Eldritch Assassin: Reincarnated With An SSS-Rank Devouring System
Chapter 97: Trial Of Martial Dao (III)

Chapter 97: Trial Of Martial Dao (III)

They matched each other, move for move, angle for angle, a brutal dance of mirrored instincts. But Kael saw the difference. His younger self fought like a wounded beast, every strike born of desperation, every movement a reaction to pain. It was effective, yes—but not refined. It sought to kill, not to end.

Kael let his body move, silencing the noise of thought. He stopped seeking openings and began flowing between them.

When Abyssal Fang moved, it didn’t slash—it slid, carving through the air with lethal grace. When he turned, he didn’t dodge—he melted around the blow, his movements a seamless extension of the dagger’s will. And when he struck, the edge found flesh, clean and precise.

The other Kael stumbled back, a slash blooming across its ribs, then another at its thigh. The wildness in its eyes began to fade, replaced by a flicker of hesitation. That was all Kael needed.

He moved low and fast, Abyssal Fang flickering like a shadow. He passed through the clone-like mist, his blade a whisper of death, and came to rest behind it. The dagger hovered at the clone’s throat, steady and unyielding.

One breath passed, heavy with the weight of what had been and what was becoming.

[Martial Step Achieved: Dagger Path – Early Comprehension Formed.

+6 Dexterity.

+3 Mental Cognition.

+4 Aura Sensitivity.

Dagger Intent – Initial Phase Awakened.]

[Path Style: Silent Eclipse (User-defined).]

You walk the Path of Precision—when a dagger is drawn, the battle has already ended.]

The forest brightened, twilight giving way to a soft, golden glow that filtered through the canopy. The younger Kael dissolved into fragments of light, carried away by a breeze that smelled of earth and possibility.

A soft hum resonated through the woods, not mechanical but organic, as if the pagoda itself acknowledged his growth, its ancient will stirring in approval.

Kael sheathed Abyssal Fang, the motion deliberate, almost reverent. No words passed his lips, no smile curved his face—only a profound stillness settled within him.

This wasn’t joy. It was alignment, a harmony between himself and the weapon that had carried him through countless battles. Before, he’d wielded Abyssal Fang to kill faster, to survive the chaos.

Now, he understood its true purpose: to end battles before they began, to cut through the noise with the certainty of a predator’s strike.

The Path of Precision was not about strength or speed, but about certainty—a silent, unyielding resolve that left no room for doubt. Kael was no longer just a fighter or a survivor. He was a predator, his dagger the eclipse that snuffed out the light before it could shine.

He turned, his gaze catching on a tunnel of light that had formed ahead, woven between the ancient trunks and swirling mist. It was a doorway, a path to the next phase of the Trial.

But Kael didn’t move immediately. His breath was steady, his spirit unshaken despite the ache in his limbs and the blood still seeping from his wounds. Something had shifted within him, a refinement that went beyond cultivation.

This was no mere test—it was a forge, stripping him down to his essence and reshaping what remained into something sharper, something deadlier.

Abyssal Fang glinted at his side, its weight lighter not because it had changed, but because Kael had. He understood it now, and perhaps, in some unfathomable way, it understood him back. The dagger wasn’t just a tool—it was a partner, a silent companion on the Path of Precision.

Kael stepped forward, into the tunnel of light, the forest closing behind him like a curtain drawn across a stage. The next phase awaited its challenges lurking in the shadows of the pagoda. But Kael was ready. He was no longer the hunted, no longer the boy fighting to survive.

He was the Silent Eclipse. And the hunt was his to claim.

The tunnel of light dimmed behind Kael, its radiance fading into a hushed silence that felt like the world holding its breath. No fanfare heralded his arrival, no System voice offered guidance—only a subtle pressure, ancient and unyielding, as if an unseen presence had fixed its gaze upon him.

It wasn’t oppressive, but it was undeniable, a weight that settled into his bones and stirred the edges of his soul.

Kael stepped onto the new floor, and the world transformed.

