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Chapter 112: A King You've Never Seen Before
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 14:08:20 +0000 UTC( Tell me about your Thoughts on the chapters do you like it being this long or you like the short ones )
The corrupted air hit Russell's lungs like thick soup as he emerged from the cave, [The Silent End] secured in his spatial storage. The dimension seemed darker somehow, as if Artoria's light show had reminded it exactly how much it hated purity. Shadows writhed with more purpose, and the ever-present whispers of decay carried an edge of anticipation.
"Time to work," Russell muttered, summoning Pidgeot. The symbiote-enhanced bird materialized with evident eagerness, Arrogance's tentacles already writhing in anticipation of violence denied during the duel. "South sector. Let's see what Wade so generously left for us."
The flight took fifteen minutes through increasingly hostile airspace. Twice, things with too many wings and anatomically improbable tooth arrangements swooped close, only to veer away when they sensed Arrogance's hunger. The symbiote wanted to chase, to rend, to feast, but Russell kept it focused. There would be plenty of violence soon enough.
The southern sector unfolded below them like a cancerous garden. Here, the corruption had taken on a more organic quality—twisted trees that wept blood-sap, flowers with petals of exposed muscle, grass that whispered obscenities in dead languages. And moving through this nightmare landscape: his targets.
"This is it," Russell announced, guiding Pidgeot to land on a rocky outcrop that provided both elevation and solid footing. The vantage point gave him clear sight lines across his chosen hunting ground while keeping his back protected. Old habits from too many life-or-death situations.
As his full roster materialized around him, Russell took stock of the situation below. The demons wandered in loose groups, their movements too coordinated to be random but not organized enough to suggest military discipline. They looked humanoid from a distance, but his enhanced senses picked up the wrongness—limbs that bent in too many places, faces where faces shouldn't be, shadows that fell at impossible angles.
Artoria stood at his right side, and Russell winced at her weaponless state. Caliburn's destruction was a necessary sacrifice, but seeing the Once and Future King reduced to scanning the ground for suitable branches felt wrong on a fundamental level.
"Here," he said, spotting a fallen limb from one of the less nightmarish trees. The wood was dark, dense, and only mildly cursed. "This should hold up better than local vegetation."
Artoria accepted the branch with knightly dignity, testing its weight and balance. Blue light flickered along her hands as she channeled Mana Burst experimentally. The wood groaned but held, accepting the magical enhancement without immediately exploding.
"It will serve," she pronounced, her young voice carrying certainty that made the makeshift weapon seem more significant than it was. Already she was adjusting her stance to accommodate the different balance, the longer reach, the need for more careful energy management.
"There seem to be a lot of them," Russell noted, returning his attention to the demons below. His count reached twenty before the corrupted foliage obscured further observation. "More than there should be for a recently harvested sector."
The thought nagged at him. The garrison had provided updated maps showing this area as standard density, but what he saw suggested either rapid repopulation or deliberate misinformation. Given the politics he'd glimpsed, either seemed possible.
"I wonder if the demons here have any intelligence," he mused aloud, studying their movement patterns more carefully. The creatures in [Black Flag] and [Sword Lake] had demonstrated human-level cognition, some so perfect in their mimicry that only magical senses revealed their true nature. These seemed more bestial, but appearances in dimensional spaces were notoriously deceptive.
"Captain Unohana," Russell decided, turning to the serene woman who hadn't moved since manifesting. "I leave the opening move to you. Let's thin the herd before we engage directly."
"Of course," Unohana replied, her gentle voice at odds with the devastation she was about to unleash. She stepped forward, hands already moving in the complex gestures that preceded high-level magic. "Please stand back. The discharge can be... intense."
Russell had seen her cast before, but watching Unohana work never got old. Where most casters forced magic into shape through will and formula, she conducted it like a symphony. Power gathered around her in visible currents, corruption recoiling from her presence as reality remembered what purity felt like.
Her voice rose in melodic chant, each word precisely weighted:
"Hadō #88: Hiryū Gekizoku Shinten Raihō."
