Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 96: Trial Of Martial Dao (II)

Chapter 96: Trial Of Martial Dao (II)

The phantom stepped forward, then knelt, as if in reverence to the choice Kael had made. The world erupted in light, a radiant pulse that washed over him, through him, binding him to the spear in a way he couldn’t yet fathom.The phantom stepped forward, then knelt, as if in reverence to the choice Kael had made. The world erupted in light, a radiant pulse that washed over him, through him, binding him to the spear in a way he couldn’t yet fathom.

[Martial Step Achieved: Spear Path – Initial Comprehension Formed.

+8 Dexterity.

+4 Perception.

+2 Willpower.

Spear Intent has entered the Early Embryonic Phase.]

[Path Style: Predator Flow (User-defined).

You have begun walking the Way of the Hunt.]

The void reformed around him, its oppressive darkness now tinged with a faint luminescence as if acknowledging his progress. Kael exhaled, slow and controlled, the spear still pulsing faintly in his hand.

It wasn’t Abyssal Fang—not entirely—but it carried the same essence as if the dagger had always held this potential, waiting for him to catch up.

His muscles twitched, pain flooding back as the adrenaline of the trial faded. His body was still a wreck, wounds weeping blood, his robes tattered and heavy with crimson.

Yet his spirit felt light, alive as if a spark had ignited within him, burning away the weight of doubt.

This trial was different. It wasn’t a test of survival or strength—it was a forge, a crucible meant to strip him down to his essence and refine what remained.

Every floor, every challenge, was shaping him, carving away the rough edges to reveal the warrior beneath.

A low hum reverberated through the void, the ground beneath him trembling. Cracks spiderwebbed across the weightless plane, and then it fell away, plunging downward in a cascade of unseen stone. Kael didn’t brace himself—he let it happen, surrendering to the descent.

The air screamed around him, the spear in his hand flickering with streaks of dark light. He passed through layers of haze, each one peeling back like veils of a dream, his heart calm despite the chaos.

Then—impact.

He landed hard, knees bending as the ground shattered beneath him, dust rising in a choking cloud. The spear sang in his grip, its low hum harmonizing with the thunderous rhythm of his heartbeat. He rose, scanning his surroundings.

A forest stretched before him, its ancient trees towering like sentinels, their trunks thicker than castle walls. Twilight hung overhead, casting a dim, otherworldly glow through the canopy, the leaves whispering secrets in the stirring wind. Shadows danced across the forest floor, shifting and alive, as if the woods themselves were watching.

No System voice announced the new floor. No message declared its purpose. There was only the silence of expectation, heavy with the promise of what was to come.

Kael stepped forward, the spear resting lightly against his shoulder. The third phase had already begun, its challenge lurking in the shadows of the forest.

But this time, Kael didn’t wait for the trial to find him. The spear had awakened something within him—a predator’s instinct, a hunter’s resolve.

He was no longer the hunted, he was the spear. And it was his turn to hunt.

Kael moved through the forest like a wraith, his steps silent, each footfall deliberate on the moss-covered earth. The air was thick and humid with an unnatural tension that clung to his skin like a second shadow.

Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig underfoot, felt orchestrated—not by nature, but by the will of the Trial itself, a living entity woven into the fabric of this otherworldly place.

The spear he’d wielded in the previous phase pulsed faintly in his grip, its glow flickering like a dying ember, casting faint glimmers across the gnarled roots that twisted around him.

He paused beneath the sprawling canopy of a massive tree, its trunk wrapped in roots like the coils of some ancient beast, and drove the spear into the ground with a soft thud.

He left it there.

The weapon had served its purpose, but it wasn’t what he needed now. His hand drifted to his waist, where a familiar weight called to him, its presence a quiet promise in the stillness.

Kael drew Abyssal Fang, the dagger blacker than the void, its edge shimmering with a suppressed hunger that seemed to hum in harmony with his heartbeat.

He rolled his shoulder, the motion slow and deliberate, his muscles aching from battles past. His bones creaked, still sore from the crucible of the void, but the pain was a tether—a reminder that he was alive, that he was changing.

