Chương 365: Chapter 356 - Echoes After the Fall

They all stood before the sculptures of their fallen comrades. They stood in silence. No words were needed. Minutes passed without sound in a world that now felt empty. Alonso felt the weight lingering in his chest—but perhaps, manifesting what now stood before him had eased it. Or maybe it had simply grounded it, turning grief into purpose. For from the fallen, he would take their dreams, their pain, their will, and make them his own.

He would make them the weight of his steps as he ascended, the weight of his swords as they fell upon his enemies, the weight of his Will as it faced all The Tower would cast against him. After a long silence, he gave them a bow—and a promise. He raised his gaze towards the far horizon. The stage began to fall apart, as if The Tower itself was telling them it was time to leave. They stared at each other, then turned away, leaving behind a world that no longer had anything left for them.

And without looking back, they climbed the stairs. Alonso found himself in a wide white room. After more than three months, he was here again. It looked very similar to last time, yet more than the new structures around him, his gaze fixed on the set of numbers at the far wall. 6/21 7: 00: 00 He frowned. The timer did not move. It was still, frozen, as if waiting. Waiting for what? Was this some kind of joke? After everything…

was The Tower really going to block their advance just because they were fewer than the limit? He shook his head. It couldn't be. It made no sense and went against everything that had happened so far. He stared for a moment longer and shook his head again. He was certain this was not the end, but he wondered… how long would they have to wait here? Before entering, they had agreed to take some time to themselves and meet a day later. After everything that had happened… they needed it. Especially Lukas.

He let his eyes wander around the room. Similar to last time, he saw warm containers with food. There were tables, chairs, cutlery, cabinets, a bed, and a shower. All of it felt like an improved version of before—like a modern apartment from Earth, wrapped in a futuristic white aesthetic. He sent out his waves and senses, carefully mapping the finer details. Sets of clothes in the cabinets, neatly folded. Towels arranged in perfect order. Other miscellaneous items he wasn't sure he needed, but still appreciated.

His eyes lingered on the shower, but before giving himself that pleasure, he might as well get a training session in first. After all, his swords were usually what calmed his mind the best when he was alone. He could really use that right now. He focused on his skills. No-Strike – 19. 235% Path of Shards – 20. 443% Will Manifest – 7. 384% His former skills had improved by more than 3% each since before the fight against the seven-tail. However, his attention was on the last one.

His new ability, one also recognized by The Tower as a skill. It was hard to put into words, yet it seemed to allow him to manifest his Will into a form capable of affecting reality. While active, it let him exceed his physical and even EM control limits, boosting him in every measure as long as he aligned his Will with his intent and actions. But perhaps more significant was that while under the effect of Will Manifest, his other two skills could be used in their Will-based variations.

Will Manifest: No-Strike allowed the strike he used as feint—the one that wasn't real but a decoy—to become real. A tangible force capable of cutting and piercing matter just like his blades, effectively allowing him to attack from two points at once. And then there was Will Manifest: Path of Shards, an ability he could now confidently consider his ultimate technique.

This one flared the energy of every microcapacitor, and instead of merely generating EM echoes as the standard version, it brought forth the full form of his internal lattice—the stellar system he had built as the foundation of his Fusion States and Path of Shards—and made it real. A force that manifested not just one unseen strike, but all of them. All the outcomes that could be…

became true, as the entire sequence that had led to his current state unfolded into a cascade of near-simultaneous strikes against the opponent. Unfortunately, using Will Manifest: Path of Shards also ended the Will Manifest state and drained him to his core. Which meant it was a card he could only play when absolutely necessary. He stood there, replaying the fight in his head, the feeling of using it moments later for the sculpture. And calmly, he settled his mind into the mood.

He remained silent for long minutes, until finally, he took a step forward—and unleashed the first strike.

Lukas stood silent in his room when he received a prompt. Chiara has invited you. Do you accept? His gaze lingered on the message before he willed his answer. He appeared in a room almost identical to his own, except for the cloth and the food inside the containers. He forced a smile. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Still soy, egg and rice?"

"I suppose so," she said calmly. She stepped forward toward him.

"Though that's not why I called you." Lukas looked away. He didn't have the strength to pretend. Not now. Not after what he had just witnessed. Chiara let the silence settle for a heartbeat, then another. Her boots made no sound as she approached him, but he felt her presence, quiet and steady—like a hand on his back keeping him from falling over.

"Lukas," she said gently.

"Look at me." He hesitated… but gave in. The moment his eyes met hers, the mask cracked. His jaw clenched. His shoulders tightened. His breath hitched—barely, but she caught it.

"They died because of me," he whispered.

"Because I thought—" His voice broke.

"—I thought we were ready." Chiara shook her head slowly, firmly.

"No," she said.

"Don't twist it. Don't stain their memory with that." He frowned, confused, wounded. She continued.

