Reaper of the Martial World

Book 9: Chapter 102: Accept It (1)

Dyon felt as though his entire body was being shredded from head to toe, but the calm light in his eyes never faded even as a brilliant rainbow array appeared before his mouth as he roared.

Titan Emperor’s Will had always had nine stages, each obviously scaling up in difficulty to achieve and requiring a deeper understanding of Titan Will every step along the way.

Dyon hadn’t had time to comprehend titan will, nor did he truly have a method of doing so. The truth was that he was lucky to realize that every step forward he took in his constitution, another stage of Titan Emperor’s Will would open up to him.

He couldn’t reach the second stage until he reached the silver silk realm, and only recently managed to enter the third stage after entering the gold silk realm. Both of these improvements led to a deeper understanding of what it truly meant to be a titan…

This time, however, Dyon hadn’t deepened his comprehension. In fact, he was very far from being able to use the fourth stage in its truest form. Yet, he had forcibly circulated the technique without any regard for himself. If nothing else made it so clear, if somehow his calm gaze had fooled you, Dyon was well aware of the corner he had been pushed into, and he was fighting with everything he had.

Dyon’s vicious strikes grew more ferocious. The same barrier that once took hours to fall fell in minutes, but the sight only grew more pitiful.

Before, Dyon had at least remained relatively uninjured, but the current Dyon was bursting apart at the seams. Even without Oshire lifting a single finger, his body rained with blood and torn flesh.

The atmosphere was solemn. No matter the humiliation they had faced at Dyon’s hands, Lord Odin and Emperor Pakal couldn’t stop the trembling in their hearts. The former led an empire that worshipped the warriors of Valhalla… The latter led an empire that worshipped the gods of asura… It was impossible for them to divorce the image of Dyon from those deities.

Not once did his attacks falter, not once did his expression change, not once did he even think to give up… There was no doubt in their minds that even if it meant his death, he would never stop.

As for Oshire, he didn’t know how to feel. What started as a casual interest in seeing how far Dyon could go turned into an abrasive itch in his heart.

He didn’t know why, but he felt irritated beyond belief. Images of his past flashed through his mind as though a reaper was digging through the graves of his memories, taking lost souls it was owed.

He might have been a prince, a direct descendant, but he was nothing more than a useless cog amongst hundreds. To be born without talent in such a large Clan sealed your fate of mediocrity.

Amongst countless geniuses of shocking intelligence, his intellect was lacking. Amongst countless warriors of impossible battle prowess, his fists were too weak. Within the will of a Clan large beyond his imagination, his opinions meant nothing.

He had long accepted his life. He didn’t have grand aspirations, nor had anyone had expectations for him. Wasn’t it enough that he was born into such a Clan? What need was there for him to expect much more?

But, of course, his weak heart had to love.

She should have been a woman just as normal as he. Lacking ambition, without talent, of merely adequate intelligence… He just liked her smile. There was nothing else particularly special… She wasn’t exceptionally beautiful, nor was she the object of affection for many more than himself…

That was it, a simple man for a simple woman.

So why did she have to die?

A simple woman. A simple disease.

Maybe to someone else, it would have been incurable. But he remembered then that he was a Prince, a direct descendant, no doubt! He hadn’t ever asked them for anything in his entire life. He remained silent and stayed out of their way…

So why was it that they couldn’t give him a simple herb? An herb that was meaningless to them… A single speck of sand within a long beach of resources…

They dangled it before his eyes, the very herb that could save a simple woman’s life, then sneered as they took it away.

So… he gave up. He was too weak. Maybe it was his fate to sit by her gravestone for the rest of his life… A simple man. A simple woman. A simple end…

Who knows, maybe he was sick of the simple, maybe he wasn’t as accepting of it as he once thought. Whatever the reason, he volunteered to come this quadrant… Something he thought would help him escape such monotonous simplicity.

But, wasn’t he already tired of it? He came here, but nothing changed. This boring quadrant, with its boring universes and its simple clans and simple people, even compared to him… The simple man. How was this any different?

Nothing he did would change who he was. He was a simple man who would tear his arm from his shoulder to take responsibility for a matter that wasn’t his fault to begin with and appease The Entity.

‘Wasn’t it your seal that failed, allowing him to be birthed? Wasn’t it your subordinates that failed to kill a meridian formation expert despite being celestials themselves? What the hell did it have to do with me?’

Oshire’s mind spun. The more he watched Dyon, the more infuriated he became.

“Even if it’s unfair, there are just some things you have to accept!”

His voice trembled with anger, a deep seeded resentment of countless thousands of years bubbling upward.

“Accept it!” He roared.

Reaching outward with his finger, a beam of light pierced forward toward Dyon’s massive figure, slicing through his chest with ease.

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