My Charity System made me too OP
Chapter 372 - 372: The Choir II

The first step into Floor 304 was like walking into a hallucination.

The air shimmered—not hot, not cold, but unstable. Every breath was sharp, like inhaling fragments of glass and memory.

The world they entered was a sprawling, ruined city of mirrored buildings. Not glass—actual mirrors, tall and impossibly pristine despite the decay. Each reflected something wrong.

Leon stared at one.

He saw himself.

But not as he was now.

He was bleeding. Younger. On his knees. Holding someone in his arms—

He blinked. Gone.

Roman drew his weapon immediately. "Eyes up. Illusions are crafted from weakness and regret. They'll try to manipulate."

A pulse rang through the streets.

[Warning: You have entered a Resonant Zone.]

[Fracture Type: Mindcore Reflection – Tier VII minimum recommended.]

[Warning: Unknown Sovereign Thread detected. Matching—Rhythm Variant. Adjusting zone parameters… accepted.]

Liliana looked at Leon. "It just adapted to you."

Leon clenched his fist. "Then let's adapt back."

A massive plaza waited at the city center.

In its heart, a pedestal rose—covered in runes.

Upon reaching it, the Tower pulsed.

[Welcome, Rhythm Sovereign.]

[Floor Trial Protocol: Phase I – Shatterborn Echo Test Initiated.]

[Requirement: Defeat your Reflection.]

Before any could react, the world blurred.

And from the mirror behind them, he stepped out.

It was Leon.

But… not him.

This Leon was twisted. Covered in fragments of broken shell. His eyes glowed with corrupted Shell Pulse—red and black. Temporfang had mutated, grown jagged and warped.

The team drew back, preparing.

But the Tower intervened.

[This is your Sovereign Trial. No outside interference permitted.]

Roselia gritted her teeth. "Leon—"

"I know."

He stepped forward.

The two Leons faced one another in the mirrored plaza.

The corrupted Leon grinned. "You're not worthy."

Leon's real voice answered flatly. "I don't need to be. I am."

They charged.

The duel was brutal from the start.

The corrupted Leon mirrored every move—tempo for tempo, echo for echo.

When Leon used Tripart Echo, the reflection copied it—distorted but just as powerful. When he tried Karmic Loop, the twisted version laughed and broke the cycle by striking before the loop began.

"You're bound by rules," the copy hissed. "I'm what you'd become if you stopped caring. If you used Shell Pulse to destroy, not protect."

Leon's blade clashed again—and this time, it vibrated violently, nearly shattering. He backed off, breath heaving.

He needed more.

He needed something deeper.

His hand went to the Composer's Interface.

He activated the shard he'd received from the Choir.

[Sovereign Movement I – "The Beat Between Worlds" – Engaged.]

Time didn't stop. But it shifted.

He felt both versions of himself at once. The one who broke, and the one who endured.

And he chose.

His rhythm bent—not to speed or power—but understanding.

He struck once. Twice. Three times.

The echo reeled—each hit not physical, but compositional. The rhythm behind them unraveled, as Leon's own tempo became dissonant to the reflection's corrupted script.

Then he spun.

"Fracture Requiem."

One beat.

Silence.

Shatter.

The corrupted Leon exploded into hundreds of tiny music notes, fading into air.

[Reflection Defeated.]

[Resonant Trial Phase I: Complete.]

[You have unlocked: Floor 304: Mirror Arc Pathway I – Mind's Trace Gallery.]

Leon dropped to one knee—panting, drained.

But smiling.

Roselia rushed to his side.

He looked up at her.

"I'm fine."

"You always say that."

"This time… I think I mean it."

With the trial complete, the plaza unfolded.

A new pathway revealed itself—mirrors opening sideways like sliding doors, revealing a hallway lined with glowing paintings.

Each one depicted a memory.

Not of Leon's life—but of past Sovereigns.

Their trials. Their failures. Their last moments.

The Mind's Trace Gallery was more than a floor.

It was a library of loss.

And as the team walked its halls, one message became clear:

The Prime Composition was not just powerful.

It was unfinished—and many had died trying.

They walked in silence.

The corridor extended endlessly ahead, illuminated only by the soft glow of the memory frames. Each was suspended midair—glassy fragments of someone else's life, looping in quiet, spectral repetition.

Liliana glanced at one and stopped.

The painting shimmered—then surged into motion.

A battlefield.

Hundreds of bodies strewn across black sand.

A young man with sharp silver eyes stood in the middle, his rhythm echoing like thunder.

He weaved tempo and destruction into one.

Sovereign Kael – The Stormborn Beat.

He screamed something as he struck down a titan made of light—

Then looked toward the viewer.

And smiled.

The image dissolved.

[Sovereign #04 – Deceased. Cause: Rhythmic Disjunction. Prime Composition Fragment: Rejected.]

Roman frowned. "He smiled as he died."

Naval muttered, "Maybe he finished his rhythm."

Leon said nothing.

They kept walking.

Another image pulsed as they passed.

A woman danced alone in a snow-covered ruin.

Her music wasn't loud—it was haunting, beautiful, intimate.

Around her, illusions flickered: family, friends, a lover.

All fake.

She danced until she fell—

Not from wounds. But from loneliness.

Sovereign Lira – The Whisper Waltz.

[Sovereign #06 – Terminated by self-inflicted mental loop collapse. Prime Composition Fragment: Partially integrated. Incomplete.]

Roselia stood still before it.

"…She fought her war alone."

Milim looked uncharacteristically serious. "Or the Tower made her believe she had to."

Leon placed a hand on the frame.

He didn't speak—but his Shell Pulse resonated faintly with it.

It vibrated once, then dimmed.

Further down, the corridor began to change.

The walls twisted subtly. Instead of pure memory, some frames were now... corrupted.

Glitched.

Like fractured glass reflecting distorted truths.

One shimmered darkly.

Leon felt his body tense before he even saw what was inside.

A hall of rhythm.

A Sovereign dressed in crystalline armor—her movements exact. Refined. Divine.

Echoia.

The one who created the Gateworks.

She stood atop a fallen creature made of data and sorrow.

Her voice was music—but the kind played at a funeral.

She held a shard—one similar to what Leon now carried.

And she whispered to it:

"I wrote three movements. The fourth was too much. The fifth… I burned."

Then she turned, as if seeing Leon through the memory.

Her face twisted in pain.

"If you're watching, you're too late."

The memory collapsed.

Static surged.

[RESTRICTED MEMORY ACCESS – PRIMAL PULSE LOCKED]

[ACCESS LEVEL: SOVEREIGN COMPOSER REQUIRED.]

Leon took a step forward.

The painting was gone.

Only an empty wall remained.