My Charity System made me too OP-Chapter 332: Fighting IX

It would be about timing.

The chime sounded.

She vanished.

Leon barely saw the flicker before his instincts screamed. A whisper of wind grazed his left cheek—not even a cut, just the sensation of movement. He turned, Shell Reverb activating automatically, echoing her motion just enough to track.

And then—impact.

A strike to his midsection, impossibly fast, sent him skidding. Not deep damage—but he felt something terrifying.

She hadn't used Shell Pulse.

She hadn't used any magic.

She had simply moved.

He adjusted instantly, engaging Absolute Return to reflect the next three strikes, but even that wasn't enough. She was moving faster than reflection. Faster than prediction.

Leon narrowed his stance.

Then let's change the tempo.

He exhaled, drawing on Gold Magic—not to destroy, but to enchant his perception. Golden threads wove across his irises, bending time slightly, syncing to his Shell Pulse.

Now he saw it—her acceleration wasn't linear. She curved, phased, vanished mid-step and reappeared in blinks. A natural phenomenon: Kinetic Drift. A skill so fast it bent the observer's reality.

He switched to Tripart Echo.

Then—bam!

Their strikes met. Staff against clawed arms. Sparks exploded from the contact point. This time, he absorbed her energy with Shell Reverb and returned it in three precision strikes.

Two missed.

One clipped her shoulder.

A hairline crack appeared in her carapace.

Vael'Astra paused. Her compound eyes widened slightly. For the first time in over a decade… she had been hit.

"You adapted mid-rhythm," she said quietly. "You're not brute-forcing it anymore."

Leon smirked. "I'm learning to dance."

She blurred again. This time, Leon didn't move. He let Shell Reverb hum through him passively, syncing to every micro-vibration around the arena. His mind emptied. His breath slowed.

When her blade-arm came—

He caught it.

The sound wasn't a clash—it was silence, broken.

Then—

Boom!

Leon reversed the force with Absolute Return + Echo of Origin, sending a cascading tremor of memory through her arm. She reeled back, circuits in her body spasming.

In one fluid motion, he stepped forward.

Staff swept left.

Pulse flared.

Abyss Mana surged through his veins—controlled, refined. Not to destroy, but to compress.

Shell Pulse: Origin Anchor.

The staff hit.

It didn't break her.

It just stopped her completely.

Motionless.

Frozen in time.

The crowd went dead silent.

"Victory: Challenger Leon. Rank 34 Defeated."

Leon fell to one knee again, breath shaky but sure. He had done it—without Destruction, without Tandav, without even resorting to raw power.

This was something more.

This was mastery.

Roselia and the others ran to him again, but this time he didn't collapse. He smiled—wide and quiet.

"Next," he said hoarsely, "is the climb to 30."

They helped him to his feet.

Leon stepped through the threshold of the next arena, still breathing heavily from the last battle, but composed. The space ahead was completely different—circular platforms, rotating independently, suspended in the air above a pit of obsidian flame. Each step, each footing would shift beneath him.

Above, glowing words lit up:

"Rank 33 Champion – Sa'Volok the Spiral Warden"

A massive Obsidian Ant descended from the upper ledge, wings folded like blades and four arms gripping twin crescent axes. His body was carved with spiraling runes that shimmered with layered kinetic energy—constant rotation, built to twist through resistance and turn momentum against the wielder.

Leon narrowed his eyes. This wasn't just a brute. This was a master of circular motion and redirection. If Vael'Astra was linear speed, Sa'Volok was rotational force incarnate.

The platforms beneath them began to spin.

The gong sounded.

Sa'Volok moved.

Not like a charging beast—but like a current. One moment he was across the field, the next his axe was at Leon's throat. Leon twisted, Shell Reverb catching the edge—but the platform beneath him shifted, and the redirected force missed, scattering into the air.

Leon fell back, flipping to the next rotating disc. His feet gripped only just in time.

"He's syncing his attacks with the rotation," Leon muttered.

Shell Pulse flared. He activated Absolute Return defensively, absorbing the curve of an axe blow as it came—returning it as a shockwave.

Sa'Volok twisted his whole body, riding the force like a cyclone.

"Impressive," the Warden said. "But will your harmony hold... when the floor itself betrays you?"

He clapped both axes together.

The discs began spinning faster.

Leon fought for balance, gritting his teeth. He couldn't stay grounded—he had to ride the movement like a wave.

Gold Magic whispered through him.

Enhance Perception.

Aether Blood lit his limbs.

Velocity Sync.

Then he surged forward—staff in hand, riding the spin, letting his footing become fluid. Every block, every parry now turned with the rotation, not against it.

They clashed mid-air, Leon twirling with his staff like a turbine. Sa'Volok's axes met his strikes—curving, redirecting, trying to entrap.

Then—a misstep.

Leon landed on a slower-moving disc while Sa'Volok jumped ahead, and Leon was exposed. Both axes came in.

He activated Karmic Loop.

Three echoes of his last strike surged back through the disc, through the motion, and through Sa'Volok himself as he stepped in.

The impact was brutal.

One axe flew from his hand.

Leon pressed the momentum—slamming his staff down with a burst of Shell Reverb: Tripart Echo.

It hit Sa'Volok's knee, chest, and arm simultaneously.

He staggered.

Leon used Abyss Magic—compressing the rotational energy of the platform into a single pulse of inversion, flipping the gravity beneath them for half a second.

Sa'Volok floated.

Leon drove a knee into his gut, staff overhead.

Origin Pulse – Release.

He smashed the staff down like a warhammer, and the Spiral Warden was crushed into the disc—rendered motionless.

The platforms slowed.

The flames dimmed.

And the voice declared:

"Victory: Challenger Leon. Rank 33 Defeated."

Leon gasped for breath, swaying on the platform. Blood ran down his brow. Not from wounds—but from sheer exertion.

The others watched from the side, silent.

"He's not just winning," Roman muttered. "He's evolving every fight."

Naval nodded. "This is what climbing to the inner circle really means."

Leon looked up, sweat steaming from his shoulders.

"Only two more... to reach the gate of 30," he whispered.

And then, he stepped off the arena.

But not as the same man who entered.