My Charity System made me too OP-Chapter 451: Throne VI

Duel One – Roman vs. Fervan of the Trial Maw

Zone: Echo Labyrinth

The duel was not fire and fury—it was memory.

Roman constructed a maze of echo halls. Every step Fervan took, he heard the screams of climbers he’d broken. The regrets of those who gave up. The silence of the ones who never got back up.

Fervan’s strength was punishment.

Roman’s strength was reminder.

They clashed in the deepest chamber. Sound and silence collided. Sonic spears met molten chains. Echoes bled into will.

When Roman landed the final strike—a focused echo loop of Fervan’s own failures—he didn’t kill the Architect.

He let him fall to one knee.

And say nothing.

Victory.

Duel Two – Milim vs. Seluune of Endless Pacts

Zone: Stormfield Arena

Milim’s floor was madness—lightning ripping sideways, the ground shifting constantly, gravity twisting.

Seluune tried to bind her with contracts. "Fight cleanly," she demanded. "No chaos. No unpredictability."

Milim laughed. "You picked the wrong girl."

What followed was less a battle, more a whirlwind of speed, instinct, and kinetic havoc. Milim broke every rule. Refused every pattern. Forced Seluune into deal after deal—each one cleverly loopholed, until the Architect’s own pact magic betrayed her.

Final strike: a headbutt. Raw and simple.

Milim stood over her, grinning.

"Your rules don’t work on storms."

Victory.

Duel Three – Roselia vs. Halver, Judge of Balance

Zone: Iron Veil

Roselia didn’t sculpt this one.

She let the Tower do it.

Because the Iron Veil was already perfect.

A field of pressure plates. Traps. Shifting walls. Equal footing.

Halver brought equilibrium.

Roselia brought endurance.

Every strike was matched.

Every technique countered.

Until Halver finally overextended—because Roselia never tired. And in a perfect moment, her shield broke through balance itself.

She knocked him off the dais—not with power, but with unbreaking resolve.

"You can weigh a hundred battles," she said. "But I only need one."

Victory.

Leon watched all three duels in silence.

The Bastion trembled—but did not crack.

Three Architect-class challengers.

Three victories.

He stood at the Dais alone now, the sky above pulsing. The Tower was not silent.

It was watching.

And somewhere in the highest reaches of the Architect Layer—

A new figure stepped forward.

One hand resting on the hilt of a blade made from collapsed space.

A voice echoed across layers, cold and clear.

"Leon Aetheren."

"You’ve proven you can resist. Can adapt. Can endure."

"But let’s see if you can rule."

Next Challenger: Architect Dazareth, Warden of the Throne Halls

Duel Scheduled: 48 Hours

Zone: Throne Convergence

Leon smiled, quietly.

"Finally," he said.

"A real fight."

Aether’s Wake – Day Twenty-One

Duel Pending: Architect Dazareth, Warden of the Throne Halls

Zone: Throne Convergence – Countdown: 47:12:06

The moment Dazareth issued his challenge, the very air across Bastion Aether changed.

The skies darkened—not with storm, but certainty. From high above, a second veil appeared beneath the Architect Layer. It was not open. Not pulsing with welcome. It was a throne-shaped seal made of warped space and radiant pressure. A symbol of dominion. A final court.

This wasn’t a test.

This was a summons.

Leon spent no time celebrating.

He stepped into the Bastion’s war chamber, a dome built during the earlier raids from collapsed floors. Only now, it served as the Bastion’s strategic core. Around him, his team gathered—each of them hardened from their own duels, but silent.

Because this was different.

Roman crossed his arms. "Dazareth isn’t just another Architect. He’s the Warden."

Milim finished the thought. "He holds the right to oversee who rules the Tower."

Ryn Varis nodded grimly. "Dazareth was once a Sovereign Slayer. He broke nine different peak realms during the War of Claimants. He doesn’t test you. He judges you. And he enforces that judgment."

Kael added, "He’s also the only Architect who has never been defeated in single combat." 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Leon stood in the center of the room, arms at his sides. He wasn’t pacing. He wasn’t even tense.

He was focused.

"This isn’t about winning," he said.

Roselia blinked. "You said that before."

Leon met her gaze. "And it still holds. This is about legitimacy. The Tower’s watching. This isn’t just a duel between strength—it’s proof. If I fall here, Bastion Aether becomes a fluke. If I stand..."

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

Because everyone in the room understood.

If he stood, then Leon Aetheren becomes a ruler.

Night Before the Duel

Leon didn’t train.

He walked the Bastion instead.

He passed the riverbanks Naval had forged, the cliffs Roselia reinforced with living runes, the echo spires that recorded Roman’s duels, the storm-forged plateaus where Milim trained.

Every step reminded him—this was no longer just a floor.

It was a legacy.

And finally, as the twin moons crossed overhead, he stood at the Dream Corridor’s heart and stared at the shifting throne-gate forming in the sky.

Ryn joined him in silence.

"You don’t need luck," the former Architect said quietly. "You need belief."

Leon didn’t smile. He simply nodded.

"I believe in what we’ve built."

Throne Convergence – Duel Commences

Time: 00:00:01

Leon stepped into the arena.

And immediately—everything else disappeared.

The Throne Convergence was not a location. It was a concept. A floating space where the only thing that existed was a single battlefield suspended between broken thrones, all spinning in slow orbit around a black sun.

Across the field stood Dazareth.

He wore no armor. His body was wrapped in plated threads of judgment magic, his eyes like mirrored lenses, reflecting not just Leon—but every version of Leon that could have existed.

"You came," Dazareth said.

Leon nodded. "You called."

"You built something real. But that’s not enough. You wish to rule? Then prove you’re not a passing moment. Prove you are a Tower that stands without end."

Leon’s aura flared.

Shell Reverb activated.

Karmic Loop formed behind him.

Echo of Origin clicked into place.

He said nothing.

He didn’t need to.

Duel Began.

Dazareth moved first.

He didn’t charge. He declared. With a single gesture, thirty thrones rotated—each one releasing a different battle law. Gravity reversed. Time compressed. Willpower turned into a tangible force. Some laws attacked Leon’s magic, others his body, others his very right to act.

Leon responded with simplicity.

He didn’t try to resist each law.

He wrote his own.

Shell Pulse – Fifth Layer: Requiem Drift.

A resonance that rejected laws not accepted by his world.

The arena twisted.

And for the first time, Dazareth tilted his head—acknowledging the move.

"Well done. Let’s see if it holds."

He vanished—and reappeared a moment later with a throne-blade in hand, shaped from forgotten legacies.

Leon met it—not with a sword, but with his will.

His palm clashed with the blade, and their powers exploded in layered pulses of meaning.

Hour One.

They were no longer simply exchanging blows.

They were trading ideals.

Each time Dazareth struck, he forced Leon to confront a reason his rule could fail.

"You’ll falter when peace grows boring."

"You’ll lose your edge when you stop climbing."

"You’ll be corrupted by those who want to own your Bastion."

And each time, Leon answered—not with denial, but with action.

"I’ll make peace sharp."

"I’ll climb without stepping over others."

"I’ll burn out corruption, not kneel to it."

Dazareth’s blade cracked.

Leon bled from dozens of cuts, breathing heavy—but still standing.