Chapter 278 - 279: Unworthy

Chapter 278: Chapter 279: Unworthy

Sylphy’s pirate group tore into the clearing like a pack that had finally smelled blood.

They came in a rough, aggressive line, still carrying the leftover speed from the forest. Boots slammed onto the smooth stone. The underlings were loud and greedy the moment they crossed the boundary. Eyes locked on the empty circles right away. Several lower-ranked Multiversals and Universals broke formation and sprinted toward the nearest open seats, weapons already half-drawn, ready to shove or cut anyone who got in their way.

"Empty seats! Grab them before the others!"

"Move, you slow bastards!"

"First come, first served!"

From the people already sitting, different thoughts rose at the same time.

Soren Vale watched the noisy arrival with calm, measuring eyes. His thin hands stayed folded in his lap. ’Finally. More people. The circles will fill faster now. Good.’ He kept his silver reading low and steady, simply observing the new group without moving.

Vark the Annihilator did not even turn his head. The cold pressure around him stayed exactly the same. In his mind the newcomers were just noise. He had already decided they were not worth attention unless they sat down or died trying.

Lyra Solenne and her four followers remained perfectly still in their diamond spacing. One of the followers spoke quietly inside their linked net. "Greedy and loud. They did not even look at the tower first. Reckless."

Lyra’s eyes stayed on the group, calm but sharp. ’Fools. Rushing without investigating is how people die in places like this. The forest should have taught them better.’

Wukong leaned a little toward Runar and spoke through spirit transmission, voice tight and low.

"That’s the pirate group that captured me before I escaped. I hope they don’t notice me."

Runar’s mouth curved slightly. A quiet chuckle came through the link. "Then sit still and keep your chaotic energy down. They look too busy being greedy to check faces right now."

Wukong grunted but pulled his aura in tighter, golden eyes tracking the loudest underlings with clear dislike.

Sylphy’s voice cracked across the clearing like a whip.

"Stop right there! All of you!"

The underlings froze mid-sprint. Some almost tripped over their own feet. A few skidded and had to catch their balance. The sudden order cut through their greed hard enough to make them stumble to a halt.

Sylphy walked forward slowly. The silver bloodline markings on her wrists and collarbones glowed faintly under the quiet light of the clearing. Her face was cold and sharp, the kind of expression that made even loud men go quiet.

"This is a Paragon ruin," she said, voice low but carrying to every ear. "Everything here can kill you. No one sits until I check it myself. Anyone who moves before I give the order loses their share. Permanently."

The underlings backed off, grumbling under their breath but still obedient. A few glared at the empty circles like the seats had personally insulted them. One muttered something about wasted time. Another spat on the stone. None of them stepped forward again.

From the already seated, new thoughts moved.

Soren Vale’s eyes narrowed slightly on the glowing silver marks. ’I guess my theory was right. Innate abilities like eye techniques and bloodlines are not suppressed here. And this ruin just got another challenger. She has a bloodline. Bloodlines are super rare in the multiverse. It means one of her ancestors was a Paragon. That changes the level of threat she carries.’

Lyra Solenne noticed the same markings and gave a small internal nod. ’Bloodline bearer. Rare. Dangerous if she knows how to use it properly. We will watch her closely.’

One of her followers added quietly in the net, "Confirmed bloodline Aura. Active and stable."

Vark’s cold gaze flicked once toward the silver light and then away again. He filed the information without any visible reaction.

Wukong frowned through the spirit link. "What’s a bloodline? Why is everyone staring at those glowing marks on her?"

Runar answered calmly, drawing on the memories he had absorbed from the Void Devouring Dragon. "Bloodlines are extremely rare. They mean one of your direct ancestors reached Paragon level and passed something real down through the blood. Most people in the multiverse never see one in their entire lives. Hers is active and strong. That silver light is the bloodline showing itself."

Wukong’s eyes widened a little. "Oh. That explains the stares. Great. More complicated people."

Sylphy ignored the underlings completely and walked straight to the tall narrow tower. She placed one hand flat against the surface and pushed her reading in with careful focus. The interlocking scripts under her palm stayed completely silent. No meaning rose. No reaction came. She pulled her hand back, expression darkening, then moved to three different empty circles and tested each one the same careful way. Same result every time. Cool, dead stone. Nothing answered her.

