MIGHT AS WELL BE OP-Chapter 424: Riddle-3

The thud of the demon's corpse striking the earth echoed like a thunderclap, reverberating in every ear.

A profound silence fell over the room.

With each passing nanosecond, the stillness deepened, dense, suffocating, absolute.

Time itself seemed to fracture, each sliver of a moment stretching into eternity as every being remained frozen in their battle stance.

At that moment, Anthony's focus had partially shifted from the demons, though a thread of his awareness remained tethered to them, keenly attuned for any sign of a sudden, underhanded strike.

His full attention was now fixed on the Executioner, the one who had just slain a demon in a manner so grotesque it defied comprehension.

Yet Anthony remained still.

His aura was tranquil, his gaze razor-sharp, and his senses extended to an almost impossible peak, each one honed to catch even the faintest ripple of danger.

Kingsley, Dale, Seraphim, and Reynold stood at the ready, their bodies tense, eyes locked forward, each prepared to act the instant their captain gave the signal.

Anthony, however, remained motionless.

The one who had just perished wasn't one of his own.

Had it been a member of his team, the riddles, the patience, all of it would have been cast aside without hesitation, and the battle would have begun in earnest, with no restraint.

As for the demons, they too remained still, mirroring Anthony's restraint.

The chaos energy swirling around them crackled and hissed, a volatile storm barely contained as they watched in silence.

Their expressions were twisted, not with grief or rage over the death of one of their own.

No.

Demons didn't grieve.

They didn't mourn.

They didn't care.

Camaraderie?

A laughable concept.

They were demons, creatures of pure instinct and self-interest, bound only by their own hunger and power.

Their faces had contorted, but not from sorrow or rage.

It was fear, raw and unmistakable, etched into every demonic feature.

Yet unlike Anthony's team, who stood poised for battle, the demons were calculating.

They wouldn't charge blindly.

At the slightest hint of movement, they would trigger whatever life-saving artifact, technique, skill, or innate ability they possessed, and flee without hesitation.

But even so, a sliver of doubt gnawed at the edge of their thoughts.

Would escape even be possible in the presence of such overwhelming power?

Because in the face of absolute power… everything breaks.

Everything flees.

And everything, inevitably falls.

The Executioner's gaze finally drifted from the mangled corpse at his feet, turning instead to the living.

As his white eyes locked onto the others, the ever-present smile that had curved his lips vanished, replaced by something far more unnerving.

The moment his gaze met theirs, every eye, regardless of color or resolve, froze upon him.

A collective tension rippled through the air.

The silence, already unbearable, deepened into something suffocating.

Time, which had already slowed to a crawl, now felt trapped in an endless loop, an eternity repeating itself in the span of a heartbeat.

And in that moment, the tension reached its absolute peak, balanced on the edge of violence.

A battle of life and death felt inevitable, hanging in the air like a blade about to fall.

But then, suddenly—

"HAHAHAHA!"

The Executioner's laughter erupted, shattering the oppressive silence.

It echoed through the vast, cavernous room, bouncing off the stone walls like a mad symphony.

"That was just too funny"

He cackled. novelbuddy.cσ๓

"Look at all of you, so ready to fight… or flee"

Still levitating mid-air, the Executioner clutched his stomach, overcome by his own amusement, his laughter wild and unrestrained, utterly at odds with the death that had just occurred.

The Executioner wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling softly from the aftermath of his outburst.

"I already told you"

He said, his tone light, almost casual, far too calm for the weight of his words.

"There's no need to be so tense. If I truly intended to kill any of you… you wouldn't even see it coming. Whatever power or trick you're hiding, it means nothing before me"

His voice carried with an unsettling ease, as though he were stating an undeniable, universal truth.

The tension in the room wavered, just slightly, thinned by his disarming tone.

But still… no one moved.

Not a single breath was wasted. No weapon lowered.

Every muscle remained coiled, ready, because even diluted, fear never fully leaves when standing before the embodiment of death.

"Well now… where would my pride be if I let some ant trample all over it?"

The Executioner mused, his smile slowly curling back into place.

His voice was light, almost amused, yet each word dripped with veiled menace.

"So, let's carry on, shall we? Only one riddle remains before the other team claims victory. Let's wrap this up. Honestly, I never thought I'd see the day when people actually cooperated with demons"

He let the words hang in the air, mocking and sharp.

But no reply came.

No one dared speak.

Not the demons.

Not Anthony.

Not his team.

Only the Executioner's voice echoed through the vast chamber, unopposed, unchallenged.

"Now… for the third riddle"

The Executioner's smile never wavered, his tone as playful as ever.

"I am the oldest without age.

A witness in silence, a turning page.

I watched the sun rise, watched it fall.

Yet I've never moved, not at all.

My face reflects all, yet shows none.

And though I remain, I'm always gone.

What am I?"

As the final words left his lips, the room fell silent.

And then, all eyes turned to Anthony, waiting, almost expectantly, for him to provide an answer faster this time.

Even the remaining demons couldn't help but focus intently on Anthony, their minds whirling with anticipation.

They waited for his lips to part, for any sound to escape his throat.

But no sound came.

Anthony remained still, silent.

The seconds stretched into an eternity.

His expression never wavered, his face as unreadable as stone.

The demons, seeing that Anthony had yet to provide an answer, began to shift in their thoughts.

Their minds worked overtime, their synapses firing rapidly as they scrambled to solve the riddle themselves, hoping, desperate to claim a victory this time.

But even as their brains raced, they never lost sight of their true mission.

The Severed Crown of Echoes.

That was their goal and mission given to them.

Nothing else mattered.

Not the lives of their comrades.

Not the battle.

Only the artifact.

As long as it was in their grasp, nothing else would be allowed to stand in their way.

As the seconds ticked by, stretching toward the fifty-ninth mark, Anthony's silence weighed heavier with each passing moment.

Then, finally, he spoke.

His voice was calm, too calm, and soft, barely more than a whisper.

"A mirror"