Chapter 129: Soul Anchor

Before Ash could say anything, Dark Ash's voice broke through the tense silence with fierce intensity, loud enough to shake the air around them.

His words were sharp and commanding, filled with the raw force of someone who refused to be ignored any longer.

"DO I LOOK LIKE A SIDE CHARACTER HERE?!"

The statement was not just a shout; it was a voice that demanded recognition.

Upon hearing this, the man slowly turned his eyes toward Dark Ash, his gaze grew sharper as he took in the sight before him.

Dark Ash's entire body was wrapped in a thick, malevolent black aura that seemed alive.

This aura was not simply dark energy or ordinary mana; it was the very embodiment of hatred itself, a hatred so deep and powerful that it had taken on a tangible form.

This was a hatred that had been nurtured and fed by endless silence, despair, and pain.

It was not a fleeting emotion but something ancient and unyielding, twisting and bending the light around it as if reality itself tried to resist its presence.

The aura moved and pulsed with a heavy weight, distorting the atmosphere like smoke filling a room, suffocating and oppressive.

DIVINE ART OF ETERNAL SILENCE

SEVENTH FORM: Art of Absolute Hatred

It represented the final stage of Dark Ash's Divine Arts. This was not just another step in power but a combination of all his previous forms brought together in one overwhelming force.

It was a hatred so pure and concentrated that it consumed all other emotions in order to strengthen itself even more.

This hatred was cursed and paradoxical, capable of devouring itself endlessly to sustain its power, existing as both a destructive flame and an eternal prison.

As the man observed this terrifying sight, he muttered words that glitched and broke apart, as though the language itself struggled to contain the truth.

"-- -- Incomple--- lot -- -- impr--"

Although his voice was fragmented, Ash could clearly understand the meaning behind the broken words.

It's still incomplete... and there's a lot that can be improved...

He was clearly referring to the Divine Arts of Dark Ash, commenting not just on the current state of the form, but its potential—something terrifying and unfinished.

Meanwhile, Ash's body was still covered in cracks, but with his legs having regenerated, he slowly stood up.

Step by step, he backed away, his mind sharpening as he focused on his soul.

He wanted to try it—he wanted to connect the runes with the black tree right now, without wasting a single breath.

With active, his focus was already at its peak. Every single detail, every sensation, was being processed and analyzed, but just as he was about to move forward with the process, a single thought disrupted his clarity.

Which Rune should I use...?

Ash didn't know.

He wanted to use the Rune of Stability, thinking it might help, but what if it backfired? What if it ended up sealing Dark Ash again, just like before? The hesitation in his heart grew louder, tangled with confusion and doubt.

But then, at the exact moment when his thoughts were spiraling, a soft voice echoed in the air, calm and distant like a whisper of truth.

"Knowledge is power."

"Foundation of any greater path begins with knowledge, for only a strong understanding can bear the weight of something greater."

"Without knowledge, everything is reduced to nothingness, no matter how much strength or potential lies within you."

"If you do not know what mana is, how will you ever control it? If you do not understand the structure of arts, how can you hope to perform them? If you remain blind to the truths behind runes, then how will you ever be able to use them properly?"

"Knowledge is both a gift and a curse. It is a force powerful enough to tear through boundaries, yet at the same time, it carries the weight of consequence, dreadful enough to bind even the strongest beings in chains forged by law and fate."

"So, always seek knowledge regarding -- -- - -- not regarding - -- - -- -"

Just as the words faded into silence, a strange enlightenment suddenly struck Ash.

Every word spoken by the mysterious man felt like the voice of the universe itself, revealing an undeniable truth so profound that it had the power to enlighten anyone who truly listened.

It was as if the cosmos was whispering secrets meant only for those ready to hear.

"YOU ARE STILL IGNORING ME," Dark Ash's voice broke through sharply, filled with frustration and a bitter edge that echoed through the space between them.

Dark Ash's displeasure with the current situation was clear and undeniable.

When he had been beating Ash earlier, there had been a dark pleasure in the act, a twisted satisfaction that came from knowing he was making the one responsible for all his pain suffer in return.

The feeling of power he derived from crushing Ash was intoxicating, and it fed his rage like fuel to a fire that seemed impossible to extinguish.

However, after two long days of relentless beating, Ash's reactions were almost nonexistent, limited to faint moans and occasional grunts, without the fierce resistance or panic that Dark Ash had expected.

The fire that once burned bright in him seemed to have dimmed, and as a result, Dark Ash's interest began to wane slowly, like a flame sputtering against the wind.

Then his thoughts drifted toward Elysia, and he imagined how much satisfaction he would feel by completely destroying her, hoping that such an act might finally soothe the restless torment inside him.

All of those plans, however, were shattered by the sudden appearance of a stranger who had emerged from nowhere, stepping into a place where no one should have been able to enter.

The fact that this man had somehow entered the soul of another person was beyond all logic and defied every law.

It was impossible, and yet here he was, standing there with a presence so undeniable that it challenged every belief Dark Ash held.

Even though he could not understand how such a thing was possible, Dark Ash did not hesitate for a single moment.

He sprinted in his Seventh Form with a speed so blinding that it surpassed even the blow he had previously dealt Ash.

In a heartbeat, he was directly in front of the mysterious man, his body coiled with immense power and ready to strike.

His arm, now bearing the weight equivalent to ten mountains, was charged with overwhelming force.

The mastery of his Divine Arts multiplied this power even further, combining the crushing weight with a devastating impact capable of breaking through anything that stood in his way.

