My Charity System made me too OP-Chapter 293: Void Walker V

"It remembers this place," he murmured.

A glyph flared at the spire's base:

[Only Those Who Carry a Weapon Born of True Conflict May Enter]

Each team member stepped forward, unsheathing their signature weapons. Roman's silence-forged claymore, Roselia's mind-thread bow, Millim's chaos-wrapped fists, and Liliana's harmonic blade. The spire responded with a low, resonant hum—and opened.

First Chamber: The Blade Garden

They stepped into a vast field where blades grew like flowers—stuck upright in the earth, each one humming with a faint echo of memory. Some sang of victories. Others wept.

A large obsidian knight blocked their path—headless, but very much alive. Its armor was rusted black, its hands holding twin warblades shaped like lightning bolts.

As they prepared to fight, the knight didn't attack immediately.

Instead, it threw a blade at Roman's feet.

"A duel?" Roman blinked, then cracked a rare grin. "Fine by me."

As Roman picked up the blade, the knight mirrored him. The moment the duel began, no one else could move—a law of the chamber enforced it.

Each strike Roman dealt was answered with more brutal counters, the knight adapting to his every move. Roman began using footwork patterns from Roselia's training, mixing in false strikes from Millim's style.

Still, the knight endured.

Until Roman whispered a single word, "Hiraeth"—a code phrase from Leon's teachings—and used a void-laced feint that bent the knight's rhythm.

With one brutal cleave, he shattered its core.

The garden faded, leaving behind a trail to the next chamber—and a new weapon etched with Roman's name: Glassfang, the Memory Blade.

Second Chamber: Furnace of the Fallen

The next hall roared with heat—an eternal blacksmith's crucible, where spectral smiths hammered phantom steel on anvils of starlight.

A massive crucible-core hovered above a pit of seething metal. From it rose weapon-spirits—lost blades from history, enraged and looking for wielders. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

"We have to calm them," Liliana said. "Or destroy them."

The team split into pairs:

Millim grappled a spiral-axe that pulsed with old Berserker rage, matching it scream for scream until it recognized her madness as kin.

Roselia dueled a sun-threaded spear, outmaneuvering its radiant pulses with shadowy feints.

Naval faced a floating silver stiletto, small but cruel, and subdued it with cold logic and perfect parries.

Leon stepped into the crucible's heart and faced Tarsin, the Sword-Will of Dusk—a sentient greatsword lost to time. It launched itself at him, humming with betrayal.

"You were forged to kill kings," Leon muttered. "But I serve no throne."

Their clash shook the chamber—resonant shockwaves crashing into the walls as void magic flared from Leon's Origin.

He overpowered the blade not with force, but with understanding—he let it taste his will, a Voidbreaker's core: self-forged, free, absolute.

The sword bent.

Accepted him.

He held it high.

[Tarsin the Unbound] — Claimed.

Final Trial: The Bladekeeper's Memory

At the final chamber, a massive obsidian mural awaited—depicting a woman with twelve arms, each wielding a weapon, seated on a throne of rusted swords.

As they stepped forward, the mural breathed, and from it emerged a figure: the Bladekeeper, forged from memory, wielding the last twelve legendary weapons crafted in the Forge.

She spoke no words.

Instead, she attacked.

A blur of weapon styles, overwhelming and graceful, she came down on the team with everything—hammer, whip, scythe, dagger, bow, and more. Each phase of the fight changed her form.

Roman anchored the team, tanking earthshattering blows with Glassfang's parry shield.

Millim struck during wild phases, her unorthodox style confusing even the Bladekeeper.

Roselia and Naval weaved coordinated formation strikes to interrupt key moves.

Liliana manipulated harmonics mid-battle to dull the edges of some of the legendary weapons.

Leon, calm and silent, waited.

Until—

The Bladekeeper raised all twelve weapons in a glowing storm.

That was his cue.

Leon unleashed his Voidbinding Art: Absolute Severance, a slash of such metaphysical weight it unraveled the concept of her attack.

She froze—then knelt.

And smiled.

"You are worthy."

Dungeon Clear:

[Dungeon Core Stabilized]

[Unique Reward Unlocked: Bladekeeper's Ring]

Grants wearer adaptive weapon affinity—allows seamless mastery of any weapon held for longer than five seconds.

As the dungeon faded, the weapons in the Forge sang once more—not of grief, but of recognition.

Three dungeons cleared.

And the team… had just begun to truly ascend.

Leon turned toward the horizon. "Three more to go."

Millim laughed. "I hope the next one fights back harder."

Liliana smirked. "Careful what you wish for."

Roselia narrowed her eyes. "Because I think I just saw something move beneath the sixth moon."

And from far above… a blade-shaped shadow began to descend.

Dungeon Four: The Labyrinth of the Forgotten KingBeneath the veiled ridges of Floor 200's hollow mountains, buried under cursed stone and folded space, lay the next hidden trial—once a royal tomb, now a fractured mindscape where time lost its way and kings forgot their own names.

Descent into the Forgotten Realm

The entrance wasn't marked. It revealed itself only when Liliana traced a fading harmonic pulse—an echo only a Resonance-tier harmonicist could perceive. A spiraling staircase of shifting stone unfurled beneath a dead tree, opening a path into the darkness.

"This isn't a labyrinth of walls," Liliana whispered as they descended. "It's a labyrinth of memory."

Millim grinned, cracking her knuckles. "Then I'll punch the bad memories right out of it."

Leon chuckled. "You might have to."

At the bottom of the stair, the air changed. Warmth faded. Sound dulled. The team passed through a shimmering veil and emerged in a world of grayscale and flickering shadows—a broken palace caught between moments.

There were no obvious enemies.

Only mirrors.

Thousands of them.

First Trial: The Halls of Reflection

Each mirror reflected not their faces—but distorted versions of themselves—choices not taken, sins committed, victories never won. These weren't illusions. They were fragments, pulled from possible timelines and given form.

One by one, the team was pulled into isolated chambers by their own mirrors:

Roselia faced a version of herself who had embraced cold ambition and sacrificed her entire squad for a strategic win. The fight wasn't physical—it was a test of belief. Only by holding to her values did she dispel the mirror.

Millim's reflection mocked her recklessness, showing a version of herself that burned everything—friends, allies, the world—for fun. Millim destroyed it with sheer will, shouting, "I don't break what I love!"

Roman met a version who abandoned the team after early failure. A coward. He didn't speak. He simply cut it down.

Naval confronted a twisted version of herself that used calculation to manipulate and betray. Her response? Cold, efficient execution.

Liliana's mirror tried to seduce her into becoming the Rift's archivist—a figure who watched all, saved none. She walked away, whispering, "We aren't meant to record history. We're here to make it."

Leon met no mirror. Instead, the hallway whispered: There are no regrets in your soul, Voidbreaker… only purpose. And the mirrors stepped aside.

When the team regrouped, their reflections had vanished—and the path ahead opened.