"Fighting the seven-tail wasn't a mistake. It was the right call. The only call." His lips parted to argue, but she lifted a hand—just slightly—and he stopped.

"It wasn't your decision that killed them," she said.

"It was our weakness. Our limits. Our arrogance. We were not strong enough. Not fast enough. Not prepared enough. We all saw that thing, Lukas. We all measured ourselves against it. And we all chose to fight anyway." Her voice softened but did not waver.

"We failed. All of us. Not you alone." Lukas swallowed hard. She stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth brushing against his own.

"And we have to live with it now," she said quietly.

"Every face. Every scream. Every moment. That weight? It's ours. Shared. Not something you get to hoard." His eyes glistened, but no tears fell.

"I once stood in your place," she reminded him.

"And I broke from it." His head lowered. She lifted his chin with two fingers—not forcing, not demanding, just guiding.

"I shattered under the weight of losing people. Of my decisions becoming the doom of us all. Of creating a rift between us because I was too weak to carry it. I drowned in it. You remember." He nodded.

"And I learned something," she continued.

"Something I need you to understand." Lukas stared at her.

"That leadership in this place is a burden we were never meant to carry forever." She touched his chest, right above his heart.

"There is no need for you to carry it now." He sucked in a breath.

"We don't need a leader," Chiara said.

"Not anymore. Not here. Not for what comes next." Her eyes softened in a way they rarely did—only with him.

"We need strength. We need you. Truly you. Not the version of you crushed by responsibility. Not the strategist, not the shield, not the one who must decide everything." Her thumb brushed lightly against him.

"We don't need a leader," she said softly.

"We need Lukas. The clever, handsome man who always knew what to say. The easy smile when the mood was heavy. The brilliant engineer. The greatest support we could've asked for." He closed his eyes—and after a long moment, exhaled. Chiara continued, her tone calm and unwavering.

"Alonso saved us back there," she said.

"But we cannot rely on him every time. We shouldn't. We must find our own paths. Each of us. And push them as far as they can go—beyond fear, beyond limits, beyond the shadows of what we lost." She leaned her forehead against his chest.

"For their sake," she whispered.

"And for ours." Lukas's hands trembled slightly as he placed them on her back, grounding himself.

"Start," she said, "by forgiving yourself." His breath shuddered.

"And then," she said, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze fully, "stop looking at the past… and start becoming the future we need." Lukas let out a slow breath. A breath that sounded, for the first time since the valley, like release. Like acceptance. Like the first step forward.

"The Third Ascent has started." The words echoed through the chamber—though chamber was only metaphor. The "room" was a virtual construct: a circular void of dim light, a long table made of shifting code, and more than a dozen silhouettes seated around it. No faces. No identities. Only voices.

"It seems Ascents are not only granted by passing a Tier," a figure noted, voice brittle and precise.

"We will need to re-evaluate our plans."

"Plans remain the same," a deep voice cut through. Viktor. Even blurred in static shadow, his presence pressed like a weight on the room.

"We adapt, we push, we grow—and we adapt again." Silence followed, heavy, disciplined. A calmer voice broke the stillness—measured, analytical, the tone of someone who dissected the world rather than lived in it.

"We now have 13 late returnees from Gen-1. The knowledge they've brought back is… impressive. A systemic framework far beyond even the Neural and Physical Enhancement Lattice. They call them Extreme States—higher-order boosting paradigms. Their effects are significant, but their requirements are high." A faint ripple of static—agreement, and interest.

"Can they be learned by un-evolved humans?" a woman's voice asked, tone clipped, professional.

"We can implant the knowledge," the analyst replied.

"But they won't be able to use the methods until their Stage Progress reaches the necessary threshold."

"That will suffice," another voice responded.

"If this Ascent mirrors the previous two, we estimate 49 million will be chosen. That will be more than enough to make a difference—especially with returnees being seven times more likely to be selected." The table flickered as new data scrolled across it—numbers, graphs, candidate profiles, genetic markers highlighted in crimson.

"What is the stage of our seeds?" Viktor asked. A series of voices replied in quick succession.

"European branch: 7, 243 orange candidates, 171 red, and 9 potential purple candidates ready for deployment."

"South American branch: 5, 991 orange, 129 red, 7 purple. All undergoing reinforcement cycles."

"East Asian branch…" One by one, the numbers came. The silhouettes watched them without a word. A quiet hum filled the virtual chamber.

"The numbers are higher than expected," Viktor finally said. His shadow leaned forward, the light sharpening the edges of his silhouette.

"For these 77 days, increase investment threefold into all orange candidates. Authorise limited access to the HSR chambers." A few heads lifted at that—surprised.

"As for the red and purple," Viktor continued, his voice lowering into something almost like satisfaction, "summon them to the main quarters. They will undergo special conditioning and training under the top returnees." The table dimmed. The shadows stilled. Then Viktor smiled.

"Tell them to be ready."