Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 100: Seventeenth Floor

Chapter 100: Seventeenth Floor

The pagoda shimmered again, its jade and silver surface catching the faint light of the twilight. All heads turned as the seventeenth floor glowed faintly, its radiance brighter, more insistent than before.

A single presence had entered, its arrival marked by no lightning, no fanfare—just a quiet hum that resonated through the plain, a subtle shift that spoke of a new challenger accepted by the ancient spire.

"Someone’s already moved on," Voren muttered, his deep voice tinged with unease as he hefted his Warhammer, his knuckles whitening around its grip.

"From the sixteenth... to the seventeenth," Mei-Lin added, her voice steady but her fan trembling slightly, betraying the tension coiling within her.

Lysara’s mouth pressed into a thin line, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "It wasn’t any of us."

Taryn shifted uncomfortably, her daggers glinting as she spun them once, a nervous habit breaking through her bravado. "Who the hell’s still inside?" she demanded, her voice sharp with frustration.

They all knew the white-robed figures had been ahead, the strongest and fastest climbers, their ascent a silent challenge to every other contender.

To see them ejected—silently, without drama—and another presence advance to the seventeenth floor shook the very foundation of their confidence.

The pagoda was no mere trial ground; it was a crucible that broke minds, peeled back illusions, and shattered pride. If those two, with their unmatched prowess, couldn’t pass the sixteenth, then whoever—or whatever—had moved forward was no ordinary cultivator.

The realization sent a thrill through them, tempered by a spark of unease. The pagoda tested more than strength—it probed the soul, demanding truths that even the mightiest could not face.

If the white-robed figures had faltered, then the presence now ascending to the seventeenth floor was a force beyond reckoning.

The first white-robed figure moved, stepping from the edge of the crater with a slow, measured stride.

He turned, not toward the pagoda, but toward the gathered cultivators, his aura flickering once—a brief, thunderous pulse that wasn’t aggressive but loud, like a waterfall crashing within their bones, an ancient force screaming through time. It passed in an instant, leaving only silence in its wake.

*****

Back in the Pagoda,

Kael’s boot met cold stone, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence of the seventeenth floor. The jade shimmer of the portal dimmed behind him, sealing it with a faint hum that felt like the closing of a tomb.

No grand announcement greeted him, no System voice offered guidance—only a stillness so thick it pressed against his skin, heavy with the weight of an unseen gaze.

The air was stagnant, laced with the faint tang of ancient stone and forgotten battles, a reminder that this place was no mere trial ground but a crucible forged by the pagoda’s merciless will.

A chime pierced the silence, sharp and cold, reverberating through the chamber like a blade drawn across glass.

[DING! Trial of Suppression Reversal Initiated.

All cultivation suppressed by 50%.

Current Level: 11 (Pre-Awakening Warrior).

Objective: Survive and eliminate foes ten levels above your own]

Kael froze, the words sinking into his chest like shards of ice. His strength—halved. His Primal Energy, his reflexes, his very essence—choked by an invisible noose that tightened around his meridians.

The suppression wasn’t just a reduction; it was a violation, dulling his senses, slowing his heartbeat, and wrapping his limbs in chains of fatigue. It was like fighting in a dream, where every movement was a battle against an unrelenting tide.

And the enemies?

[Level 21 – Primal Warrior Beasts.]

Kael’s fists clenched, his knuckles whitening beneath the Bloodthread Mantle. The cold floor pulsed with ancient runes, silver lines spreading like veins across the tiles, forming a glowing ring that encircled him—a cage of light that marked the boundaries of his trial.

The restriction pressed harder, a constant pressure that burned in his muscles, sapped his stamina and clouded his mind. This wasn’t just a fight—it was a test of survival under conditions no sane warrior would willingly face.

"Not good," he muttered his voice barely a whisper, swallowed by the chamber’s vastness.

The seventeenth floor stretched before him, an underground chamber carved from the bones of the earth. Massive stone pillars rose like jagged fangs, their surfaces etched with forgotten symbols that pulsed faintly as if whispering secrets of trials long past.

A low haze clung to the ground, obscuring details beyond twenty meters, its tendrils curling like specters in the dim light.

