CHAPTER 183: DEATH OF A POWERHOUSE

In front of one of the most powerful territories in the world, Ethan stood.

Beneath the twilight sky, the capital of silver banners and crystalline towers stretched across the land like a dream made real. The aura here was dense with life and power. The people within this territory—once proud, once untouchable—now watched in silence as an unknown figure approached their core.

He moved like a ghost made flesh. Quiet. Inevitable.

And before the gates of the inner sanctum stood Lady Seraphina.

Her flowing silver hair shimmered in the last rays of the sun, her pristine robes fluttering in the breeze. Her power was palpable, grace woven into destruction, strength masked behind elegance.

She was on one knee.

Not from custom. Not from fear. But from pure, suffocating pressure. The man standing in front of her was not the Ethan she had seen once in passing at the Tower’s entrance. That man had strength, yes—but this one? He had purpose. He had hunger.

A silence passed between them before Seraphina finally spoke.

"Why?" she asked softly. Her voice was calm, smooth—yet tinged with the weight of her responsibility. "Why are you doing this? We’ve never had any animosity. You reached the 29th floor. You were beyond all of this... petty bloodshed."

Ethan’s eyes remained steady, as cold and focused as a blade mid-swing. His expression didn’t shift, nor did the aura of death circling his form.

"Why?" he echoed. "Because I want to leave this place. And killing you is the only way I can evolve."

His words weren’t coated in cruelty. There was no rage.

No grudge. Just reality. Cold and clean.

"There is no hatred between us," he added, "but I will not let that stop me."

Seraphina nodded, rising slowly as she fought against the pressure. Even in the face of death, her poise remained.

"I see," she said, brushing dust from her sleeve. "Well then... don’t expect me to lie down and accept it. I may not win, but I will fight."

"I wouldn’t expect any less," Ethan replied.

With that, she reached into the folds of her robe and withdrew a pill—crimson and gold, burning with power. She swallowed it whole, and instantly, her aura flared—doubling, tripling.

Winds screamed across the mountaintop as the sky dimmed. Silver lightning surged from her palms. The ground beneath them cracked. Mountains in the distance trembled.

And still... Ethan didn’t move.

Seraphina shot forward, blade of light forming in her grasp. Her speed was staggering. Each movement carved space apart like an art. Her strikes were perfect—flawless in technique, graceful as a song. But Ethan was no longer a man constrained by limits.

He parried with ease.

One step back. One counter. A palm filled with flame, then a shock of darkness laced with Yin-Yang entropy. Her body was knocked back, her ribs cracked by sheer force.

She recovered instantly. With a twist of her wrist, ice daggers formed from condensed mana and flew like guided missiles. Ethan waved a hand—earth rose to catch them, wind snapped to redirect them.

She vanished.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he remained in his spot, he sensed the distortion behind him—and struck with his elbow before she appeared. She was flung across the battlefield.

Blood painted her lips. Her lungs wheezed.

Still, she stood.

Her strength was immense. Far above most. The pride of her people. The guardian of this sanctuary.

But Ethan was no longer bound by her laws. He was beyond reason. Beyond mercy. Beyond titles.

He dashed forward. In an instant, he was upon her—twin palms surging with light and darkness. His strike shattered her barrier, sent her flying again.

And this time, she didn’t get up.

Seraphina lay in the snow, one eye blinking against the sky. Her body trembled with each breath, but her lips curled in a half-smile.

"You are really strong, but..." she said, a whisper now. "I thought... perhaps... we were different from the others."

Her breath ceased before he could respond, and she was dead.

Ethan walked to her, silent. His shadow fell across her like a funeral veil.

He knelt beside her and placed two fingers over her eyes. Slowly, gently, he closed them.

Then he devoured her.

Her talent surged into him, joining his growing arsenal of impossible powers. But he did not revel in it.

Afterward, he lifted her in silence and walked to the centre of the courtyard. The crowd, once frozen, watched with silent confusion and fear.

None dared move. None dared speak.

He knelt and buried her with his own hands. No spells. No shortcuts.

A simple grave.

At its head, he built a marker from the marble of the courtyard. A single inscription engraved by his finger:

Seraphina.

The silence held.

The people of the territory watched, shocked beyond measure. Who was this man who killed their leader—only to honor her in death?

Only rumors existed about Ethan Brandon. They had heard of the man who cleared the 25th floor first. Then the 29th. A few knew he had vanished. And now... here he was.

A storm in the flesh.

They felt his power radiating across the city, an aura of brutal clarity sweeping through every soul, searching for any spark worth harvesting. But he found none.

Disappointment flickered in his eyes—then vanished.

He stood.

Without another word, he turned his back on the mourning city and disappeared.

Vanished like a shadow under the sun.

A whisper followed in his wake.

"Our leader is dead...and we were unable to do anything...we failed her." One of the subordinates cried out, tears plummeting to the floor.

"Why did he kill our leader... why?"

The conversation between Ethan and Seraphina was only heard by the two of them, no body else did.

No one had answers. Only questions and the lingering feeling that something immense had just passed them by.

For Ethan, none of it mattered.

He had done what he had to do.

And now, he would keep moving forward. There was no time to explain. No room for regret.

The path ahead remained steep, and he was willing to climb it with blood if that’s what it took.

The world no longer remembered heroes. Only victors.

And Ethan Brandon intended to win. At all costs.