The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

The first thing that returned to him was not thought.

It was his pulse.

Ba-dum... ba-dum.

Strong. Deep. Steady as the beat of an ancient temple drum.

Then came awareness of the sounds within his own body, followed by a sense of its boundaries... a body that felt strangely familiar, like a house rebuilt upon the same foundations by hands immeasurably more skilled than those that had first constructed it.

Every imperfection Ravian’s body had accumulated while growing, whether in childhood or later years, had ceased to exist.

This was physical perfection—nothing lacking and nothing in excess.

Then the windows burst into view.

[The reconstruction of the Host’s soul and body is fully complete.]

[Additional lives consumed during reconstruction: 5]

[Additional lives remaining: 10]

[Current Rank: Tenth Rank — Awakened.]

[Physical vessel status: fully prepared for ascension upon fulfillment of the remaining requirements.]

[The second ability of the Mask of Loftiness, ”Lofty Refinement,” has been consumed to complete and advance the Basic-Grade Sovereign Pride Physique.]

[Unlocked: Void-Grade Sovereign Pride Physique — 0%]

’...Zero?’

The number seized Ravian’s attention the instant his awareness returned. He would never accept remaining at the lowest level of anything—that was the first thing his mind identified as something that needed to be eliminated.

As though it had anticipated his question, the windows continued.

[Note: 0% does not indicate regression or the loss of previous progress. The Basic Grade reached its maximum limit, and this marks the beginning of an entirely higher grade.]

[Even at 0%, the foundation of the Void Grade is incomparably superior to the completed Basic Grade.]

[Physique assessment: within the limits of raw physical constitution alone, no Ninth-Rank being—regardless of known race or lineage—can overpower the Host’s body or physically subdue it. The Host already possesses a physical advantage over ordinary Eighth-Rank Soul Liberators as well.]

[Warning: this assessment does not account for aura, magic, abilities, techniques, weapons, Relics, or combat experience. The Host is not invincible.]

Ravian read the final warning twice.

’A body standing at the summit of the Ninth Rank... inhabited by a soul still in the Tenth. A legendary sword in the hands of a wielder who has yet to complete his training... what a mockery of fate.’

The gap between the two was as clear to him as sight itself.

’Wait.’ Ravian’s thoughts halted.

Then...

He remembered.

The Ambassador of Truth. The Descent of the Taboo of Truth. Its pursuit of him while he was in his spiritual form. The final detonation of his soul core...

And a voice that had not been a voice so much as an echo, speaking to him as he perished.

”Nightmare of the Taboos.”

That was what the Taboo of Truth had called him when it touched his spiritual form.

’The Nightmare of the Taboos?’

’System,’ Ravian called inwardly. ’What does that title mean? ”Nightmare of the Taboos”... why did the Descent call me that?’

The answer came without delay.

And without mercy.

[That is something the Host must discover for himself.]

’...For real? Nothing else?’

[That is something the Host must discover for himself.]

The silence that followed was of an entirely new kind.

The System did not behave like this. It answered questions about threats, abilities, and rewards with a cold precision that knew no evasion. But to refuse—to close a door in his face so simply...

’So you too,’ Ravian thought slowly, something cold settling at the bottom of his consciousness. ’Sovereign Pride knows something about me that I do not... and the Fourteen Taboos know it as well.’

What he felt was not fear. It was worse.

Ignorance.

Ignorance had been the cause of every problem Ravian had faced, and it remained the thing he hated above all else.

...

Only then—once his awareness had fully settled into place—did he notice the small detail that had been waiting so patiently for him.

The pressure.

Against his chest. His thighs. His closed eyelids. Every inch of his new skin.

Soil.

’...I’m buried underground, aren’t I?’

[Current location: the point at which the final surviving fragment of the Host’s soul was found following the explosion, immediately before complete extinction.]

[The fragment was cast beyond the radius of total erasure before the remainder of the Host’s soul faded. It was used as the anchor for reconstruction.]

’Beyond the erasure radius... underground... and hidden from every eye.’

Ravian analyzed his circumstances within seconds.

’Perfect.’

He moved the fingers of his right hand first.

They sank into the compacted earth—soil that should have become almost as hard as stone after eight days of settling—and it parted around them like soft bread.

Ravian paused.

Then he pushed.

It was less like digging than ascending. His shoulder cleaved through the earth, his right fist opened a path, and his torso passed through spaces where an ordinary body could never have shifted.

The earth that buried men and crushed the life from them resisted him no more than a heavy curtain.

Crack!

A tree root as thick as his wrist snapped against his chest without leaving so much as a scratch.

’...Terrifying,’ he admitted calmly as he tore through the final arm’s length of soil. ’This body is terrifying.’

At last, the earth opened...

And Ravian emerged into the night of the City of the Black Rose.

...

It was the hour before dawn—the hour when even stray dogs slept.

He found himself in the middle of a cracked, abandoned district filled with collapsed workshops and leaning walls, its residents having fled after the shockwave. The area lay well beyond the guards’ perimeter.

Cold air lashed his bare skin...

And his new body registered it as neutral information rather than a chill worth acknowledging.

Void Shadow had wrapped itself around him from the first flicker of consciousness, as was its old habit, concealing the signature of his soul and his life force from every prying sense.

Something cold and metallic rested in his left hand. It had been there from the moment he awakened, yet he had not looked at it.

Something the System had given him.

From the rubble of a burned workshop, Ravian pulled free a half-charred strip of waxed cloth and wrapped it around his body like a crude cloak. Then, in a slanted shard of glass, he caught his first glimpse of his reflection.

The same long white hair.

The same crimson eyes.

But something had become... more finely wrought.

The face that had once been merely handsome now seemed suited to the statues of ancient commanders. There was no softness to it, no gentle allure, but dignity, authority, and danger held upon a tight leash.

His balanced, lethal body stood roughly one hundred and eighty-five centimeters tall, and it did not scream of its strength...

Because real things did not need to scream.

’A body fit for Pride.’

Ravian turned away from his reflection.

’Later. For now... I need to know how much of the world I lost while I was dead.’

Then he began moving through the shadows.