The terrain stretched out in a desolate expanse, a wasteland of cracked earth scorched black by fires long extinguished. Charred trees stood like skeletal sentinels in the distance, their twisted branches clawing at a sky choked with dull grey clouds that churned with restless energy.

No sun pierced the gloom, no wind stirred the air—only an absolute, unnerving silence hung over the landscape, heavy with the promise of something yet to come.

Kael took a breath, the air sharp with the taste of ash and iron, a bitter reminder of battles fought and blood spilled.

His boots pressed into the brittle ground, each step releasing a faint crunch that echoed in the stillness. This wasn’t peace—it was anticipation, the calm before a storm that had yet to break.

The silence was alive, waiting to exhale, and Kael’s instincts prickled with the certainty that something was watching, measuring, judging.

His hands twitched, Abyssal Fang still sheathed at his side, its familiar weight a quiet anchor. But this place didn’t hum to the dagger’s rhythm.

It whispered something different, something heavier—a call that resonated not with the swift precision of the dagger, but with a deeper, more deliberate cadence.

A low ring sounded, faint at first like steel dragged across the steel. It wasn’t a sound heard with ears—it was a vibration, a resonance that thrummed in his bones, pulsed in his blood, and stirred the depths of his soul. Kael turned, his senses sharpening, and saw himself.

Or rather, a version of himself.

This Kael was older, his features weathered yet resolute, his robes darker and tattered at the edges, yet worn with a pristine posture that spoke of unshakable confidence.

A long sword hung at his back, sheathed in plain leather, its presence unassuming yet commanding. He stood tall, arms relaxed at his sides, eyes closed in serene stillness as if the wasteland itself bowed to his presence.

Then those eyes opened.

The weight hit Kael like a physical force—not strength, not killing intent, but something deeper, as if the air around the figure had thickened, bending reality to its will.

The sword remained sheathed, yet Kael’s breath caught, his fingers twitching instinctively toward Abyssal Fang. He stepped forward, driven by a compulsion he couldn’t name—and the sword unsheathed.

The motion was singular, clean, not fast or loud but final, a movement that carried the weight of inevitability. A slash of silver light cleaved through the air, and Kael didn’t think—he moved.

He ducked, rolling forward as the blade’s pressure sliced the space where he’d stood, the force alone carving a shallow gash across his shoulder. Blood welled, warm against the cold air, and Kael hissed, the pain sharp and grounding.

This opponent—this older Kael—didn’t fight with fury or hunger. He fought with clarity, each motion a testament to a mastery Kael hadn’t yet grasped. The realization sank into him like a blade: this wasn’t just a fight. It was a lesson.

Kael lunged, Abyssal Fang, flashing toward the figure’s ribs, a strike honed by instinct and desperation. But the older Kael shifted, a single step sideways, his sword intercepting—not clashing, but gliding.

Steel met dagger, and instead of a spark, Kael felt his weapon veer off, his body twisting from the redirected force. He stumbled, barely catching himself on one knee, his breath ragged.

That wasn’t defense—it was redirection, effortless and controlled, a movement that didn’t resist but reshaped the flow of combat.

Kael narrowed his eyes, his mind racing. ’You’re not just my future. You’re the answer I haven’t found.’

The sword wasn’t there to stop him—it was there to teach him, to show him a path he hadn’t yet walked.

He stood, his body still aching, his wounds a map of battles past. The older Kael didn’t move, his stance patient, not arrogant, as if Kael were a student rather than an enemy.

Kael closed his eyes, letting the tension in his muscles unravel, his breath slowing to a steady rhythm. He listened—not to the windless air, not to the silence cloaking the wasteland, but to the sword’s rhythm, the way it bent the air, the echo it left in its wake.

He stepped forward again, but this time, he didn’t strike with speed or force. He mirrored. Abyssal Fang swept in a curved angle, not a slash but a test, like the first arc of a crescent moon. The sword met him, not to clash but to guide, their blades touching in a fleeting exchange.

Kael didn’t resist the redirection—he leaned into it, flowing with the arc, his body twisting as the dagger spiraled out and back again, rebounding from the sword’s momentum. He stepped inside the older Kael’s guard, his heart pounding with the thrill of discovery.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.