My Charity System made me too OP
Chapter 370 - 370: Echo Sovereign III

The blade shone with every battle he'd fought.

Obsidian Ants. Rankers. The Temple of Ten Fists. The Forge. The Gateworks.

He was not just using rhythm.

He had become it.

"Fracture Requiem—Full Layer Release."

He vanished.

When he struck next, it was not a cut.

It was a rewrite.

The sound, the light, the tempo—everything collapsed into one perfect, final beat.

And the world shattered.

He stood again in the chamber.

The woman had collapsed to one knee. Her form flickered—but she smiled, eyes glowing brighter than before.

"Then it is yours," she whispered. "The Gateworks are open."

She reached up and touched his forehead.

[Final Pulse Node Activated.]

[Gatework Floor 303 – Fully Restored.]

The entire tower shook faintly—not from damage, but from recognition.

The Floor was no longer fractured.

It was awake.

"I will remain here," she said, beginning to dissolve. "And I will remember you."

Leon caught her gaze.

"What was your name?" he asked.

She smiled again.

"…No one remembers now. But you can call me Echoia."

Then she vanished.

And the Node pulsed one last time—bright, radiant.

Then dimmed, having served its purpose.

Roselia entered the chamber first. She didn't say a word, just looked at Leon—whose shoulders trembled only slightly.

Liliana stepped in behind her, followed by the rest.

No one needed to ask what had happened.

The silence said it all.

Floor 303 had a new Sovereign.

And the Tower would never forget it.

Floor 303 was no longer cold.

It didn't feel abandoned. It didn't feel fractured. The air that had once pressed in like static now felt open—alive.

As Leon and his team emerged from the final node chamber, the halls around them had already begun to shift. Not violently, but gracefully—as if the Tower itself were reconfiguring in real time, welcoming them deeper.

The ancient gears turned for the first time in centuries. Hanging bridges realigned, forming walkways that had once crumbled into memory. Lights flickered, then brightened, casting warm pulses along the pulse-thread veins in the walls.

The Gateworks were alive again.

And the Sovereign had been accepted.

Leon said nothing at first.

He just walked.

Temporfang sheathed at his side, still humming faintly. But his eyes had changed—deeper, focused, but also… softened.

Whatever he saw during that duel with Echoia had lingered.

Roselia didn't press. She simply walked beside him, silent.

But it was Liliana who finally broke the stillness.

"So… what now?" she asked. "We just fixed an entire floor of the Tower. We've unlocked something older than any of us can comprehend. Shouldn't someone be rolling out the red carpet?"

Milim stretched lazily, arms above her head. "You're thinking too small. The Tower just blinked awake because of us. That's the kind of thing that echoes upward."

Naval nodded. "I'm expecting visitors."

Roman's eyes narrowed. "Multiple."

As if on cue—

A bell tolled in the distance.

Not just any bell.

A Towerline Pulse.

A message traveling through the internal systems of the Tower—directed to all Sovereign-flagged Ascenders and high-clearance entities.

Leon lifted his wrist.

A soft projection flickered above his pulseplate.

[From: The Deep Harmonics Choir – Floor 350]

Subject: Invitation to Accord.

"Rhythm Sovereign Leon. Your activation of Gateworks has reawakened a dormant Frequency Node connected to the Tower's basal AI. We request dialogue."

"Arrival pending. Expect envoy within the hour."

[From: The Archive of Echoed War – Floor 390+]

Subject: Observation Notice.

"Rhythm-aligned anomaly detected. Your current configuration matches five known pre-collapse Sovereign nodes. Surveillance engaged. You are now under non-hostile monitoring."

[From: Independent Watcher Cell – Origin Unlisted]

Subject: Heir of Beat: Confirmed.

"A Sovereign who echoes clean. This is rare. The pulse is with you. Walk wisely."

Liliana's jaw dropped. "Did we just get pinged by three of the most powerful factions in the Tower?"

Roselia raised an eyebrow. "No. We got noticed. Only one of them's talking."

Milim grinned. "Still. We've officially hit the big leagues."

Leon exhaled slowly. "I didn't fix the floor to be noticed."

Roman crossed his arms. "Doesn't matter. The moment you did, the game changed."

Before the envoy's arrival, the Tower gifted its final reward.

In the center of the now-restored sector, a massive double-door opened. Not mechanical. Not magical. But resonant. The doors recognized Leon's beat and parted.

Inside was a chamber known only in legend:

The Forge of Memory.

Built directly into the Tower's backbone, this Forge wasn't for weapons or armor—it was for echo constructs. Memory-bound tools, rhythm-bonded relics, and artifacts too dangerous or strange to replicate.

The chamber was vast, hexagonal, with platforms floating at various heights. Each contained a different relic suspended in time.

One of the platforms pulsed the moment Leon stepped in.

He approached.

[Name: Echo Lens – Sovereign Class Accessory]

A single eye-piece that allows the wielder to see temporal fractures and read combat tempo like musical notation. Used by the First Sovereign in the War of Collapse. Requires attunement.

Leon accepted it.

Another pulsed open:

[Name: Rhythm Core Fractal – Unused Pulse Conductor]

An implantable shard capable of storing a rhythm-based subroutine or battle pattern. Can be imprinted with one of your Shell Reverb sequences and passed to another.

Liliana's eyes widened. "You could teach someone else your rhythm… without them needing your level."

Leon looked thoughtful. "Or… record a future one I haven't made yet."

He collected it too.

And finally, a central node pulsed open—revealing an item wrapped in light.

[Name: Harmonized Null Cloak]

A cloak forged during the original Rhythm Sovereign's last trial. Nullifies tempo-based tracking and scrambles predictive AI. Once lost. Now returned.

Roselia stepped beside him. "This was her cloak."

Leon held it quietly for a moment. Then nodded once and donned it.

They didn't wait long.

Less than an hour after restoring the Forge, the Gateworks trembled—and a pathway uncoiled in the air, forming a corridor of pure pulse-light.

From within stepped three figures.

One wore robes that flowed like sheet music—every step she took rippled in waveforms. Her face was covered with a mask of harmonic steel.

The second was an automaton built of golden bone and blue crystal, its movements precise, its voice in layered chords.

The third was cloaked entirely in silence. Not invisibility. Just absence.

The Choir had arrived.