I Can Assimilate Everything
Chapter 259 - 259: Great Grandfather II

Achilles pressed his palm lightly into the Life Spring water, watching it ripple outward in radiant concentric rings. His Lineage, still refining, hummed in his blood, but something deeper stirred. A connection, coiling in the stellar marrow of his bones.

That was another thing. The fact that as of right now, he was actually building his Sky as a Sky Dharma King- he had not even began entering the stage of Luminblood Astral Core Ascension or its higher stage of Celestbone, and yet he already had starlight in his blood and his bones due to nothing else but his lineage. it was glorious as the sheer incredulity of what his power could spill into when he actually became an Astral Core Ascension entity…

But he refocused on the quality that has seemingly been calling out to him.

Lineage Memory V.

The ancient dreams of the Adrastia Dynasty. Visions of kings and empires that had once ruled.

Their power, explosive.

Their secrets, dangerous.

He gazed skyward again.

The night above was clear, crystalline. Starlight pooled like liquid silver, and in the forest canopy, threads of cosmic mist slithered between the trees.

It was perfect.

Silent.

Uninterrupted.

It was time.

He let his eyes close once more, submerging his awareness into the depthless void within himself. Reaching not for more power, but for memory.

|Initiate Lineage Memory V.|

A single breath.

The Life Spring water flared white around him, the ripples rising, cascading into swirling spires of mist and liquid light.

Above his floating form, the constellations seemed to tremble, shimmer.

And then…

HUUM!

A pulse of pressure, not outward, but inward.

The Dreams of his Ancestors, long buried in the marrow of his lineage, surged up to claim him. Entities who had once ruled star systems. Emperors whose banners had waved over entire continents. Ancient figures who had warred against horrors and emerged triumphant.

A world of memory opened.

Explosive.

Visceral.

Real.

—

The moment Achilles closed his eyes, his consciousness plunged.

Deeper than sleep.

Deeper than dreams.

Into something far more visceral.

A slumber not of the body, but of the blood.

And when he woke…

…he was on a furnace.

No.

Inside a furnace.

The heat was beyond comprehension.

The very air blazed, every molecule vibrating with furious, terrifying energy. The world around him was a swirling storm of crimson-gold light, so dense and radiant that even the faintest spark would have vaporized an ordinary body a thousand times over.

Yet he stood.

Or rather, he hovered, weightless, suspended in this realm of annihilation.

And around him…

The core of a Dwarf Star.

…!

He knew this innately.

As if he had been here many times. As if he remembered it from the brief pictures of records whenever he refined his Bloodline.

A crimson-gold Dwarf Star, small in the endless expanse of the Star Seas, but unimaginably hot. Achilles' senses sharpened under the impossible heat, realizing there was a membrane of protection wrapped around his body—an inheritance of his bloodline, an unspoken permission of this memory.

He was allowed to exist here.

To witness.

And then.

Amidst the roaring of solar storms, he heard it.

The sound of hammer striking metal.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

Each strike vibrated not just the air but the very fabric of the star itself, ripples of force cascading outward in golden waves.

Then- words, deep and thunderous, yet almost casual in their power.

"You are currently in the core of one of the hottest Dwarf Stars in the Star Seas. And looking at your age and face… are you my grandson? Or my great-grandson?"

…!

Achilles focused, his violet-gold eyes adjusting to the blaze, peering through the molten light.

And there, standing alone amidst the heart of the star…was a figure.

A giant.

No, a blacksmith.

The man was built like the foundation of a mountain. Bare-chested, his skin was a canvas of sun-forged bronze laced with pulsing veins of molten gold. Muscles corded and knotted like cables rippled with every breath he took. His face, broad, lined with scars that no fire could heal, bore an uncanny resemblance to Achilles, though older, harsher, wilder.

Hair like a dark, smoldering corona of flame framed his head, and his eyes, twin furnaces of molten starlight, gazed without blinking.

He was forging.

Before him stood a forge.

Not just any forge.

A stellar blacksmith's altar.

The anvil was a massive block of crystalline blackstone, veined with silver and starfire, each crack glowing faintly with ancient runes.

Around it, embers floated like tiny, dying suns. The forge itself was a yawning pit of condensed Dwarf Star material, held together by willpower alone, churning and surging but never spilling over.

The hammer in the man's hand was colossal.

A forgehammer crafted from the core of a collapsed star—its handle wrapped in ancient leather, its head studded with cracked Celestbone fragments, thrumming with titanic gravitational pulses.

BOOM.

He struck again.

The weapon on the anvil sparked—literally. Sparks that looked like meteors exploded outward, some fizzling harmlessly against Achilles' protective shroud, and some landing and illuminating glorious weapons.

And what weapons they were.

Arrayed around the massive forge in a sacred circle, floating mid-air, were dozens—no, hundreds—of creations.

Swords with edges so thin they could split not just atoms but concepts.

Halberds that shimmered with condensed star charts along their blades.

Spears tipped with cores of frozen time.

Axes whose heads sang dirges in the language of gravity itself.

A bow of woven stellar threads, each strand a tether to distant suns.

A shield, circular, seamless, whispering promises of unbreakable defense, its surface painted with the dying cries of stars.

All these and more, each pulsing with life, with will as if they were not weapons, but living, breathing extensions of war itself.

Achilles' entire being vibrated.

The power of these weapons spoke to the star light of his bones and blood!

To the Adrastia in him.

The blacksmith, his Great-Grandfather, paused in his hammering and glanced over with a feral grin, teeth gleaming like sun-scorched ivory.

"Great-grandson, huh?"

They both looked at each other and knew.

The Sixth Adrastia Emperor King looked at the Ninth Adrastia Emperor King!

His voice was rough velvet, amused but warm.

He planted the hammer in the anvil with a deafening clang, the Dwarf Star's core rippling outward at the sound, and turned fully to Achilles.

"You've got a little strength in you," he rumbled, stepping closer. Each footfall was like a tectonic event. "I can smell it. Your blood's begun the Refinement…even if it is a tab but low currently."

He waved a massive hand, calloused and burned by a million forge-fires.

"Come. Stand closer to your Great Grandfather. Tell me, what do you seek, Boy? What wisdom do you wish to pull from this memory you traverse?"

…!

Achilles was silent for a breath, still drinking in the impossible sight of the weapons that floated around him, this arsenal that could turn civilizations to ash or carve new stars from the void.

He tore his gaze away, forcing himself to meet his ancestor's eyes.

Slowly, steadily, he stepped forward- each movement heavy with the weight of the moment.

The blazing heat kissed his skin, but he did not flinch.

When he spoke, his voice was low, calm, filled with the same iron certainty that now defined him!

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