Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 94: Sixteenth Floor

Chapter 94: Sixteenth Floor

[Kill Confirmed.]

The construct that stabbed him tried to retreat, yanking the spear free. Too late. Kael’s free hand gripped the shaft, pulling the construct toward him.

His forehead met its face in a brutal headbutt, the crunch of metal reverberating through his skull. Reversing his grip on Abyssal Fang, he drove it through the construct’s neck, splitting its core in two.

[Final Kill Confirmed.]

The void stilled, its oppressive weight lifting for a fleeting moment. Kael stumbled backward, his legs giving way. He fell to his knees, Abyssal Fang clattering to the ground. His body trembled, a ruin of blood and broken flesh. He didn’t move. He didn’t need to.

The Trial was over.

[System Alert: Final Trial Phase – Cleared.]

[Evaluating Performance...]

[Analyzing Combat Efficiency: 97.3%]

[Unique Traits Detected: Bloodline Fragment Proto-Awakening (Unknown Origin)]

[Quest Progress: Third-floor Trial: Trial Of Blind Combat cleared.

You’ve met the hidden requirements to advance from Floor 13 → Floor 16]

The pulse within him faded, like a tide receding into the depths. The strength it had lent him drained away, leaving only the wreckage of his body.

Kael slumped forward, his breathing a shallow, ragged gasp. His hands shook, his vision—still absent—swimming with phantom lights. He felt as though he’d been forged in fire, only to emerge in pieces.

But he was alive.

[Congratulations: Floor 13 Cleared.

Reward: +7 All Attributes.

Bonus Reward: Bloodline Synchronization 10% Achieved]

[System Notice: Aether Thread Detected — Synchronizing with Core]

Kael blinked, though his eyes saw nothing. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he perceived. Not with sight, not with sound, but with something deeper. The void wasn’t empty—it never had been.

Threads of energy wove through it, shimmering convergences and pulsing nodes, a complex design of power that thrummed in time with his heartbeat. He was part of it now, tethered to the void in a way he couldn’t yet comprehend.

And yet, as he knelt amid the wreckage of shattered constructs, blood pooling beneath him, a single thought cut through the haze.

’There’s another floor.’

The Pagoda Trials wasn’t done. His body was a crumbling ruin, his mind fraying at the edges, but something had changed—something irreversible. The void clung to him, its essence seeping into his bones, his blood, his soul.

Kael pushed himself up, one trembling hand curling around Abyssal Fang’s hilt. His body shook, and his wounds wept, but he rose, inch by agonizing inch. The darkness had claimed him, reshaped him, and spat him out anew.

Kael stood, though his body protested every moment of it. His breath scraped against fractured ribs; each inhale, a jagged blade carving through his chest. Abyssal Fang hung limp in his trembling grip, its chipped edge slick with blood—his own and that of his fallen foes.

The dagger was more than a weapon now; it was an anchor, tethering him to a reality that felt increasingly distant, a lifeline in a world that sought to unravel him.

The void’s silence was absolute, a suffocating absence that swallowed sound, light, and even the faint rhythm of his heartbeat. No enemies stirred. No constructs loomed. Only the oppressive weight of the Trial remained, pressing against his soul like a storm held at bay.

Then the System’s voice cut through the stillness, calm and unyielding as if it spoke from the heart of the void itself.

[Trial Complete. You may now proceed.]

[Transferring to Floor 16.]

The world didn’t flash or surge—it shifted. The transition was subtle, like stepping through a curtain of water, fluid yet disorienting.

One moment, Kael knelt in the darkness, broken and bleeding, his body a tapestry of wounds. The next, he was somewhere else entirely.

He knelt atop a jagged mountain peak, the air sharp and thin, slicing through his lungs with every breath. A cold breeze stirred his matted hair, carrying the scent of stone and distant snow.

His eyes, long robbed of sight by the void, blinked against the sudden return of vision. Pale sunlight poured from a golden sky, bathing the mountaintop in a warmth that felt almost alien after the endless dark.

Below, an endless sea of clouds churned, soft and boundless, pierced only by the distant cries of birds wheeling in the abyss. The serenity was jarring, too perfect, too calm.

Kael’s instincts screamed. This was no respite. This was the calm before the storm.

