Level Up Legacy-Chapter 1211 Against the Universe

A few days had brought a whirlwind of change to Yalen. The Empyrean's death still echoed in the streets. Whispers of Arthur Netherborne's involvement filled the air, a mix of fear and desperate hope. The Yalen King, rattled and grief-stricken, clung to power, while Lucian, the newly crowned prince, tried to impose order. It was precarious, tense, and suspicion was brewing.

Lucian was increasingly isolated. His advisors clashed, his father watched him warily, and even his oldest friend, Zas, seemed to carry a new burden of doubt. It was this loneliness, as much as his burning ambition, that had drawn him into another uneasy alliance with the outsider, Arthur Netherborne.

Arthur left the palace to return with Zas, visiting the mansion. The two of them were enemies on more than one occasion, but the recent development forced them to be allies. Inside the mansion was an unexpected scene awaiting them.

William, injured, lay on a bed. Vihan raised his hands, using his mana to heal the gunman. Zas explain the alliance between Sier and Arthur, and the three sighed in relief.

"What happened?" asked Arthur, looking down at the gunman. Although they never had a good relationship, years revealed that the gunman was anything but disloyal to Sier. "Sier," William uttered, his one good eye defiant. "He sent me… said I had to bring back Reece, alive or dead," said the gunman. Sensing the confusion on Arthur's face, he explained the situation.

Reece, the one closest to Arthur when he was with Mistletoe, had vanished in the Republic of Orlan while investigating Empyrean schemes. His disappearance, and William's injuries, were troubling. Mistletoe was united as one before, but it was now a mess.

"Where?" asked Arthur with a deceptively soft voice. "Tell me where he is."

Zas stepped closer. "Arthur, focus," he urged. "The Agard execution is still planned. It's a distraction, meant to keep us blind." His gaze swept the room. "We need to outsmart them and focus on the trap laid ahead."

The silence stretched, broken only by the faint hiss of Vihan's fading healing magic. Arthur stood unmoving; his gaze lost in the intricate dance of shadows that swirled around the room as he raised his hand. A chilling sight ensued. The Mistletoe members, accustomed to chaos, still watched with a mix of awe and mounting fear.

"The shadows..." William breathed, the name heavy on his tongue. "They came from...you?"

Arthur's hand fell, the shadows dissipating. Queen Ruki, a flicker against the wall, vanished without a sound. "An old power," he said quietly, a hint of self-mockery in his tone. "One I thought unnecessary, and perhaps...unsavory." He looked at Ruki's last lingering image. "They have grown stronger in my absence. Ruki is...Deme-Rank now."

This wasn't an object Oriole would casually leave behind, not one that couldn't be placed within a storage artifact for safekeeping. Arthur carefully opened the book, scanning the dense script and arcane diagrams that filled the pages. This wasn't just alchemy, but something…older, more primal.

A flicker of unease danced in his eyes. Perhaps Oriole had stumbled upon something dangerous, something best left undisturbed. Yet, Arthur Netherborne, disrupter of worlds, wasn't a man to shy away from mysteries, especially those left tantalizingly close by a friend whose fate was uncertain.

He shut the black leather book with a soft thud, his fingers tracing the embossed title: Ragnar Netherborne. The name struck him like a lightning bolt. Ragnar... the defiant ancestor who had dared challenge the heavens, who shared blood ties with Arthur himself, whose legacy was the volatile power surging beneath Arthur's skin. Yet, why would Oriole have this? A chronicle of secrets so potent even the heavens sought to erase them?

A flicker of curiosity, tinged with apprehension, ignited within him. Arthur reached out, a single finger touching the worn leather cover. A jolt surged through him, not of pain, but a strange, alien resonance. It pulsed through the room, the air shimmering as if reality itself was straining, threads of unseen power swirling around the book and converging on him.

His touch turned into a tentative caress, and a shift occurred. Not in the room, but within himself. His vision blurred, his consciousness tunneling through time itself, slipping away like sand through fingers. A story appeared in his mind, telling him about the man he was meant to follow.

The images faded. The echo of Ragnar's presence, so vast and overwhelming, retreated like a receding tide. Arthur sat back, drained, his hand still resting on the leather book. His mind buzzed, a chaotic swarm of half-formed thoughts and the lingering imprint of a will so potent it had transcended time itself.

Ragnar Netherborne. More than an ancestor, he was the echo of a rebellion, a defiance that burned brighter than any star. The story wasn't a glorification. It was a testament to both strength and frailty, a portrait of a man wrestling with a universe that defied his ideals.

The power of charisma... Arthur mused, a flicker of darkness in his eyes. Ragnar didn't conquer by force alone, but by inspiring loyalty, a strange sort of devotion in enemies and allies alike. A man too vast to bend to the heavens, yet too merciful to simply crush those who opposed him. He had loved a universe that didn't love him back, a fatal flaw, a flicker of humanity that had, ultimately, doomed him.

The King of Wrath. They had crowned Ragnar, seeking to twist his defiance into a symbol of monstrous savagery. But in this book, he was...different. His wrath wasn't unthinking rage, but a righteous fire against injustice. His kingdom wasn't a wasteland, but a refuge, a testament to the possibility of a better world. Arthur, so often cynical, felt a strange, grudging respect stir within him.

And then...Devaheim. The gods. They feared Ragnar, not just for his power, but for the ideals he embodied. They tempted him, and he rebuffed them with a violence that echoed through the ages. That defiance, the utter rejection of their authority, it was...magnificent. And suicidal.

Arthur felt a prickle of excitement, and a shiver of apprehension coursed through him. It was the lure of chaos, of a fight no sane being would pick. This, then, was his legacy. Not just power, but a collision course with beings older than worlds, a rebellion begun centuries ago, passed down a bloodline soaked in defiance.

He closed his eyes, seeing Ragnar atop a black throne, a lonely figure in a kingdom of defiant joy. Could it be any other way? Carrying the weight of such a legacy, such ambition, was it any wonder Ragnar had stood alone? And was this Arthur's destiny as well – to rise, to burn brightly, and to ultimately stand apart in his fight against the tyranny of the heavens?