The name meant "Flying Dragon-Striking Heaven-Shaking Thunder Cannon," and it lived up to every part of that grandiose title. Magic compressed above her outstretched palm, taking the form of a massive oriental dragon wrought from pure lightning. The construct crackled with barely contained violence, its eyes points of white-hot plasma that left afterimages on Russell's retinas.
For a moment, the dragon hovered, majestic and terrible. The demons below had noticed by now, heads turning upward with whatever sensory organs they possessed. Some showed recognition—ancient memories of power that demanded respect. Others simply stared, too young or too stupid to understand the danger.
Then Unohana brought her hand down in a cutting gesture, and heaven's wrath followed.
The lightning dragon descended with a sound like the world tearing. It didn't simply strike—it detonated, electrical fury spreading outward in fractal patterns that turned night to day. Russell felt the discharge even through Arrogance's protection, hair standing on end, teeth aching from the magical pressure.
When his vision cleared, more than half the demons lay charred and motionless. The corrupted vegetation around the strike zone had been reduced to glass and ash, leaving a perfect circle of destruction. Ozone mixed with the dimension's natural corruption, creating a smell that Russell's brain insisted was "electric barbecue" despite his better judgment.
"It smells a bit fragrant," he admitted, then immediately questioned his sanity. Demon barbecue should not smell appetizing under any circumstances. The dimension was getting to him in subtle ways.
But the surviving demons' reaction drove all thoughts of inadvisable cuisine from his mind. Instead of fleeing, as any sensible creature would after watching half their number get divine-striked into oblivion, they gathered together. Their roars synchronized, taking on a rhythmic quality that made Russell's enhanced senses scream warnings.
"Something is wrong," he said, Arrogance already beginning to manifest around his form. "That's not panic. That's—"
Thump.
The ground shook.
Thump.
Ripples spread across the pools of corruption, something vast approaching.
THUMP.
Trees at the forest's edge splintered and fell, pushed aside by bulk that defied convenient physics. What emerged into the killing field made Russell immediately revise his threat assessment upward.
The Ugly Demon lived up to its name with enthusiasm that bordered on artistic. Three times human height, it moved with the ponderous unstoppability of a landslide. Its face—if the writhing mass of flesh could be called that—constantly reformed itself, as if unable to decide which configuration was most hideous. Tusks jutted at random angles, eyes opened and closed without pattern, and its mouth... Russell counted at least five, all drooling acidic saliva that hissed where it struck earth.
"I knew it," Russell said, already airborne on Pidgeot. Just after he took flight, the Ugly Demon's fist cratered the outcrop where he'd been standing. Rock shattered like glass, fragments spinning off into the darkness. "Arrogance was right. There's always a bigger fish."
Below, Artoria had already engaged. Blue light exploded around her form as she pushed Mana Burst to combat levels, launching herself at the demon with her branch held like a true sword. The clash when makeshift weapon met demon flesh produced a shockwave that flattened the surviving lesser demons, sending them tumbling like leaves.
Russell watched critically as Artoria fought. Without Caliburn, she had to work harder for every exchange. The branch, enhanced though it was, could only channel a fraction of her true power. Where the golden sword would have cleaved through the demon's guard, she had to settle for deflection and evasion, buying time rather than seeking victory.
"Not having a real sword really affects her combat effectiveness," Russell observed, guiding Pidgeot in a wide circle to maintain sight lines. If Artoria still had Caliburn, this fight would already be over—demon bisected, materials collected, moving on to the next target. Instead, she danced at the edge of death, using skill and instinct to survive where power failed.
But she only needed to buy time.
Below, Unohana had begun another chant. This one was longer, more complex, each word layering power upon power. The very air around her began to distort, reality bending under the weight of magic that approached conceptual alteration. Russell recognized the incantation—one of the most powerful binding and destruction spells in existence.
