The Weapon Genius: Anything I Hold Can Kill
Chapter 133: A Star Is Watching

The dark didn't break all at once.

First, flickers of gold appeared in the distance—tiny specks of fire, hovering in an arc too precise to be natural. They hung there in silence, scattered like stars lost at ground level.

Then, one by one, the torches lit.

Soft blue fire spiraled to life inside each brazier, winding upward like it was waking from sleep. The circle expanded around them in eerie calm—lighting nothing but each other, casting long, warped shadows across the broken floor. The light didn't push back the dark.

It made it deeper.

Yujin tensed beside Jin, her eyes narrowing.

Then came the voice.

"Well now… would you look at that."

Not loud. Not harsh. But big. Smooth and sharp, in the way silk hides a knife. The kind of voice that had been waiting for an audience.

Jisoo spun slightly toward it. "Who—?"

A shape peeled out of the mist like it had been painted into the shadows.

A figure floated into view—robed in silk-stitched layers that shimmered like oil under moonlight, with two sharp horns curving back from its brow, and long claws clasping a glowing scroll. Its face was stretched into a grin both playful and wrong, and its feet didn't touch the ground.

"A dokkaebi," Jin said calmly.

The figure beamed at him like a host spotting a celebrity in their crowd.

"Oh, how delightful!" the dokkaebi chimed. "Recognition! How rare! And from the anomaly himself!"

It spun lazily in the air, drifting over the rim of the torch circle like it belonged to none of the rules around it.

"You're exactly as strange as they said, Jin Yeong."

It stopped, floating just inches above the stone, eyes glowing faint and hot. The scroll twirled once in its hand.

"I must say, I'm a bit of a fan."

No one spoke.

The dokkaebi grinned wider. "You're a legend, you know. Not just here—everywhere the system touches."

Jin's expression didn't change. "Why?"

"Oh please," the dokkaebi said, voice dripping with amusement. "Don't be modest. Let's start with the Qi Sha. Do you know how many territories collapsed under them?"

Its grin widened. "And you? You didn't just survive—you ended them. Clean. Fast. Precise."

It floated closer.

"And then, there's your encounter with Gugwe-mok."

The name seemed to carry a weight of its own. Even the mist behind the torches seemed to pause.

The dokkaebi leaned forward, voice quieter now, like it was savoring the syllables.

"Do you have any idea how many system candidates have fallen to myth-class monsters over the last three weeks? Hundreds. Thousands, even. Some defeated them. Some delayed them."

It paused, eyes narrowing.

"But you—you fought one of the old ones. And no one on your side died."

The dokkaebi turned in midair, robes flaring behind it.

"Your strength wasn't in just striking it down—it was in leading others who had no right to win. It was in surviving without sacrifice. And now…"

Its tone twisted upward.

"You've somehow convinced Aesteros, the wandering golem, the keeper of silence, the controller of earth itself, to fight for you."

Jin didn't blink.

"I didn't convince him."

The dokkaebi chuckled. "Which is exactly why he chose to."

It turned then, spiraling in the air once before floating back toward the center of the glowing ring.

"All across the world, territories are beginning to take shape. Warriors rise. Monsters fall. Heroes emerge."

"But even in all that… none of them are quite like you."

Jisoo broke the silence. "So what makes him different?"

The dokkaebi stopped mid-spin. Turned slowly.

"What makes Jin Yeong different," it said softly, "is that he's the first of his kind."

It lowered slightly, until it hovered at eye level.

"Other leaders found power. Jin builds it. Other survivors gained strength. Jin forges it."

It tapped the scroll once.

"And his potential? Infinite. A value the system itself wasn't prepared to read."

Yujin's tail twitched. Jisoo took a half step forward, expression unreadable.

The dokkaebi floated back a little and raised both hands.

"You are being watched, Jin Yeong. Not just evaluated. Watched."

It let that hang.

Then—

Jin's voice cut through it.

"What is this place?"

The dokkaebi clapped its hands together, pleased.

"Ah! Yes, yes, formalities. You've arrived in the Grounds of Ascension! One of many sacred testing zones designed to draw out what lies beneath your skin and behind your stats."

It spun midair, laughing. "It's a delightful arena, don't you think? Ever-changing. Ever-watching. It will reflect your strength and your doubt all at once."

"And what's the first trial?" Jin asked.

The dokkaebi froze.

Then grinned.

"Oh, no no no. No spoilers."

It floated higher now, scroll unfurling slightly as the torches dimmed into green.

"But since I do adore you, I'll give you a hint…"

Its voice lowered, almost a whisper now:

"Only the ones who forget what they are… remember what they're meant to become."

