My Charity System made me too OP

The three moved in perfect sync.

The blurred fighter's blade swept for his throat, the molten woman's heat curled inward from the left, and Tharos's Echoblade came down with enough force to split the platform in half.

Leon didn't step back.

He stepped in.

His pulse detonated—not as a single burst, but in layered waves, each one delayed by fractions of a heartbeat. The first wave slammed into the blurred fighter mid-strike, breaking her rhythm. The second rippled into the molten woman's arc, shattering it into scattered embers.

The third—sharper, heavier—met Tharos's blade dead-on.

The sound wasn't a clash. It was a crack.

Stone shattered beneath them, heat vented upward in a geyser, and the mana field pulling at Leon's body shattered under the recoil.

For the first time, Tharos stepped back. Not because he'd been pushed, but because he was interested.

The molten woman landed on the far side of the platform, eyes narrowed, heat still rising from her skin. "That was close."

The blurred fighter rolled her wrist, resetting her stance. "Closer than I like."

Leon's breathing had deepened, but his stance hadn't loosened. "So… is this still a test?"

Tharos rested the flat of his blade on his shoulder. "Tests end. This won't."

The three moved again, faster than before—no probing strikes, no safe exchanges. Every blow now carried killing intent, and every dodge Leon made was by margins too small to measure.

The tempo spiked.

The blurred fighter became a smear of silver arcs, her footwork folding space in on itself. The molten woman's heat swelled until the air rippled and the stone beneath her feet ran like liquid. Tharos's blade began to hum with a resonance that made Leon's bones ache, each swing bending the platform's edges inward.

Leon didn't try to track them one by one anymore.

He widened his field—Pulse Layer spread thin but constant, picking up every shift in pressure, every mana spike, every shadow displacement.

The blurred fighter appeared at his flank.

Leon tilted his head just enough for her blade to whistle past, answering with a short-range reverb burst that threw her into the molten woman's path.

The molten woman didn't stop—she absorbed her ally's momentum, turning it into a spiraling sweep of molten glass that came from two angles at once.

Leon grounded his heel, sent a counterwave through the floor, and the glass burst apart in midair—only for Tharos to step through the cloud like it wasn't even there.

One swing.

Too fast to parry, too heavy to sidestep.

Leon met it head-on, Origin Echo swelling through his arm. The impact cracked the platform straight down the middle, the shockwave knocking the two women back. Tharos, however, didn't move—he pushed through the clash, forcing Leon down to one knee.

"You can't keep this up," Tharos said calmly.

Leon's eyes narrowed. "I don't need to."

He let the pressure break—but only for a moment. Just enough to drop his center of gravity and let every stored pulse he'd been layering detonate outward in the same heartbeat.

It wasn't aimed at any of them.

It was aimed at the arena.

The stone fractured, weightless chunks drifting into the sky. Their footing became unstable—heat vents roared open, gravity shifted in chaotic surges. The blurred fighter faltered. The molten woman's stance broke.

Even Tharos adjusted his footing.

Leon stood in the center of the storm he'd made. "Now we fight on my ground."

Leon didn't waste the opening.

The blurred fighter tried to restart her momentum, but without stable ground, her folded steps faltered. She flickered once, twice—then Leon's pulse locked onto her position mid-shift. A reverb spike caught her in the ribs, sending her spinning into open air.

The molten woman reacted instantly, whipping a chain of molten glass to hook her falling ally. Leon let her—because that put them both in the same vector.

He released a compressed Origin burst.

The wave hit them together, scattering molten fragments and forcing them off the platform entirely. They'd survive—the Tower wouldn't let them die here—but they were out of the fight.

That left Tharos.

The Sovereign candidate stepped forward through the floating debris as if walking on solid marble. His blade gleamed, its hum rising to a pitch that made Leon's teeth ache.

"You've removed the distractions," Tharos said. "Good. Now I can test you properly."

Leon didn't answer. He simply shifted his stance, lowering his right hand toward the cracked edge of the platform.

Tharos moved first—one clean arc of steel, so refined that it felt like space bent to make way for it.

Leon moved into it.

Not away—into.

The blade grazed his shoulder, but his left palm slammed into Tharos's guard. In the same instant, Leon triggered Timeline Drift—a micro-shift that made their movements align for a fraction of a second.

In that shared moment, Leon's Origin Echo hit clean.

The impact forced Tharos back three steps—his heels dug trenches through the floating stone until he came to a stop.

Then, for the first time, Tharos smiled.

"Worthy."

The hum of his blade died. He lowered it, gave a slight bow, and vanished in a silver shimmer.

[Victory Confirmed – Leon Aetheren promoted to Rank 72]

[Reputation Update – Recognized by Sovereign Candidate Tharos]

The arena dissolved around him, and Leon found himself back in Arkhe's vault corridor.

Milim crossed her arms. "You look like hell."

Roselia glanced at his shoulder. "You're bleeding."

Leon flexed his hand, still feeling the echo of the clash. "It was worth it."

Because Tharos wasn't just a test—he was a message.

The Throne Claimants knew his name now.

The summons came faster than Leon expected.

Less than an hour after the duel, a courier in white-and-amber robes appeared at the vault's entrance. No bow, no formal greeting—just a sealed slip of translucent stone pressed into Leon's hand.

"Arkhe City's High Spire," the courier said. "Council summons. Attendance is not optional." Then he walked away without waiting for a reply.

The others gathered around as Leon turned the stone over. Lines of script shimmered inside it, not written but suspended like threads in glass.

Roselia frowned. "Council? Already?"

Kael's eyes narrowed. "They're moving quickly. Either they see you as a threat… or as an opportunity."

Leon didn't answer. He'd already felt it—the stone wasn't just an invitation. It was a passkey. Without it, stepping into the Spire would trigger every ward the Sovereigns had layered into the city's heart.

The High Spire wasn't far, but the walk there felt like crossing into another reality. The streets narrowed, the crowd thinned, and the air grew heavier with every block. Arkhe's ordinary floating platforms gave way to solid, radiant stone bridges lined with statues of long-forgotten climbers.

By the time Leon stood before the Spire's gates, the weight pressing on his chest wasn't just metaphorical. The building itself radiated pressure—each polished column and sharp arch humming with bound energy.

Two guardians waited at the door, each wearing armor that shimmered like condensed starlight. They didn't speak, just scanned the stone in Leon's hand and stepped aside.

Inside, the chamber was vast and silent. No thrones. No raised platforms. Just a long oval table surrounded by twelve seats—half of which were already filled.

Every figure at the table was different—one sat cloaked in shadow, another wore a crown of living flame, another's body was made entirely of shifting glass. But they all had the same thing in common: stillness. The kind that comes from knowing they could kill everyone in the room without standing up.

A woman with eyes like polished obsidian spoke first.

"Leon Aetheren. You've climbed into our notice faster than most. You've beaten a Sovereign Candidate and dismantled one of our testing cells in under an hour."

Leon stood still. "If you called me here to congratulate me, I'll save you the trouble and decline the applause."

A faint chuckle rolled around the table—not amused, but acknowledging nerve.

The glass-bodied figure leaned forward. "We didn't call you here to congratulate you. We called you here to see where you stand."

Leon's eyes flicked from one Sovereign to the next. "Then you'll find out."

Because the way they were looking at him told him something important—

They weren't testing his skill anymore.

They were testing if he was fit to rule.