The air was heavy, thick with the weight of expectation, and Kael’s instincts prickled with the certainty that something was watching, waiting.

A scraping sound echoed across the stone, sharp and deliberate, like claws dragged across a whetstone. Kael turned, his silver eyes narrowing beneath the Shadow Veil Mask, his senses straining against the suppression’s fog.

From the mist emerged a beast, its form lean and feline, a predator sculpted from shadow and steel. Its body was clad in plated scales that gleamed like blackened armor, each one catching the faint glow of the runes.

Crimson eyes burned with predatory focus, locking onto Kael with intelligence that sent a chill down his spine. Its breath fogged the air, and its claws carved deep gouges in the stone with every measured step, leaving trails of sparks in their wake.

[Dire Night Panther – Level 21]

Kael’s instincts flared, a primal warning that surged through his suppressed body. There was no running, no hiding. The Trial of Suppression Reversal wasn’t about domination—it was about enduring a pressure that would crush the weak, about surviving when every advantage had been stripped away.

His grip tightened on Abyssal Fang, its dark edge glinting with a quiet hunger. The Bloodthread Mantle clung to his frame, masking his weakened aura, but it couldn’t hide the fire in his eyes.

Even at Level 11, with his strength halved and his body screaming in protest, he was no longer the boy who had entered the pagoda’s first floor, driven by desperation and instinct.

He was Kael, a cultivator of the Silent Eclipse and the Crescent Requiem, and this was just another trial to conquer.

The panther pounced a blur of scale and claw, its speed defying its size. Kael didn’t flinch. He pivoted, dragging his foot across the stone, letting the beast’s claws whistle past his shoulder, the air hissing with their passage.

A narrow miss, but enough.

He slashed out, Abyssal Fang arcing through the air, its edge meeting the panther’s hide with a screech of steel on scale. Sparks flew, the blade barely scratching the surface, but it was enough to draw the beast’s attention.

Kael flipped backward, using the panther’s momentum to widen the gap, his boots skidding across the stone. "Too fast," he breathed, his heart pounding against the suppression’s weight.

"Too strong." A cold smile curved his lips beneath the mask, a spark of defiance igniting within him. "Perfect."

The panther charged again, its movements fluid, relentless. Kael met it head-on, steel ringing against scale as their clash sent tremors through his bones. He ducked a swipe, rolled left, and countered with a low strike to the beast’s foreleg, drawing a thin line of crimson.

The panther snarled, its paw sweeping toward him, a shield-sized blur of deadly force. Kael slid beneath it, his chest grazing the cold stone, then kicked off, launching himself to the beast’s flank.

He stabbed deep, aiming for a gap in the scales, but hissed as his blade pierced only an inch. The panther’s hide absorbed the force, its armor a fortress against his weakened strikes.

He rolled back just in time as the beast’s tail whipped around like a mace, shattering the ground where he’d stood, sending shards of stone flying.

"This floor is built to break people," Kael whispered, sweat trickling down his back, his breath shallow under the suppression’s grip.

The trial wasn’t just about fighting stronger beasts—it was about fighting while being crushed from within, every movement a battle against his own body’s betrayal.

The panther lunged again, its crimson eyes blazing. Kael met it, ducking low and striking upward, his blade finding an unarmored joint beneath the beast’s front leg. Blood sprayed, the creature shrieking as it stumbled, its balance faltering. Kael didn’t hesitate.

He charged, planting his foot and driving Abyssal Fang into the open wound, twisting with a cry that tore from his throat. The blade ripped through muscle and sinew, a desperate strike fueled by will alone.

The panther thrashed, its massive form slamming into Kael, sending him hurtling across the chamber like a rag doll. He crashed into a pillar, the impact cracking the stone and driving the air from his lungs. He dropped to one knee, coughing, blood dripping from his lips as pain exploded across his back.

Kael looked up, teeth bared, his vision swimming. The panther limped, blood pooling beneath it, but it was still alive, its eyes burning with feral rage. He forced himself to stand, his fingers trembling around Abyssal Fang, his body screaming in protest.

Then, from the mist, a second beast emerged.