Genetic Ascension

1586 Dark Gold Fog

Ekear looked toward Sylas with a rare look of focus in his eyes. The laziness he usually sported disappeared, replaced by an earnest expression.

He didnʼt speak, but the words he wanted to speak were clear enough.

ʼCan you do it?ʼ

Sylas didnʼt reply to the implied question, his mind flickering with several thoughts. He wasnʼt sure.

It was one thing to place so high in the F-tier; it was another matter entirely to repeat the same feat in the E-tier. Those existences would be on a completely different level, and he had yet to begin building his Foundation.

Even if he had, there was no way he would carelessly enter the E-tier now-not when it would cost him Primus Imperium. Too many of his plans with Cassarae hinged on their Legendary City Stele working, and it would only do so if he was a Primus Imperium.

But placing so high with the strength of an F-tier against E-tiers of B+ Races when their F-tiers were already such a challenge... It would take real arrogance to claim that he could do something like that. Sylas was nothing if not pragmatic to a fault. He knew that the odds of such a thing were near zero.

If the task only required him to get a top 30 or 40 placement in the E-tier, heʼd definitely be able to manage it. But top 10?

The fact he couldnʼt use his E-Grade Scorpion Warlord Armor right now was another problem.

Of course, that Armor was nothing compared to his Monkey King Armor. But could he even use such an Armor there?

Absolutely not.

Whoever the Emperor Sanctum sent to oversee things would definitely want to know where such an Armor they had never heard of came from. Until he had the power to deal with the entire Sanctum, it would be the pinnacle of foolishness for him to display it unless he could find a way to mask it.

ʼMask it...ʼ Sylas fell deeper into his own thoughts.

”It will depend on what the rules are,” Sylas finally replied.

Ekearʼs gaze dimmed, but after a moment, he nodded. He was already aware that it was asking far too much of Sylas to begin with. But after seeing Sylasʼ Armor, he had allowed himself to hope.

In that case... he would just have to do his best in the C-tier trials.

”The rules change every year. We will know when we arrive.”

The atmosphere was odd. Lineages with disciples as far as the eye could see gathered together before a familiar temple of gold. It felt like they could barely fit into bunches.

Not all that long ago, Sylas was watching Gralith risk his life to climb those steps that led to a place Sylas still didnʼt quite understand even now.

Now, however, he was standing before them as though waiting for something to descend once more.

The Scorpion Lineage was completely out of place amongst the crowd of the 073 Sanctum. They only had two members present, and their Warlord was nowhere to be

seen.

However, whether it was Erethea, Aranya, Prione, or the Ape Warlord—the leaders of their group—not a single one of them mentioned what happened. They didnʼt question the Scorpion Lineage, nor did they make a big deal of it.

In fact, Erethea seemed to show some relief when she noticed that Sylas was standing amongst their number. It was as though she was hoping that whatever train wreck had driven over their Lineage wouldnʼt affect him.

And she was right to think so.

Ekear was hoping for a 30-place movement.

Erethea didnʼt have such high sentiments. she wante was

And she knew Sylas alone could guarantee that.

movement of 10 ranks...

The Temple began to tremble, a warm light spreading over them all. The skies shook and the planet rumbled.

Soon, that light became akin to a cloud-thick and heavy, almost crawling down the steps.

Sylasʼ gaze flickered. Unable to resist, he released some of the veil on his Runeweaver Eyes.

A painful pulse clawed at his eyes as the darkening gold fog became a series of complex Runes to him.

ʼThey are spatial Runes... odd... why like this?ʼ

Sylas found out a moment later. The spatial Runes were using the fog as a medium to almost stick to the surface of their skin. This would subtly change their state, shifting their phase toward another.

It was a method of weakening the coming motion sickness that would result from the undoubtedly supremely long-distance teleportation.

If the Emperor Sanctum didnʼt do this, most of the people of their weaker Sanctums would probably die after being ripped through space for such a long distance.

But that thought suddenly made Sylas freeze.

Cassarae.

The thought was fleeting. The fog was already licking across Sylasʼ skin, a soft moisture barrier forming onto him like a second layer of skin.

He felt his body shift, and with the presence of this fog, it was like he could pass his fingers through the void as though running them through a streaming river. It was a fascinating feeling.

Then he was pulled.

BANG.

Sylasʼ feet landed heavily on new ground. Many of those around him collapsed. Only the Warlords and some of the C-tiers, as well as himself, seemed to be able to stabilize themselves quickly. But Sylas hardly swayed, while many of them had to put out their Aether as though a strong anchor to keep themselves in place.

They blinked, trying to stave off the dizziness. Sylas noticed that many to the side were vomiting.

It wasnʼt just the 073 Sanctum, but other Sanctums that were appearing one after another, each one with similar reactions.

The high-ranking Sanctums actually werenʼt much different in this regard. It had little to do with strength and more to do with spatial affinity and how used to teleporting so far away you were.

The higher-tiered individuals had already done this journey many times in the past, so of course they stood firmer.

As for Sylas... he stood tall on his very first attempt.

But for the first time in his life, he noticed that there were others on their first attempts that handled it no less smoothly.