And the mist moved again.

The dokkaebi vanished in a flicker of smoke and laughter, its words hanging in the still air like incense.

Then the torches guttered—one by one—flames twisting into green spirals that sank into the stone. The mist recoiled all at once, as though someone had sucked the breath from the room.

And then the world changed.

The darkness peeled back like a curtain, not fading but folding—revealing a sky that wasn't a sky. It stretched overhead, endless and grey, choked with static clouds that pulsed with slow, sickly light. No sun. No stars. Just that heavy expanse.

And beneath it: the world.

Jin stepped forward, eyes narrowing.

The ground was cracked stone at first—like what they'd arrived on. But only a few meters ahead, it gave way to something else entirely.

A city.

Or... the ghost of one.

Buildings stood, crooked and uneven, some half-formed, others warped in shape as if caught between blueprints. Streets wound in unnatural curves. Signs flickered with unreadable script. Windows shifted shape when looked at too long. An entire landscape built from memory—but not their own.

Jisoo frowned, hand hovering near her side. "This looks like Seoul."

Yujin took a slow step forward, sniffed the air. "It smells... wrong."

The stone plaza beneath them sloped downward into the city basin. Faint glows pulsed in the cracked sidewalks. There were trees—planted evenly, as if by design—but their leaves were translucent, like thin glass, and shimmered when they moved. Some swayed in wind. Some didn't move at all.

A chill passed through the space that had nothing to do with temperature.

"It's not real," Jin said.

Yujin looked at him. "You're sure?"

He nodded. "It's a mimic. But not a random one."

She scanned the skyline. "So it copied Earth?"

"No," Jin said quietly. "It copied the idea of Earth."

From where they stood, the city looked peaceful. Abandoned, but untouched. But the further their eyes followed the horizon, the more the edges blurred. Streets warped into canals. Buildings sloped like hills. There were stairs that led nowhere. Roads that curved into the sky and stopped.

It wasn't just uncanny.

It was unstable.

Jisoo turned on her heel, scoping their surroundings. "This whole place feels... staged."

Jin didn't respond. His eyes were tracking something else—something subtle.

The air didn't feel dead.

It felt full.

Like the city was breathing, slowly, through invisible lungs.

Yujin muttered, "If this is an arena, where are the enemies?"

The answer didn't come.

No system prompt. No flash of danger. No flare of magic or trap.

Just the silence.

But silence never lasted long in trials like this.

A flicker moved across one of the rooftops ahead.

Too fast. Too light. Like a shadow pretending to be alive.

Jin's hand found his katana's hilt on instinct. "We're not alone."

"I'll take high ground," Yujin said, stepping back into a crouch. Her eyes shimmered gold, and her body shifted just slightly—posture lower, movements more feline.

Jisoo stretched one leg behind her and cracked her neck. "Straight lines only, boss. I'm not chasing illusions."

Jin exhaled through his nose and glanced toward the street ahead.

From where they stood, six different paths led into the city.

Each one curved just slightly out of sight.

Too many directions. No guidance.

And the dokkaebi's voice was gone now—no mocking tone, no hidden clue. Just that final riddle, already settling like dust in the corners of his mind.

Only the ones who forget what they are...

Remember what they're meant to become.

He hated riddles.

But this wasn't just a cryptic line—it was instruction.

Yujin returned, tail flicking once. "The rooftops aren't empty."

"Figures," Jisoo muttered.

"I didn't see anything clearly," she added. "But something moved. Small. Fast. Not feral."

"So someone else?" Jisoo asked.

Jin didn't answer right away.

He stared at the city again. At the way the buildings slouched in half-familiar shapes. At the streets that curved like memories.

"It's not a trap," he said. "Not yet."

"Then what is it?" Yujin asked.

"A test of what we expect," Jin replied.

That riddle wasn't random. If this place was built to test potential, then it wouldn't be a normal arena. It wouldn't throw them into a fight and see who won. It would try to peel something back.

He tightened his grip on the sword.

"We go in," he said. "No formation yet. Just eyes open. No weapons drawn unless needed."

Jisoo tilted her head. "We're walking into that mess without knowing what's in it."

"That's the point," Jin said. "It wants us to assume. That's the trap."

He turned and started toward the city.

Behind him, the others followed.

And the moment their boots touched the steps leading down into the mimicry of their world, the lights began to change.

Soft glows flickered on inside some of the buildings. A lamppost sparked to life, humming softly with a golden-blue hue. Shadows slid just slightly across the edges of walls.

And somewhere in the distance, faint music began to play.

A piano. Slow. Melancholy.

The city welcomed them in silence.

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