MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 397 397: The Soulpen Sovereign-2

As Anthony opened his eyes, his gaze drifted across the expanse of the floor.

The scene before him was vibrant, tiny motes of light floated gracefully through the air, enhancing the already breathtaking aesthetic with an ethereal glow.

Shelves stood aligned in perfect symmetry, each book meticulously placed with exacting precision, not a single one more than a centimetre out of line.

Several volumes hovered mid-air, as though imbued with a life and will of their own.

The entire space exuded an air of enchantment.

It stood in stark contrast to the rigid, utilitarian environments Anthony had grown almost accustomed to in the military.

ʼDid the military divert all its funds into beautifying the Tower of Knowledge?ʼ

The thought crossed Anthonyʼs mind as his eyes swept across the radiant interior.

Even the grandeur of the Null estate paled in comparison to the sheer magnificence before him.

He lifted a foot to take a step forward, but the motion never reached completion.

A tremendous presence descended upon him, striking not his body, but something far deeper.

The air remained still.

The atmosphere unchanged.

Everything around him held its tranquility.

Yet within him, a storm stirred.

Reflexively, Anthony attempted to manipulate the time elements, just as he had once done to slip from the crushing aura of Colonel Vazeryth.

But this time, it was in vain.

The force that gripped him bypassed the physical realm entirely.

It wrapped itself around his very soul.

Anthonyʼs brow furrowed as the realization settled in.

Ordinarily, soul-based attacks were rendered harmless to him, Romulusʼs presence safeguarded that part of him with unwavering dominance.

But this wasnʼt an attack.

Anthony had never felt such weight.

It was as though the entire universe had collapsed onto his back, pressing down with an invisible force beyond comprehension.

His thoughts spiraled, struggling to maintain clarity under the unbearable strain.

He knew, without question, that to affect his soul so directly, the opposing entity had to possess a mastery of soul manipulation far beyond his own.

His mind raced, searching for options… until it landed on an ability from his earlier days, one he had nearly forgotten.

Concealment.

Without hesitation, Anthony activated the skill.

In an instant, he vanished.

His presence dissolved completely, as if he had never existed at all.

The crushing pressure on his soul lifted immediately.

A breath escaped his lips, slow and steady, half-relief, half-caution.

Anthonyʼs gaze shifted to the side, and his expression darkened once more.

Seated behind a grand desk was an enormous man, easily eight feet tall.

He wore a pristine white haori, the traditional fabric flowing elegantly over his broad frame.

A pair of glasses rested delicately on the bridge of his nose, accentuating the stern lines of a face that seemed sculpted to perfection.

His jawline was chiseled, his presence imposing.

Behind him stood a towering cabinet encased in transparent glass, its contents gleaming under the ambient light.

And within?

Pens.

Fountain pens, to be precise, rows upon rows of them, arranged meticulously by size, type, and color.

They extended across the entire cabinet, as though the man were a solemn guardian of a sacred treasury.

But Anthony didnʼt dwell on it.

His gaze drifted away from the pens and settled on the man himself, who, despite Anthonyʼs presence, remained still, his head bowed as he cradled a single fountain pen in his hand with a reverence that bordered on adoration.

There was no detectable mana, no trace of aura, chaos, or any known energy radiating from him, just like the boy Anthony had encountered on Floor Zero.

And yet, the power emanating from him was undeniable.

It pulsed through the room in silence, ancient and absolute.

It was the same presence Anthony had faintly sensed from both the heights above and the depths below the Tower.

He didnʼt need confirmation.

The manʼs very existence, his towering frame and flawless poise, spoke volumes.

He was the Soulpen Sovereign.

The Guardian of the Tower of Knowledge.

ʼHe appears on every floor… A clone?ʼ

The thought drifted through Anthonyʼs mind as he studied the man before him.

He could feel everything, down to the rhythm of the manʼs life force.

This was no clone.

It was far too real, too complete.

The only time Anthony had encountered something even remotely similar… was when using his own clone.

Without hesitation, Anthony activated Authority of Information.

Though the Soulpen Sovereignʼs power vastly eclipsed his own, nullifying most of the Authorityʼs depth, Anthony could still glean publicly known knowledge.

And in an instant, information surged into his mind like a tidal wave.

The Soulpen Sovereign was of the demi-human race, born with a rare defect: the complete inability to use mana by the age of ten.

Unlike the vast majority, he lacked a core, no vessel to cultivate, no reservoir to store mana.

But he never needed it.

He wasnʼt helpless.

On the day of his awakening, he had been blessed with a singular, extraordinary talent:

Soul Energy Manipulation

A gift that granted him overwhelming affinity and unparalleled control over the soul itself.

He had also been born with an artifact, an anomaly among relics, known simply as the Soulpen.

A pen in name alone, yet its power defied reason.

With it, he could bend the laws of reality and manipulate the fabric of souls as though they were threads beneath his fingers.

And yet, despite wielding such a reality altering force, he did not seek dominion or chaos.

Instead, he used his abilities to rise through the military ranks with quiet resolve.

But it was never about power for him.

He preferred the subtle art of living, to explore the nuances of existence and seek serenity in the mundane.

A pursuit that stood in curious contrast to his titanic physique.

What he became most renowned for, however, was his obsession: fountain pens.

But these were no ordinary pens.

Each one contained a fragment of his soul energy, painstakingly infused, and in doing so, each pen awakened a unique ability.

To receive one of these pens from the Soulpen Sovereign was no trivial honor, it was said to be tantamount to receiving a wish from the heavens themselves.

