Rising god
Chapter 66: Another Sense & SYSTEM...

Chapter 66: Another Sense & SYSTEM...

Baines stood in the blinding white room of the second test, his breath ragged as the realization hit him like a cold wave: the assassins were cloaked in his own blood, their scent indistinguishable from the coppery tang that saturated the air.

In this environment, where he had acclimated to the overwhelming smell of blood, they were effectively odorless, blending seamlessly into the battlefield.

Then an idea came, ’I haven’t tried to catch them yet,’ he muttered before letting himself die once more, the now-familiar darkness of death enveloping him, only to awaken once more on the staircase.

This time, he was prepared. As he stepped into the white void, he absorbed the blood from his latest corpse with the demon blade, its dark metal humming as it drank in the crimson essence.

The air shifted subtly, and Baines’s heightened senses, honed through countless deaths, picked up the faintest whispers of movement.

Whoosh... Whoosh... Whoosh.

The assassins were fast, but he was faster now, his eyes and ears attuned to their elusive patterns.

His gaze darted across the featureless expanse, tracking their invisible forms like a predator stalking prey.

Ptchch.

A dagger plunged into his hand, the pain sharp and immediate. But Baines grinned, a feral edge to his expression. "Got you," he growled.

The assassin’s blade was lodged in his flesh, giving him a split second to act.

He lunged, the Last Front sword slicing through the air.

Shng. A gash opened across the cloaked figure’s face, blood seeping through the fabric before it dissolved into mist.

’Now, all I have to do is cut them all,’ he muttered and let his eyes dark across the void, tracking the faint disturbances in the air.

With lightning speed, he hurled the demon blade backward, its edge sinking into the shoulder of another assassin.

The figure vanished, but Baines marked it in his mind. ’Two,’ he counted, his focus razor-sharp.

It didn’t take long to deliver gashes to all five assassins, their blood mingling with his own on the white floor. Satisfied, he let himself die once more, returning to the staircase.

This time, when he returned, he distinguished the subtle differences in the blood between his own, thick and familiar, versus the assassins’ tainted essence.

He parried their relentless attacks, his movements fluid despite the mounting exhaustion.

But then, a new sensation or lack thereof gripped him.

’I can’t feel my skin,’ he realized, the absence of touch disorienting. The world seemed to recede, leaving him in a void of sensory deprivation. Maybe this was the worst of all, as he just kept finding himself back on the staircase.

By the 140th time he’d stood there, staring into the white abyss.

"Am I meant to develop another sense or something?" he wondered aloud, his voice tinged with frustration but also curiosity.

He descended again, lasting until the loss of touch overwhelmed him. "I can’t feel anything, so what do I do?" he muttered, returning to the staircase once more.

Random swings were useless against intelligent foes, so he focused inward, searching for a new way to perceive the assassins.

By his 200th try, something shifted.

In the darkness of his sensory void, an instinct flared, an urge to act. He acted and threw his dagger without thinking, and

Clink!

It connected, deflecting an incoming blade.

’It worked,’ he breathed

It was only an instinct, and he decided to trust it. Without hesitation, he tried clinging to that fleeting instinct.

On his 223rd attempt, the instincts grew clearer, like brushstrokes painting a picture in his mind. The movements of the assassins, their trajectories, and their intentions.

They appeared as vivid images, guiding his hands, just like how the picture of Ashenfall entered his mind. He followed the movement and moved like a painter, each stroke of his dagger deliberate, deflecting and countering with uncanny precision.

The moonfang materialized in his other hand, its edge gleaming with a cold, silver light. He was now confident.

Baines didn’t hesitate or wait or defend anymore. He pursued the assassins, their movements now clear in his mind.

He engaged one in a furious dagger play, their blades clashing in a symphony of steel.

Another sneaked up behind him, but Moonfang was there, blocking the strike, followed by a swift kick that sent the assailant staggering.

The first assassin tried to slip away, but Baines was relentless, dodging the others’ attacks as he chased his target.

As four assassins descended from above, their blades poised to end him, Baines dove forward, his body propelled by sheer instinct.

He appeared before his target in an instant, Moonfang piercing its back with a sickening Ptchch.

The assassin collapsed silently, no scream, no cry, just a lifeless heap on the white floor.

With its death, a rush of power flooded through him.

His sealed aura surged back, coursing through his muscles and veins, his core trembling with exhilaration.

Even without his senses, the world felt sharper, clearer. The layout of the room materialized in his mind, every detail vivid and precise.

He turned, his gaze fiendish, locking onto the remaining assassins.

Before they could retreat, Baines tore through the space between them, his movements a blur.

"Flicker Cut," he intoned, teleporting behind one assassin and slashing with Moonfang. In the same breath, he unleashed "Crescent Storm" on another, a barrage of moon-shaped energy blades ravaging their body.

He shifted his second hand, unleashing another Crescent Storm, the twin attacks shredding the assassins’ forms. They collapsed, their bodies torn apart by the relentless onslaught.

His soul energy and sense of touch returned, flooding his body with sensation.

Without pausing, Baines charged the final two assassins. They raised their swords to block his Crescent Storm, but he anticipated their move. Moonfang arced from an unexpected angle, aiming for their heads. Caught off guard, they couldn’t adjust in time, and their bodies fell, lifeless.

His remaining senses, sight, hearing, and smell, returned in a rush, grounding him in the moment.

Baines clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling the strength coursing through him.

He had grown stronger, and it showed a lot as his power was now firmly in the middle of the 6th star.

Then, a sudden notification jolted him.

[SYSTEM UPGRADED: SYSTEM 2.0]

Baines frowned, "Eye?" He had been banking on this thing, and it failed him. If people were betraying him and machines were failing him, he didn’t know what to say,

"Where were you?" he demanded.

[DUE TO SUBSEQUENT FAILURES, SYSTEM TOOK AN UPGRADE]

"Failures?" Baines’s frown deepened. Was it referring to the volcano incident, or when it couldn’t detect the anomaly in the throne room?

The idea that the Eye could fail him stung, but its response intrigued him.

"Eye, do you perhaps have consciousness?" he asked. Eye was a machine, a piece of advanced technology, not a person. Yet its decision to upgrade suggested something more.

[INCORRECT. ADVANCED ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE IS AN ADVANCED TECHNOLOGY]

[THERE IS A TENDENCY TO UPGRADE IN CASES OF FAILURE OR INCAPABILITY]

"Hmm... next time, ask before you upgrade," Baines said, his tone firm but tinged with relief.

Eye was back, and though it wasn’t sentient, it was still his ally.

He began climbing the stairs to the next floor, his grip on Moonfang and the Last Front sword tight.

[NOTED]

The reply came like a faint reassurance in the sterile voice.

’Now, the first test helped me master my soul, the second honed my senses,’ he mused. ’What will the third entail?’ The question hung in the air as he pushed through a set of double doors, their heavy wood creaking under his touch.

The sight that greeted him was nothing short of surreal.

SHAAAAAA!

A cacophony of claps and cheers erupted, filling the air with a fervor that set his nerves on edge.

He stood in the familiar grand throne room, its black pillars etched with glowing red runes that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Red chandeliers hung overhead, their flickering light casting eerie shadows across the blood-red carpet that stretched toward a raised platform.

The room, once desolate, now thrummed with life, its gloomy aura both majestic and oppressive.

On either side of the carpet, countless hooded figures stood, their faces obscured but their cheers directed at him.

At the far end, perched on a throne of dark stone, sat a woman with hair the color of fresh blood and eyes that pierced through him like daggers.

Her reckless grin directed at Baines felt like a physical force.

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