The System’s voice returned, sharper now, resonating as if it spoke through the very stone beneath him.

[Floor 16: Trial of Martial Dao Initiated.]

This floor tests your path. Your Martial Dao.

Condition: Forced meditative state.

Requirement: Realize or manifest progression in this chosen intent—Battle, Sword, Spear, Dagger.]

[Default Alignment Detected: Battle Intent.]

Before Kael could brace himself, his knees buckled. His body remained on the mountaintop, locked in a meditative pose, but his mind was yanked inward, dragged into a realm that was neither physical nor spiritual—a place where the essence of his being was laid bare.

A battlefield unfurled before him.

The ground was cracked and barren, an endless plain of scorched earth stained with blood that gleamed wet and fresh.

Broken spears jutted from the dirt like the markers of forgotten graves. Tattered banners flapped in a wind that carried no sound, their faded sigils whispering of battles long past.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, though no clouds marred the bruised, violet sky above. The air was thick with the weight of violence, of lives ended and paths forged in blood.

Kael stood at the center, whole again—yet not the same. His wounds were gone, his fatigue erased. His form felt solid, heavier as if his presence carried a gravity it hadn’t before.

He looked down at his hands, unscarred and steady, and felt a truth settle into his bones: this place wasn’t an illusion. It was his intent. His Battle Intent, given form.

[Beginning Trial.

Intent Level: Nascent Battle Manifestation.

Objective: Progress to Martial Step One – Battle Embodiment.]

From the horizon, figures emerged, their steps shaking the earth. These were not the cold, mechanical constructs of the void. They were not illusions spun by the System. They were memories—every random foe Kael had ever faced, summoned from the depths of his past.

Mercenaries with scarred faces, their blades gleaming with malice. Cultivators cloaked in shimmering auras, their eyes alight with arrogance. Mutated beasts, their claws dripping with venom.

Even the street guards from Thorne, their cudgels raised as they had been years ago when Kael was just a boy scrabbling for survival. They marched as one, an army of his bloodshed, each carrying a killing intent that mirrored his own.

They weren’t here to test him. They were him.

Every step they took echoed his path, every weapon they raised a reflection of the battles that had forged him. This was his Martial Dao, laid bare—a complex design woven from violence, survival, and unrelenting will.

Kael exhaled, the sound steady despite the storm brewing within him. He carried no weapon, no dagger, no shield. Only himself. That would have to be enough.

The army charged.

Kael met them head-on, a lone figure against a tide of memory. His fist crashed into a brute’s jaw, bone shattering under the force. He spun, his elbow slamming into another’s temple, the impact sending a shockwave through his arm.

A curved blade—one he remembered carving a gash across his side years ago—sliced toward him. He ducked, snapping the wielder’s wrist with a twist and driving his knee into their gut. The figure crumpled, but more came.

Ten. Twenty. Fifty.

The onslaught was relentless, a flood of enemies that seemed to multiply with every heartbeat. Yet Kael didn’t falter. Each blow he struck, each movement he made, was more than instinct—it was memory.

Every battle he’d survived had etched itself into his bones, his muscles, his soul. He didn’t dodge; he adjusted, anticipating their strikes before they landed. He didn’t strike; he ended, each blow a culmination of lessons learned in blood.

But as the bodies fell, piling around him like offerings to a forgotten god, Kael felt a pressure building behind his ribs. It wasn’t pain—it was a storm, a crackling maelstrom of energy desperate to break free.

He staggered after crushing a beast’s neck beneath his boot, his breath coming hard not from exertion, but from a dawning realization.

This wasn’t a dream. This battlefield wasn’t showing him the path—it was asking if he had one. Did he fight for survival, for vengeance, for something greater? What was his Martial Dao?

The wind howled, tearing at the tattered banners. From the center of the battlefield, a figure stepped forward, its presence heavier than all the others combined.

Clad in black, its form was featureless—no face, no voice, yet achingly familiar. It was Kael’s silhouette, a perfect replica of himself, but distilled to its essence.

Its aura swirled with condensed bloodlust, each step sending tremors through the cracked earth. The air grew thick and oppressive as if the battlefield itself bowed to its presence.

[Final Phase Initiated.

Battle Manifestation – Self Conflict Form.]