The Ugly Demon sensed the building threat. Its attacks grew frantic, multiple arms swinging in patterns that should have been impossible to dodge. But Artoria's Intuition was more than skill—it was prescience honed to perfection. She moved before the attacks began, positioned herself where the fists wouldn't be, turned devastating blows into glancing impacts through positioning alone.
Still, she couldn't dodge forever. One massive fist clipped her shoulder, sending her spinning. Another caught the earth where she landed, forcing an desperate roll. The branch in her hands showed cracks now, Mana Burst pushing it beyond its limits.
"The turbid coat of arms reveals itself. The unruly and arrogant vessel of lunacy!" Unohana's voice carried despite the battle's din, each word a nail in reality's coffin. "Boil forth and deny! Grow numb and flicker! Disrupt sleep!"
The Ugly Demon roared, all five mouths opening in discord. It recognized death approaching and responded the only way it knew—with violence. Both fists rose high, ready to pulverize the annoying knight that kept it from the true threat.
Artoria's Intuition screamed. Without hesitation, she kicked off the demon's knee, using its own bulk as a springboard. The backward flip carried her clear just as those massive fists cratered the earth, sending corrupted soil fountaining upward.
"The crawling queen of iron! The eternally self-destructing doll of mud!" Unohana continued, power visible around her now as black lightning that ate light rather than producing it. "Unite! Repulse! Fill with soil and know your own powerlessness!"
"Hadō #90: Kurohitsugi!"
Reality cracked.
A massive coffin of pure black energy materialized around the Ugly Demon, so dark it seemed to pull light from the surrounding area. The construct stood twenty feet tall, surfaces that shifted between solid and void, covered in arcane symbols that hurt to perceive directly. For a moment, nothing happened—the demon trapped but seemingly unharmed within its prison.
Then the spears manifested.
Not dozens or hundreds but thousands, each one a sliver of condensed nothingness. They erupted from every surface of the coffin simultaneously, piercing inward with inexorable purpose. The demon's roar cut off abruptly, replaced by a wet sound that Russell's mind refused to categorize.
The black coffin held for three more heartbeats, then dissolved like morning mist. What remained standing could barely be called a demon anymore—more a vaguely humanoid collection of holes, golden ichor seeping from countless wounds. It swayed once, twice...
Artoria was already moving. Her branch, pushed beyond all reasonable limits, found the demon's heart with surgical precision. The wood shattered on impact, but not before delivering its payload of Mana Burst directly into the creature's core.
The Ugly Demon's eyes—all eight of them—widened in something that might have been surprise. Then it toppled backward with ground-shaking finality.
"That should be dead," Russell said, but he'd learned paranoia through bitter experience. "Yoriichi, if you would?"
The swordsman moved without acknowledgment, drawing his blade in a motion too fast to follow. Golden-red flames wreathed the weapon as he brought it down in a perfect vertical cut, bisecting the fallen demon from crown to groin. The flames cauterized as they cut, ensuring no regeneration tricks.
"Now it's dead," Russell confirmed, landing nearby. His magical senses wrapped around the corpse, extracting its essence with practiced efficiency.
Silver-level [Ugly Demon] (Gold)
"Gold quality from a silver creature," he mused, storing the material carefully. "Either we got lucky or that thing was on the verge of evolution."
The remaining lesser demons had vanished during the battle, self-preservation finally overcoming whatever compulsion had drawn them to the Ugly Demon's call. Russell didn't bother pursuing—he'd already exceeded the conservation requirements, and time was becoming a factor.
The harvest continued for another hour, Russell and his cards systematically clearing the designated area. By the time they finished, his spatial storage held:
Eleven bronze-level [Lesser Demon] (Blue)
Two silver-level [Lesser Demon] (Blue)
One silver-level [Ugly Demon] (Gold)
"Quality's definitely low except for the big one," Russell noted, dismissing his cards as Pidgeot carried him toward the dimension exit. "Must be because this is a welfare realm—can't have students getting too many high-grade materials without effort."
The journey out proved uneventful, the dimension's predators apparently deciding they'd had enough excitement for one day. Russell checked out with the garrison, enduring their poorly hidden awe at the dimensional scarring, then headed home.
