MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 417: The Forgotten Court

The descent into the fourth floor felt like falling through a memory not their own.

With each step, the air grew colder, suffused with an ancient sorrow that seemed to whisper across their skin.

An oppressive weight hung in the atmosphere, as if invisible eyes were watching them, the very stones beneath their feet bearing silent witness to their intrusion.

When they finally emerged, the chamber that greeted them was unlike any they had encountered before.

The chamber was vast, a grand yet ruined throne room, frozen in the decaying splendor of a civilization long since consumed by the abyss of time.

Tattered banners, their sigils indecipherable, hung lifelessly from towering marble columns, their fabric rustling softly in a wind that had not blown in centuries.

Cracked statues of forgotten kings and queens lined the perimeter, their faces eroded into grotesque expressions of formless disdain, as though they had long since abandoned any pretense of nobility.

At the heart of the room, an obsidian throne loomed, its surface veined with spiderweb-like fractures, as though it had endured the weight of centuries out of pure defiance.

And scattered around the throne, littering the cracked flagstones, were the remnants of ancient conflicts, shattered weapons, rusted armor, and skeletal remains, half-consumed by the relentless grip of dust and time.

Kingsleyʼs voice broke the silence, his tone laced with indifference as he surveyed the desolate room.

”Feels like weʼve just stepped into someoneʼs tomb”

”No”

Anthony replied quietly, his voice barely audible in the cavernous gloom.

”Weʼve stepped into a memory of rage”

Without warning, his head snapped to the side, his senses sharp.

A faint shimmer lingered in the air, like the heat rising from a scorched stone, elusive and unsettling.

Ghostly figures began to materialize from the oppressive gloom.

Specters, draped in the tattered regalia of kingsguard and sovereigns, their hollow eyes blazing with spectral malice.

They brandished phantom blades, axes, hammers, and spears, their movements unnervingly synchronized, more a ritual than a battle strategy.

A deep, resonant voice, neither male nor female, echoed through the hall, heavy with authority:

”The Court demands fealty... or death”

With that, the specters charged.

Anthony didnʼt spare the specter more than a fleeting glance; his katana was already in motion, slicing through the air to decapitate the first of the wraithlike figures.

But something unexpected occurred.

The blade passed through the specter as though it were nothing more than smoke, leaving no mark, no trace of the strike.

Before Anthony could react, the specter seized the moment, swinging its massive hammer with brutal force toward him.

Without hesitation, Anthony sidestepped, his movement swift and effortless, dodging the attack with the grace of a predator.

He made no attempt to block.

Anthonyʼs gaze sharpened as his eyes scanned the specterʼs form, locking onto a core-like structure nestled within its ethereal body.

In the blink of an eye, his katana flashed once more.

This time, the specter anticipated the strike, retracting its hammer and moving swiftly to parry the incoming blow.

But Anthonyʼs attack wasnʼt as it appeared.

A feint.

With a deceptive change in trajectory, his katana cleaved the core in two with surgical precision.

The specter froze, its form seemingly shattered, as though it had met its end.

Yet, before Anthony could even blink, the air vibrated with the hammerʼs resounding swing, flashing toward his head.

Without breaking his calm, Anthony took a single step back, then leaned effortlessly, his body tilting with almost ridiculous ease.

The hammer whistled past, missing him by mere inches, not even grazing a strand of his hair.

Elsewhere in the chamber, the others engaged with the specters.

Kingsley, effortlessly nonchalant, fought with one hand casually tucked in his pocket, the other used solely to parry the incoming strikes.

He made no attempt to strike back, instead weaving and dodging with a bored expression on his face.

As the specters attacked, he spoke almost dismissively, as if critiquing a studentʼs poor form.

”Put more effort into it. Your steps are wrong, youʼre placing too much weight in that strike”

He appeared less a fighter and more a teacher, correcting his foes as if they were mere distractions in his pursuit of entertainment.

Reynold stood still, unmoving, like a statue in the center of the chaos.

Yet, the moment the specters drew within a certain range, they all froze mid-motion.

Momentum Control activated.

A smile tugged at his lips as crackling lightning surged around his rapier and enveloped his body with blinding intensity.

In a blur of motion, he struck with rapid, successive thrusts, each one landing with impeccable precision.

In an instant, he reappeared behind the specters, their heads bursting into mist-like forms as they disintegrated under the force of his strikes.

But the smile quickly faded from his face as the heads began to regenerate, the spectersʼ bodies reforming as if nothing had happened.

”Tsk. Why does everything on these floors regenerate... or multiply?”

He muttered in frustration, his movements picking up again, more calculated this time.

Meanwhile, Seraphim remained calm, her hands weaving intricate motions in the air.

In an instant, she summoned a shimmering barrier, trapping the specters inside it, their phantom blades clashing uselessly against its impenetrable walls.

Dale, his mastery of darkness glooming, formed a dome of inky blackness around his foes, ensnaring them within its oppressive confines.

Anthony, observing that the specters seemed resistant to direct assault, dismissed his katana with a casual wave of his hand.

In that moment, the flow of time itself seemed to halt.

Space around him froze.

Each specter lunging toward him was trapped mid-motion, suspended in place as though caught in the very fabric of reality.

Turning his gaze to the obsidian throne at the chamberʼs heart, Anthonyʼs expression darkened.