She stood still for a moment, thinking, then turned and gathered the four remaining Expert-tier Multiversals close. She spoke in a low voice so the underlings could not hear clearly.

"The circles are locked on purpose," she said. "The people already sitting prove that sitting is the correct path. The tower is waiting for a full set. We take seats first. The rest can follow if they dare."

The four Experts nodded without argument. They had survived the hungry forest by listening when Sylphy spoke. They were not about to stop now. One of them glanced at the already seated powerhouses and muttered, "At least some of these people look serious. Better than the noise behind us."

Sylphy and the four Experts walked to five empty circles with calm, deliberate steps. No rushing. No shoving. One by one they sat. Soft, clean pulses of recognition answered each of them. The stone under their bodies warmed slightly, a quiet acceptance. The tower shifted a little with every accepted seat, the scripts on its surface adjusting like a lock turning further toward open.

The underlings watched greedily. Seeing their leaders accepted made them bold again. The fear from Sylphy’s order started to fade under the old hunger for advantage.

The lower-ranked Multiversal and Universal pirates surged forward in a chaotic rush.

Fights broke out immediately over the remaining circles.

Two men slammed into each other over the same seat, fists and short blades flashing in the quiet air. Their weapons and attacks were empowered by runes, glowing with sharp power as they struck.

One drove an elbow hard into the other’s ribs, hard enough to make him stagger and cough, then tried to drop into the circle himself.

A third pirate came from the side, kicked the first man clear across the stone, and claimed the seat with a triumphant shout. Nearby, a woman with a scarred face grabbed a weaker ally by the collar, spun him, and threw him out of a circle before dropping into it herself.

Desperate techniques cracked against one another—short bursts of force that left scorch marks on the stone, crude script shields that shattered after one hit, wild swings of weapons that barely missed faces.

Dust and sparks rose as bodies hit the ground and scrambled back up. Someone screamed in anger when their arm was twisted. Another man was dragged out of a circle by two of his own group mates who wanted the seat for themselves.

The battle was messy, loud, and full of pure greed. No one was reading the circles. They were only fighting for the right to sit first. If not for the heavy suppression of the ruin, even one attack from the weakest underling would have been enough to erase a single universe with ease.

But something happened without warning.

A Universal-tier pirate who had dropped into a circle with a loud shout of victory, arms raised like he had already won. Instead of the soft pulse the Experts had received, the runes under him turned a sickly, rotting color.

The light looked wrong, like something decaying. His boots began dissolving into drifting script particles. He stared down in shock for half a second, then screamed and tried to leap out. The moment he moved, the disintegration accelerated violently. Legs turned into glowing ash mid-air. The rot climbed his torso in a wave. Arms crumbled next. His final scream cut off as his head collapsed into nothing. Only a cloud of fading rune particles remained where he had been standing.

Shock rippled through everyone watching.

Soren Vale’s thin fingers tightened slightly in his lap. His calm face stayed almost still, but his eyes sharpened. ’So that is the price of a shallow foundation. Instant unmaking. No second chance. The ruin does not warn. It simply erases.’

Vark watched without any change in expression, but the cold around him deepened a fraction, as if the death had confirmed something he already expected.

Lyra Solenne’s eyes narrowed. One of her followers whispered inside the net, voice tight, "Complete erasure. No body left. Not even bones. Just information particles."

Another follower answered, "Rune foundation check. Brutal and final."

Wukong’s golden eyes went wide. He leaned forward a little in his circle. "What the hell... he just turned to ash. Right in front of us."

Runar’s face stayed calm, but his thoughts were sharp and clear. ’The ruin does not forgive weak comprehension. Clear warning to everyone still standing. Only depth of your rune foundation matters here.’

The standing pirates stared with open mouths. Some took automatic steps backward. A few looked at their own hands as if wondering whether their foundation was deep enough.

Another weaker Multiversal who had sat nearby, eyes still wide from what he just witnessed. He notice that the circle hasn’t shown the pulse of Acknowledgement.