His apartment felt impossibly mundane after the day's events. No corruption, no monsters, no political intrigue—just familiar walls and the comforting hum of modern appliances. Russell allowed himself exactly five minutes to decompress before getting to work.
First order of business: converting unwanted materials to funds. He listed all the bronze-level materials on the exchange, pricing them slightly below market for quick sale. Within an hour, notifications confirmed four million credits added to his account, bringing his total reserves back to a comfortable six million.
"Money's becoming meaningless," he muttered, echoing thoughts from earlier. He understood now why Hazel lived in that massive manor—when you could afford anything, specific purchases lost significance. It was about capability now, not currency.
He laid out his remaining materials on the workbench, considering options. The two blue-quality silver materials would serve as future trading fees—Mr. Warren expected payment for his services, and these would suffice. The [Ugly Demon] and [Two-Faced Idol] sparked several ideas, but those could wait.
"This is the one," Russell said, retrieving [The Silent End] from storage. The crystallized scream pulsed with deathly energy, eager to fulfill its purpose. He'd been planning this since first learning about Field Cards—his first true battlefield modification.
He pulled out Yoriichi and Unohana's cards, feeling their resonance with the field material. Both were death-aligned in their own ways—Yoriichi through his demon-slaying purpose, Unohana through her hidden nature as history's greatest killer. They would serve as perfect anchors for what he intended.
Russell arranged the three items in a triangle formation, himself at the center. This wasn't like normal card creation—no story to tell, no narrative to weave. Field Cards generated themselves based on input materials and the maker's intent. All he had to do was provide the connection.
Magical energy flowed from his core, wrapping around all three items simultaneously. They resisted for a moment, [The Silent End] testing his worthiness one final time. Then acceptance bloomed, and the reaction began.
Dark light erupted in his apartment, somehow both brilliant and consuming. Russell felt the energy drawing on his memories of Soul Society, his understanding of the Seireitei's purpose and power. The mysterious space touched his mind, not demanding a story but reading his intent, translating imagination into reality.
The process lasted longer than normal card creation—ten minutes of sustained energy drain that left him light-headed. But when the darkness finally faded, a new card floated before him, its surface showing an image that made his heart race.
Massive walls enclosed elegant buildings in the distinctive architecture of Soul Society. The Seireitei had come to life, ready to impose its reality upon any battlefield.
[Seireitei]
Level: Silver/Diamond
Quality: Red
Category: Field
Russell examined the status window with growing excitement:
Effects:
[Gotei 13]: All Soul Reaper cards gain enhanced abilities when fighting within this field
[Soul's Home]: When non-soul monsters are defeated within this field, extract their essence to permanently strengthen Soul Reaper cards (Locked until field reaches Emerald)
[Squad Zero]: When four captain-level Soul Reaper cards are present, summon [Squad Zero Leader · Ichibē Hyōsube] as temporary support (Locked until field reaches Diamond)
[Three Realms]: When [Seireitei], [???], and [???] are all possessed at maximum level, activate [Spirit King Resurrection] for 10 minutes. All three fields enter 30-day cooldown after use.
"Red quality," Russell breathed, hardly believing what he was seeing. Field Cards were notoriously difficult to push beyond gold quality on first creation, yet here it was—his first attempt yielding the second-highest grade possible.
The locked abilities made sense—Field Cards grew with investment, their true power emerging only at higher levels. [Soul's Home] particularly interested him. The ability to permanently strengthen his cards by defeating enemies was game-changing, even if he had to wait for Emerald level to unlock it.
[Squad Zero] was pure fantasy fulfillment. Ichibē Hyōsube, the leader of Soul Society's most elite guards, as a summonable ally? Even as temporary support, that kind of power could flip impossible battles.
But the final effect stopped him cold.
"[Three Realms]?" Russell read it again, mind racing. The two unknown fields had to be Hueco Mundo and the human world—Las Noches and Karakura Town respectively. But the Spirit King had never appeared in his stories for Yoriichi or Unohana. He'd never even mentioned the lynchpin of existence.