Like the second floor, he had reached the inescapable conclusion: destroying the throne would end it all.

His steps were measured, neither hurried nor sluggish, each one deliberate and purposeful.

As Anthony drew closer to the obsidian throne, a shift in the oppressive gloom behind it caught his attention.

Two figures emerged from the shadows.

A man and a woman.

They were unlike the specters that had plagued them, solid, tangible, and regal in presence.

Their forms were unmistakably real, their eyes sharp and focused.

Crowns rested atop their heads, their regal garments cascading elegantly down their forms.

Their capes billowed behind them like the wings of some forgotten royalty.

They were the King and the Queen.

And as their eyes locked onto Anthony, an unspoken tension thickened in the air.

The gaze of royalty, intense, piercing, and full of the weight of ages, settled upon him.

The voices of the King and Queen resonated in perfect unison, their tone commanding and laced with ancient authority.

”You stand in the presence of the King and Queen. Kneel, and pay your respects”

The words fell like a heavy decree, their weight pressing down upon them, suffocating the air with their power.

Anthony remained unmoved, his gaze cold and detached. Not a flicker of hesitation crossed his features.

”If you are dead, stay dead”

He responded, his voice cutting through the tension with chilling precision.

”We donʼt need ghosts crossing into the realm of the living”

His words were brief, direct and stark.

The closer Anthony drew to the throne, the more oppressive the weight became.

A few meters from the King and Queen, the very air seemed to crack under the strain, the chamber groaning as if it could no longer bear the immense pressure.

Dale, Reynold, and Seraphim faltered, their knees buckling beneath them as they collapsed to the earth.

The crushing force bore down on them, forcing them into submission.

Their auras flared, desperation written across their faces as they strained to rise.

Yet, no matter how they fought against it, the pressure only intensified.

Kingsley, however, remained untouched by the force.

Unbothered, he stood with his usual nonchalance, as if the weight of the room held no sway over him.

The specters that Kingsley had been toying with abruptly shifted their focus, now charging toward Anthony as he drew closer to their leader.

Yet Kingsley, unfazed, held them in place with ease, his presence anchoring their movements.

Even those trapped within the dark dome or Seraphimʼs spiritual barriers lashed out, slamming their weapons and bodies against the walls in futile rage.

Despite the mounting pressure, Seraphim and Dale refused to relent.

They maintained their control, their barriers and domes unbending against the relentless assault of the specters.

Anthony, undeterred, continued his steady advance.

With each step, the weight in the room seemed to grow heavier, but his resolve did not waver.

At last, he reached the platform, standing face-to-face with the King and Queen.

”I shall free you from this torture. You do not have to remain trapped here any longer”

Anthonyʼs voice was calm but resolute as he understood that the King and Queen before him were not truly alive but souls bound by torment.

He could feel their anguish, trapped in this endless cycle.

With a steady motion, he raised his hands, summoning the eternal flames once more.

The blue flame pulsed around his fingers, the air growing heavy with its ancient, otherworldly power.

Without hesitation, Anthony placed his hands on the shoulders of the King and Queen.

The blue flame engulfed them slowly, tenderly, as if honoring their lost souls.

But neither screamed, nor resisted.

Instead, they exchanged a silent smile, a rare moment of peace, before closing their eyes and surrendering to the flames.

Anthonyʼs gaze shifted to the obsidian throne.

With a wave of his hand, it too was consumed by the eternal flames, disappearing into nothingness.

In the wake of the throneʼs destruction, the specters that had been thrashing against the barriers suddenly faltered.

Their movements slowed, and then, with a strange finality, they dropped to their knees.

Their bodies unraveled, as if turning into mist. One by one, they dissipated, vanishing without a trace.

A silence settled over the chamber, one that spoke of finality.

As the flames died down, Anthony and his team stood amidst the ruins of the fourth floor.

”Captain, I have to say, having you on board is the best thing thatʼs happened to this team”

Reynold remarked, pushing himself off the ground, his body twitching as if convulsing from the overwhelming pressure.

”Are you alright?”

Anthony asked, his voice edged with concern.

Reynold let out a strained sigh, brushing off the tension.

”Iʼm fine. Itʼs just... Iʼve never felt such an outrageous aura before. That pressure was on another level”

”We only have one floor left”

Seraphimʼs voice came softly from behind them, her eyes half-lidded as she remained sprawled out on the ground.

She made no effort to rise, content to lie still as her chest rose and fell each unsteady breath.

”Hey, Kingsley. What kind of monstrous physique and power do you have?”

Daleʼs voice carried a hint of awe as he looked over at Kingsley from where he lay on the ground beside Seraphim.

”You can fly without any cultivation. Your body rejects poison, decay, rot. You moved under that pressure like it was nothing. You shattered the sky with a punch and made it look effortless. Honestly, I think you and the captain are anything but human”

Everyoneʼs eyes turned toward Kingsley, the unspoken questions hanging in the air.

Theyʼd all wondered this, but never dared to ask, not until now.

After all, they had never been close enough to push for an answer.

Kingsley met their gazes with calm indifference.

Then, with a straight face, he answered with a weight that only someone with such power could carry.

”With an unfettered Will, even the heavens bow to your Will”

The words hung in the air, enigmatic and profound, before his gaze shifted, the usual disinterest creeping back into his expression as he stared at the staircase that had once again appeared.

”Shall we proceed to the final floor?”