The moment he stepped beyond the clearing, the forest shifted. Reality twisted, the air growing heavy and oppressive as if the world itself had drawn a breath and held it.

The trees stretched taller, their branches clawing at a sky that dimmed to a bruised twilight. The wind stilled, leaving only a suffocating silence that pressed against his eardrums. Kael’s grip tightened on Abyssal Fang, its weight grounding him in the face of the unknown.

Then, from the shadows ahead, five figures emerged.

They were cloaked in black, their faces hidden behind masks carved into the grinning maws of wolves, their eyes glinting like polished obsidian. No aura pulsed from them, and no killing intent radiated outward.

They were simply there, their presence a quiet menace that made the air feel heavier as if the forest itself feared to breathe in their company. One stepped forward, its movements fluid yet deliberate, a predator sizing up its prey.

Then, in a blink, they vanished.

Kael’s dagger dropped low, his stance tightening, every muscle coiled like a spring. His senses sharpened, attuned to the faintest disturbances in the air. These were no ordinary foes. They were assassins, born of silence and shadow, their blades promising death without fanfare.

The first struck from above, a blade flashing through the canopy like a falling star. Kael moved before his mind could catch up, rolling to the side as the steel sliced through the space where he’d stood.

His dagger arced upward, meeting flesh with a wet hiss. Blood sprayed, but the attacker dissolved into a mist of smoke, leaving only the echo of its strike.

Not real?

The second came from behind, its approach betrayed only by the faintest whisper of breath. Kael spun, parrying the strike with Abyssal Fang, the impact sending a jolt through his arm. He stepped in close, his elbow smashing into the assassin’s ribs with a crack.

His dagger followed, low and swift, plunging into the figure’s gut with brutal precision. It, too, dispersed into smoke, its form unraveling like a dream.

But Kael felt it—the rhythm of the fight, the way his body moved. It wasn’t reacting to the enemies. It was reacting to him, to the instincts honed by countless battles, to the silent song of the dagger in his hand. Abyssal Fang wasn’t just a weapon—it was an extension of his will, a partner in the dance of death.

The third assassin struck, its blade carving through the air toward his neck. Kael ducked, the steel grazing his hair, his instincts screaming. Too slow. He adjusted, his movements sharper, more precise.

The fourth was faster, its presence a flicker in the shadows, but Kael was ready. He didn’t watch with his eyes—he felt the threads of aura, the subtle shifts in breath, the faint shimmer of light bending around their forms.

Abyssal Fang responded, curving with his wrist as he slashed across the attacker’s throat, the motion fluid, without waste or hesitation. The figure dissolved, its essence scattering into the twilight.

Kael paused, his breath slow and measured, his chest rising and falling in time with the forest’s pulse. And then he understood. These weren’t just enemies—they were memories, reflections of every silent killer he’d faced, every ambush that had tested his survival.

The Trial wasn’t testing his technique or strength. It was forcing him to confront the essence of the dagger, to remember why he wielded it.

Abyssal Fang wasn’t a tool for duels or parrying spears. It was a weapon of endings—swift, silent, and certain. When Kael fought with it, he didn’t fight. He ended, cutting through chaos with the precision of a predator claiming its prey.

The final figure emerged from the shadows ahead, and Kael’s breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t masked. It was him—a younger, feral version of himself, scarred and raw, his eyes burning with a cold fury.

This was Kael before the trials, before Mira, before the pagoda had reshaped him. A killer surviving day to day, driven by rage and instinct, wielding a dagger not for precision but for survival.

Kael’s fingers tightened around Abyssal Fang, its weight a steady anchor against the storm of memory. The other Kael rushed forward, a blur of shadows and steel, no warning, no hesitation.

He was fast—faster than the assassins, faster than Kael had expected. Their blades clashed, the sound sharp and echoing through the ancient trees, a discordant note in the forest’s silence.

Kael ducked the first swipe, pivoted, and blocked the second, the force of the impact reverberating through his bones. The clone pressed forward, relentless, its strikes wild yet efficient, fueled by a raw, unrefined fury.

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