"The mysterious space is playing favorites again," he concluded, equal parts grateful and concerned. This wasn't the first time his creations had exceeded his intentions, gaining abilities and connections he hadn't written. It suggested either the space had its own agenda or his connection to this world ran deeper than mere transmigration.
The Spirit King Resurrection effect was absurdly powerful even with its limitations. Ten minutes of what was essentially god-mode, at the cost of a month-long cooldown on all three fields. The material requirements alone made his head spin—creating and maxing three separate Field Cards would take years and fortune beyond calculation.
"One step at a time," Russell decided, storing [Seireitei] carefully. He had his first Field Card, a massive advantage for future battles. The locked abilities gave him clear advancement goals. And the mystery of why the space kept enhancing his cards added another piece to the growing puzzle of his existence here.
The next period of time was spent replenishing his mental energy. Creating a Field Card had drained him more thoroughly than expected—the process drew on reserves he didn't normally touch, leaving him feeling hollow in ways that went beyond simple tiredness. He spent Sunday in quiet meditation, cycling his magical energy through careful patterns to restore what had been spent.
Monday morning arrived too quickly, bringing with it the return to academic normalcy. Russell dragged himself to the theory class, finding his usual seat between the twins. The contrast between dimensional combat and classroom learning never failed to jar him—one day carving canyons in reality, the next taking notes on material resonance frequencies.
After class, Russell pulled out his schedule, frowning at Wednesday's entry. "Is this practical training class just us going into a pocket dimension?" he asked Heath, who was busy stuffing his notes into an already overfilled bag.
Heath looked up, nodding enthusiastically. "Yeah! You've already been in silver-level dimensions, right? So you know the drill." His expression turned slightly more serious. "Though we all have to sign waivers. Pretty comprehensive ones, actually. The 'if you die, it's not our fault' variety."
"The school really covers all bases," Keith added dryly from Russell's other side. "They make it very clear that once we're in there, we're on our own. No rescue teams, no emergency extraction unless the dimension itself starts collapsing."
Russell nodded slightly. This was not unexpected. They were training to be cardmakers, not children playing at adventure. The profession came with lethal risks, and the school wouldn't pretend otherwise. Although they were still freshmen, Northgate had no intention of coddling them.
"But since you've already signed up for the card-making department," Heath continued, managing to finally close his bag through brute force, "I'm sure you won't mind. We all knew what we were getting into."
True enough, Russell thought. He'd signed his life away multiple times already—what was one more waiver?
As they walked toward their next class, Russell's mind turned to more practical concerns. Seems like upgrading Kiss-Shot isn't urgent, he decided. The vampire card was powerful enough at her current level, and he lacked the specific materials needed for her advancement anyway.
But Arrogance... Since he had to participate in potentially dangerous practical training now, upgrading the symbiote took priority. Its defensive capabilities had saved his life multiple times already, and strengthening that protection made sense. As for materials, he could easily attribute them to his gains from [Night's End Banquet]. After all, the symbiote's appearance defied standard classification—writhing tentacles of living darkness weren't in any material guidebook. No one would be able to identify what he'd used to advance it.
The thought of upgrades led naturally to another problem. And if it weren't for the lack of materials, he sighed internally, Pidgeot would need replacing too.
His iron-level mount had served admirably, but the gap between its capabilities and his needs grew wider with each adventure. Flying on an iron-level card when facing silver-level threats was like bringing a bicycle to a drag race—functional but increasingly inadequate. After Wednesday's practical training, he'd need to seriously consider finding a replacement. Something silver-level at minimum, with growth potential beyond that.
"Russell?" Heath's voice broke through his planning. "You coming? We're going to grab lunch before Advanced Theory."
"Right behind you," Russell replied, shelving his upgrade plans for later consideration.
(End of Chapter 112)
Comments
Alberto Kalach
Long chapotees are the best
Raphael Espinoza Angulo
I love the longer chapters.