He was contemplating he if should step out before it was too late when suddenly the same sickly light flared under him. He panicked and grabbed the arm of a comrade standing just outside the circle, begging in a broken voice to be pulled out.

"Pull me out."

The disintegration spread through the contact point like infection. The helper’s eyes went wide with horror as the glowing rot climbed his wrist. He lost half his hand before he could tear himself free, screaming in pain and terror as glowing particles drifted from the ruined stump. He fell backward, clutching the remaining part of his arm, face white.

More rejected victims began breaking down in their circles. Some froze in pure horror and dissolved slower, watching their own legs and chests turn to ash while they still breathed. Others thrashed and tried to climb out, dying faster because of the movement. The air filled with drifting rune particles that once were people. The smell of broken information hung thick and wrong, like burnt paper mixed with something older and emptier.

The remaining underlings scrambled backward in pure terror, trampling each other to get away from the circles. All fighting stopped instantly. People stared at the dissolving remains with wide, disbelieving eyes. A few dropped to their knees. One man vomited onto the stone, the sound loud in the sudden quiet. Someone started praying under their breath in a language no one else recognized.

In the heavy silence that followed the last scream, Runar’s calm voice carried across the entire clearing without effort. It was not loud, but every person heard it clearly.

"The circles are judging the depth of your rune foundation. This is the Rune Sovereign’s personal ruin. If your comprehension is too shallow, the circle will unmake you completely. If you are not certain of your foundation, do not sit."

Many of the stronger seated figures gave small nods. Soren’s thin face stayed expressionless, but his eyes showed quiet agreement. He had reached the same conclusion the moment the first man dissolved. Vark did not react at all. Lyra Solenne’s group remained perfectly still, their linked auras steady and controlled.

Wukong let out a low whistle under his breath and muttered through the spirit link, still staring at the drifting particles.

"Well. That was one way to make a point. Brutal as hell. I guess I was lucky that I got locked up in that rune cage for so long. Those pirates forced me to sit there day after day with nothing to do except stare at the runes that were keeping me trapped. I had to comprehend them just to stay sane and eventually break out. If I hadn’t gone through that, I might’ve been one of the ones turning into ash right now."

He paused, then added with a dry edge, "Still not thanking them for it, though."

Runar just chuckled quietly through the spirit link at Wukong’s words.

"Don’t worry," he said, voice calm but with a clear hint of amusement. "Even if you had turned to ash, when I become a Paragon I would have resurrected you. It might take a while, and you would probably complain the entire time, but I would bring you back."

Wukong stared at him for a second, then let out a short, disbelieving breath through the link.

"You say that so casually, like resurrecting someone from complete erasure is just a small errand. ’Oh, don’t worry, I’ll just become a Paragon and put you back together.’ Do you even hear yourself? And what if you take too long? I could be stuck as floating rune dust for centuries while you’re off reading more books or fighting dragons. No thanks. I’d rather not test that plan."

He paused, then added with a reluctant grin in his voice, "But... appreciated. I guess."

The surviving pirates looked at the empty circles with new, deep fear. No one moved toward them. The greed had been burned out of their faces, replaced by the simple understanding that sitting down could erase them from existence.

Just as the shock settled, two new auras entered the clearing at high speed.

Darius Korr and Finn Harlan came to a hard stop at the edge of the stone. The tall one still carried the heavy war-glaive across his back, permanent scowl carved deep into his face. The short one had sharp, quick eyes that took in everything at once—the seated powerhouses, the drifting ash of the rejected, the terrified pirates pressed back against the outer edge, the silent tower waiting in the center.

Finn muttered under his breath, staring at the fading particles, "What the hell happened here...?"

Darius’s scowl deepened as he scanned the circles and the remains. He did not speak. Neither of them moved toward a seat. They simply stood at the edge, watching carefully, the weight of the situation sinking in with every second.

The clearing remained locked in shocked, heavy silence.

Accepted seats glowed faintly with quiet recognition. The remains of the unworthy still drifted as fading script particles, slowly thinning in the air. More auras were approaching in the distance through the forest, but no one in the clearing was in a hurry to claim the next empty circle.

Sitting down had become a life-or-death judgment.