required before. Truth be told, he wasn’t certain he’d need it now—but better safe than sorry.
HUMMMM!!!
The moment he equipped it, the armor dissolved into pure light and assimilated directly into his body.
A sudden, unexplainable sense of safety washed through him, settling deep in his chest like a quiet weight.
He exhaled once, then released the restraints on his Imperfect Beauty and Waking Fears, allowing the passive to run wild.
At the same moment, he switched Lucid Regeneration to instantaneous. Whatever hit him, the damage would vanish the instant it landed.
At last, the purple tunnel opened ahead.
----
Akasha stepped through the portal and appeared right behind Tyron, who stood atop the wide stone steps, addressing the assembled factions.
The coronation courtyard stretched below them, filled with angels, dragons, fox-kin, cow-kin, and humans, all listening in tense silence.
With his scythe in hand, Akasha remained completely unseen, as he was technically within Dream Land, so not even Loki detected his arrival.
Well, not in any usual way that was... because with the Authority of Fate, whether she could perceive him or not... she already knew what was to come.
Tyron’s voice rang out across the courtyard, steady and sure.
"...I understand your doubts, but I can promise you... that’s all they are."
Inside the Laughing Sword, Loki’s words slipped smoothly into Tyron’s thoughts, quiet yet deliberate.
"Tyron... he’s here. But hold on—just a moment more."
As her mental warning passed, Akasha raised the Dreamer’s Scythe in a clean, silent arc aimed at the back of Tyron’s neck.
SHHKKKKKK!!!!!
But the blade never reached him.
The swing veered off, as if fate itself had stepped in to alter its path.
Akasha’s teeth clenched, his eyes widening slightly, though he remained composed.
Neither of them showed a hint of panic.
Then Loki’s voice sliced through Tyron’s thoughts like a whip.
"Attack. Now."
In that heartbeat, they both sprang into action at the same moment.
[Eternal Mad Laughter]
[Legion Slaughtering Array (God)]
HUMMMMMM!!!!!!
Tyron’s hand closed around the hilt of the Laughing Sword and drew it free in one smooth motion.
The moment the green-and-black blade left its sheath, a conceptual force erupted outward—silent, invisible, and absolute.
In that instant, it locked onto a presence Tyron couldn’t yet see.
For a brief moment, Akasha’s body tensed, and a burst of uncontrollable laughter erupted from his throat.
"Ha! haha! HAHAHAHA!"
The sound rolled across the courtyard in waves, wild and unbroken, revealing his exact location in an instant.
At the same time, his innate powers, every Decree, and even the flow of his Divinity locked down hard.
As long as the Laughing Sword remained unsheathed, the restriction would only deepen.
Even still, above the courtyard, the Legion Slaughter Array fully activated.
Ten thousand Unbound Gods and Constellations bloomed into existence across the open sky, their forms towering and radiant, auras crashing downward in a crushing tide.
The pressure hit like a physical attack.
THUD!!!!
CRRRACCCKKK!!!!
Instantly, Tyron’s knees slammed into the stone steps with a sharp crack.
The air rushed from his lungs, and his arms shook uncontrollably as he struggled to keep from collapsing.
All around the courtyard, the gathered elders, angels, dragons, fox-kin, and cow-kin were driven to their knees in the same moment.
Several weaker figures never rose again—blood burst from their mouths and noses as their bodies gave out under the sheer weight of the constructs’ presence.
At that moment, Tyron fought to lift his head, every movement feeling heavier than the last.
Beads of sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes as they blurred with the effort.
He forced his eyes toward the source of the booming, unbroken laughter, then upward to the sky where the ten thousand constructs stood laughing in perfect, eerie unison with the man they served.
Although he didn’t have much to go on, he was sure of a few things.
There weren’t many people he held open enmity toward, and he was certain that in his entire life he had never come across someone who seemed to move as if invisible to everyone else.
And then, recognition settled in his chest, cold and unshakable.
"Lord Dream..."
----
Inside the Laughing Sword, Loki had risen to the very edge of the enormous green-and-white couch. Her long black hair spilled forward as she leaned out, green eyes wide with genuine shock.
’....Who the hell did this boy manage to piss off?’
The thought cut sharp through her mind.
Though it didn’t seem like much to her, the pressure radiating from those constructs was far beyond what any minor existence should be capable of producing.
Her voice cut sharply into Tyron’s mind, urgent and firm.
"Move... Now! I’ll handle the constructs... don’t waste this opening."