Unlike most demi-humans, the Soulpen Sovereign possessed the ability to shift flawlessly between his human and weretiger forms, an ability made possible only through his unparalleled mastery over soul energy.

His control was so absolute, so precise, that even the boundaries of his own species bent to his will.

He was not just powerful.

He was singular.

One of the Four Anomalies, beings who defied logic, classification, and even the established systems of power.

Klaus, the First.

The Soulpen Sovereign, Second.

Kingsley Sky, a human known as the Third.

And finally… Null Anthony, the Fourth.

It didnʼt even take Anthony a second to process this influx of information.

His mind, honed through countless battles and blessed with the Authority of Information, absorbed the truth with effortless clarity.

”How long do you plan on hiding?”

The voice was calm, unhurried, but it carried the weight of absolute authority.

The Soulpen Sovereignʼs clone had finally spoken, his gaze drifting from the cherished pen in his hand.

His purple eyes, deep as galaxies and sharp as blades, locked onto the very space Anthony occupied, as though concealment meant nothing to him.

And indeed, it didnʼt.

Anthonyʼs heartbeat quickened.

He had long accepted a truth of this world: no ability was absolute.

Everything had a counter.

The Sovereign lifted a single hand, extending one finger with quiet precision.

In an instant, Anthonyʼs concealment shattered like fragile glass under divine pressure.

Before he could react, his body was wrenched forward, dragged through the air like a scrap of metal pulled to a magnet, drawn irresistibly toward the Soulpen Sovereign.

There was no struggle.

No resistance.

Only the raw, oppressive force of a being who didnʼt need to raise his voice to command the laws of existence.

”You are a unique being”

The Soulpen Sovereignʼs voice was laced with quiet intrigue, the tone almost reverent.

”To think two Supreme Monarchs would give birth to such a talent”

His purple eyes shimmered, glowing faintly as he peered into the very essence of Anthonyʼs soul.

It was as if he were searching for the source of what made Anthony so extraordinary.

But then, in a blink, those glowing eyes flickered, fading into a pure white, an unnatural, jarring absence.

For a fleeting moment, the Soulpen Sovereign appeared to had been struck blind, his face contorting in an expression of shock, raw and unguarded.

However, just as swiftly as the emotion had appeared, it was gone, replaced by an unsettling calm.

Blood trickled from the corner of his eyes, staining his cheek, but he made no move to wipe it away.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he slowly closed his eyes.

When they reopened, the purple hue returned, vibrant and unfazed.

The blood vanished as though it had never been.

A smile, almost contemplative, curved the Sovereignʼs lips as he released Anthony from the magnetic grip.

”You are indeed a unique being”

He repeated, his tone now carrying a hint of something else, admiration, perhaps, or even a tinge of amusement.

Anthonyʼs gaze sharpened, his eyes flickering as he studied the man before him.

ʼDangerous. Romulus must have done somethingʼ

The thought surged through his mind, the weight of the Soulpen Sovereignʼs presence undeniable, especially those piercing purple eyes.

”For surprising me”

The Soulpen Sovereign spoke, his voice a smooth undertone of something both teasing and genuine.

”I have a gift for you as well”

Without another word, he rose from his chair.

The movement was fluid, almost graceful, as though he were a creature bound not by physical laws but by his own unspoken will.

He made his way toward the towering cabinet of fountain pens, its glass facade reflecting an ethereal light.

With a single press of his hand, the glass slid open effortlessly.

From within, he carefully retrieved a pen, an object of such meticulous craftsmanship that it seemed almost sacred.

He held it out to Anthony, his purple eyes gleaming with something akin to pride.

”This”

The Soulpen Sovereign began, his voice taking on a rare tone of enthusiasm.

”Is the Visconti Homo Sapiens”

Anthonyʼs eyes drifted to the pen, intrigued despite himself.

”It is handmade from hardened basaltic lava, sourced from Mount Etna, on a planet I once explored. The trim is solid bronze, finely crafted to complement the stoneʼs rugged texture. Visconti lava is said to be unbreakable, warm to the touch, and even slightly hygroscopic, it absorbs the moisture from your hand as you hold it. The basaltic lava is then mixed with resin, creating a pen that feels alive in your grasp”

The Soulpen Sovereignʼs hands cradled the pen as though it were more than an object, his enthusiasm unhidden.

Anthony remained silent, his gaze fixed on the Soulpen Sovereign as he observed the sudden shift in demeanor.

There was no response from him, just a quiet watchfulness as the pen was passed to him.

After a moment of hesitation, Anthony accepted the pen, his fingers brushing against its smooth surface.

His All Seeing Eyes immediately scanned every inch of the object, examining it with meticulous precision.

Yet, despite his efforts, he sensed nothing.

It was... ordinary.

Even his Authority of Information offered no insights, its usually unyielding power failing to penetrate the enigma of the pen.

ʼOP systemʼ

[Ding]

[Visconti Homo Sapiens:

Infused with Soul Energy. Automatically activates on its own and creates a miracle for its owner without being ordered.

One-time use only]

Anthonyʼs thoughts ground to a halt.

The word ʼMiracleʼ hung in the air like a tantalizing whisper.

What kind of miracle could a pen like this create?

Before he could delve any deeper into his thoughts, the Soulpen Sovereign, with a faint smile, turned away.

He began to attend to his vast collection of fountain pens with the same reverence and obsession as before, as though the moment had never happened.