Re-Awakening: I Ascend with a Legendary class

Chapter 742: Ultimate Cards (3/3)

Rudra’s ocean had one region left to drown him in, and it tried its hardest.

The Tide was not a creature in the way the veiled thing had been, or the salt-blind horrors he had spent ninety-nine regions learning to still. The Tide was the ocean’s own heartbeat, the current that ran under every other current, and when he finally swam down far enough to find it, he understood that he had been fighting its outer skin the entire time.

It came for him the way an ocean comes for a man, from everywhere at once, and the pressure alone would have crushed six of him. Rudra had learned, across ninety-nine regions, exactly one thing that mattered more than strength.

Patience outlasts pressure.

He carried ninety-nine shards of dark salt on a cord around his ruined chest, each one drawn from a different trench, each one carrying a different stillness. He had spent the last three regions grinding them together into a single weapon, a spear of packed salt with a core that should not have held together and somehow did, because he had built it the way he built a fleet, piece by piece, tested at every stage.

”You are not water,” he told the Tide, and his voice traveled through the deep water like a struck bell. ”You are only motion pretending to be water. And motion can be stopped.”

He drove the spear forward into the heart of the current, and the shards along its length woke one after another, stillness compounding on stillness, and the ocean around him went hard and silent in a widening sphere that pushed outward from the point of impact like a held breath.

The Tide fought it. Water does not surrender easily, and this was every drop of water this world had ever held, fighting for the right to keep moving. Rudra held the spear steady with both hands and every year of command discipline he owned, and did not let go, and did not retreat, because an Admiral who breaks under pressure was never worth the rank in the first place.

The current slowed. Then it stopped. Then, region by region, the whole drowned world went from moving water to something closer to glass, and in that stillness, the Tide’s vast blind will simply had nowhere left to go.

It did not die loudly. It stopped, the way a heart stops, and the green light of that endless ocean sky wrote its last small number.

[100/100]

Rudra floated in the frozen sea for a long moment, spear still in hand, and allowed himself the closest thing he had to celebration, which was a single slow nod.

The serpent of light gathered out of the stillness one final time. ”You commanded yourself,” it said. ”That is the whole of the lesson. Everyone else was only practice for it.”

”Understood,” Rudra said, and this time he meant it in a different way than he had at the start.

The card that formed above him was heavy enough that even he felt it settle.

[First Entry Guarantee fulfilled.]

[Ultimate Card: The Unmoved Current]

[Rank: Legendary. Grade: Supreme.]

[This card holds the complete system of Flow and its Stillness. Every force, every tide, every rushing thing carries a current at its heart. The bearer may read that current and halt it before it arrives, whether it moves through water, wind, mana, or the momentum of an army.]

The ocean folded away, and Rudra rose into the cold upper sky, salt-scarred and steady, to find Almond and Lily already waiting, and one door still burning behind him where Ainen fought on.

”Admiral,” Almond said.

”I heard you moved a mountain,” Rudra said, dropping into place beside them with the ease of a man who had never once been impressed by his own achievements out loud. ”I stopped an ocean. I consider that a draw.”

”You’re both slow,” Lily said. ”I erased sound.”

Rudra looked at her for a long moment. ”Fair.”

The three of them turned together toward the last door, and waited.

Ainen’s earth had spent ninety-nine regions teaching him that the whole wasteland was hungry, and the hundredth region taught him why.

The Earth itself opened its mouth. Not a metaphor. The ground for a hundred miles in every direction split and yawned and became one enormous, patient, waiting throat, red rock folding down into a dark that smelled, even now, faintly of the good roasting spice that had greeted him on the first day.

”Of course,” Ainen said, standing on a shrinking ledge of solid ground. ”Of course the table was the world the whole time.”

He had spent the last regions doing what he did best, which was refusing to accept that anything could not eventually be made into something else. Ninety-nine seasoned oils, drawn from ninety-nine different resistant, furious, inedible things, and he had spent three days cooking them down together over a fire built from the last of the black seed-pods, reducing them the way he reduced any stubborn sauce, patiently, and without mercy.

What came out was black and thick and smelled like the end of an argument.

He coated the last blade he had, forged from husk-hard rock and his own stubbornness, and when the Earth’s great throat closed toward him to swallow the last solid ground he stood on, Ainen did not run.

He jumped in.

”You’ve been trying to eat me for a year,” he said, falling through the dark with the blade held out ahead of him. ”Let’s see how you like the seasoning.”

He drove the coated edge into the soft dark wall of the throat as he fell, and the oil did what it had done to every smaller thing that carried it, hissing, dissolving, spreading, except this time there was a hundred regions’ worth of resistant world behind it, feeding the reaction instead of stopping it.

The Earth screamed with a hundred miles of stone. Ainen kept driving the blade deeper, riding the tearing wound down through rock that had never once needed to fear anything, letting the seasoning do what seasoning always did in his hands, which was make the impossible thing edible.

The throat convulsed, and dissolved, and came apart into red dust that no longer smelled like anything at all, and Ainen fell the last few feet onto solid, silent, finally defeated ground.

He lay there a moment, catching his breath, one hand pressed to the long list of injuries the last year had given him.

”One hundred,” he said to the empty sky.

The sky wrote its answer.

[100/100]

The heat-shimmer spirit rose out of the settling dust one last time. ”You feed people,” it said again, the same words from the first day, but softer now. ”You have just fed an entire world its own end. That is not a small thing to learn how to do.”

”It’s just cooking,” Ainen said, and did not quite believe himself as he said it.

The card that descended was warm in his hands, the way a good meal is warm.

[First Entry Guarantee fulfilled.]

[Ultimate Card: The Grand Table]

[Rank: Legendary. Grade: Supreme.]

[This card holds the complete system of Transformation through Consumption. Anything, no matter how resistant, carries a form it can be broken down into, prepared, and remade. The bearer may find that form in anything, and in turn nourish anything with anything.]

Ainen stepped out into the cold upper sky, and found three faces waiting for him, and for once in his life he did not have anything sarcastic ready to say first.

”You’re all still alive,” he said instead, which for him was the same thing.

”Barely,” Rudra said.

”Comfortably,” Lily said.

”We moved a mountain, stopped an ocean, erased sound, and you fed the earth to itself,” Almond said and smiled. ”I’d say we all did fine.”

Then, because there was nowhere else in any world any of them would rather be, they turned together and went home.

---

The pocket world under the Virion Iridant Tree had changed in the six days they had been gone, though not in size or shape. It had changed in weight. A kingdom that fights a world-ending event and survives it does not look the same afterward, even at rest, and Almond felt that change the moment he stepped back through the border.

Big D found them first, planted in the middle of the gathering ground like he had never once considered being anywhere else. He looked at the four of them for a long, silent moment, took in the new scars and the new stillness in their eyes, and grunted.

”You look like people who learned something,” he said. ”Good. We had a busy month too.”

They heard the full account that evening, gathered around the same fire where the family always gathered when something needed saying properly. The 3,041st monthly defense. The five days of fighting along John’s stretch of the rim. The alliance struck with a dying kingdom called Solmire, whose wall the family had refused to let fall. The Legendary Tier-100 Relic Card that now sat in the vault. The rank, three hundred and forty-first, climbed while its four strongest were three hundred days deep into their own separate wars.

”Three hundred and forty-first,” Ainen repeated, low and thoughtful. ”Without us.”

”With everyone else,” Marcus said, not defensively, just as a fact. ”That’s the whole point of a family, isn’t it.”

Nobody argued with that either.