Dark Ash believed with certainty that this overwhelming speed and power would make it impossible for anyone to keep up with him or withstand his attack, and the thought filled him with confidence.

Yet, when he glanced up, that certainty shattered completely.

The beautiful eyes of the mysterious man remained locked onto him without wavering, following his every movement with an unnerving calmness, as if they were glued to his very being and refusing to look away.

The sight of those enchanting eyes sent a cold shiver through Dark Ash's entire body, causing his muscles to tense and his breath to catch.

His body froze again, as if locked onto the place by some invisible force.

The power of mysterious eyes worked and a seed of doubt planted itself deep within his mind, shaking the foundation of everything he thought he knew about himself.

Questions began to rise from the depths of his consciousness, heavy and overwhelming, demanding answers he did not have.

Who am I?

What am I?

These questions lingered and twisted inside him, pulling at the very core of his existence and forcing him to confront the unsettling uncertainty of his own being.

Meanwhile, at the center of the Soul Space, Ash willed the Rune of Knowledge to stop hovering and fuse with the Black Tree.

And then, as if answering his silent command, the ever-changing silver-colored symbol began to glow brighter than all the others.

It circled around every branch of the large black tree, whose limbs stretched endlessly toward the sky, as if they had been waiting for him to come and give them purpose.

Slowly, the symbol seeped into the tree, melting into it like ink into water.

In the very next moment, the tree started glowing with a silver sheen so bright that it burned the eyes. It was as if a second sun had ignited within the Soul Space itself.

At the same time, Ash's real-world body, which had been lying motionless, began to float upward from the now-empty pond. A

silver light wrapped around his form, his skin glowing like polished crystal, while his hair lifted, dancing wildly in the air like it had been caught in a silent storm.

At that moment, he no longer looked human.

He looked like something divine—like a celestial being forged by the hands of the cosmos itself.

Then, at the center of his eyebrows, right at the glabella, a silver symbol began to form.

Its shape resembled an ancient eye wrapped in swirling lines, as if drawn by a star's dying light—timeless, powerful, and still unfinished.

His body remained floating, but his mind slipped into a strange state of clarity, a deep and silent understanding unlike anything he had ever known before.

Back inside the Soul Space, the dark sky and the black water that once looked like oil began to change.

The darkness faded. The sky slowly turned a soft shade of blue, and the surface of the water below became crystal clear, reflecting the tree like a perfect mirror.

Watching this transformation, the masked man only smiled—though his smile was hidden behind the face-covering mask.

He turned to look at Dark Ash, who was slowly coming back to his senses, the wild hatred in his eyes fading, his soul beginning to calm.

When Dark Ash looked directly into the beautiful and cosmic eyes of the man's, something happened deep inside his soul.

His mind, which had been overflowing with rage, suddenly froze.

That one gaze wasn't filled with any power or magic, but it carried a power that made him question: what is hate? what are emotions?

And due to which, Dark Ash froze. He didn't know why the question mattered, but he knew, if not answered he will lose his foundation.

In that pause, the endless storm inside him had no fuel left. Emotions, especially hatred, needed reason.

They needed a cause, a story to keep burning. And in that short moment of stillness, Dark Ash couldn't remember why he was angry anymore.

He had been born from rage, fed by pain, shaped by despair.

But when that moment of silence came, and no new pain arrived to feed the fire, the emotion began to fade on its own.

The soul, which had been clinging to anger to keep itself from falling apart, began to question the very reason it existed.

And when a soul begins to question itself like that the emotions tied to it begin to crumble.

That was why the hatred vanished.

It wasn't destroyed.

It simply couldn't survive once the purpose behind it became unclear.

What a glaring weakness, the masked man thought, watching him coldly.

As soon as Dark Ash fully returned to his senses, he blinked his eyes repeatedly, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened.

He looked around and saw the emotions—sadness, anger, pain, and regret—slowly returning, gently seeping back into the soul like long-lost memories coming home.

Upon seeing this, he couldn't hold back his reaction. He chuckled first—softly at first, then louder, then almost violently.

"Hehe... hehe... keeheh... eke... heke..."

"Hahhm... ahhah... haahah... hahah... ha"

"Cough... cough... haha... haha..."

He coughed even as he laughed, as if choking on his own voice.

"Emotions... emotions... they truly are fickle, just like a flame. So easy to rise... so easy to fade..." he whispered, one not meant for anyone else—just for himself.

"How could I not know emotions? I thought I was born from them. I was pain, I was rage, I was hate... or at least, that's what I kept telling myself. But now... after all this..."

He lowered his gaze, confused, hollow.

"If those were truly emotions... if they were real... then why did they vanish so easily? Why did just one second of silence, make them disappear?"

He stood still for a long moment, as if frozen in the silence left behind.

"They weren't emotions," he finally said, more certain now, though his voice still carried the weight of everything breaking down inside him.

"Not truly. They were just... echoes. Leftover pieces of pain and fear, clinging to me like shadows. I convinced myself they were mine, that they were me. But the truth is, they were never born from anything I lived—just from what I have seen."

His hands clenched at his sides, his nails pressing into his palms.

"I didn't feel—I was just remembering how it felt. Like replaying the same scream over and over, long after the pain had already ended."

He looked up again, eyes dull but sharp with clarity.

"That's why they disappeared. Because the moment I looked into his eyes... the illusion couldn't hold. My hatred, my anger… they didn't stand a chance against something real. I didn't lose them. I never had them in the first place."

Then he laughed again, but this time, it wasn't out of joy or madness.

It was hollow.