My Charity System made me too OP

Leon tightened his grip. Ravahn's presence pressed on him like a weight—every instinct screamed to defend, to wait.

But waiting against someone who owned the moment meant losing.

He stepped first.

Not with speed, but with intent. Each movement carried an almost lazy rhythm, pulling Ravahn's focus toward the false beats. Then, just as Ravahn adjusted to intercept, Leon shattered his own pattern—compressing three steps into one heartbeat and cutting across the Sovereign's flank.

Ravahn caught it, steel flashing. Sparks burst between them.

But Leon didn't retreat. He chained another attack into the rebound, forcing Ravahn to block at an angle that bent his perfect form.

For a fraction of a second, Leon felt it—Ravahn's control slipping.

He activated Timeline Drift, not to dodge, but to flood that tiny gap, amplifying the disruption. The air shimmered. Ravahn's eyes sharpened, realizing what Leon had done.

Too late.

Leon's Echo of Origin struck center mass. The impact wasn't explosive—it was a pull, dragging Ravahn fully into Leon's now.

The Sovereign's sword slowed, his stance locking for the first time. Leon stepped past him, blade at Ravahn's throat.

Silence.

Then Ravahn laughed once, short and sharp. "You didn't just take the moment. You owned it."

He sheathed his weapon. "Keep that. You'll need it—because the next floor doesn't give moments away. You'll have to make them."

The gate behind him flared open, its light cold and sharp.

Leon stepped toward it without hesitation.

The light swallowed Leon, and when it faded, he was standing on a wide expanse of black glass.

Above, there was no ceiling—only a night sky fractured into hundreds of shifting shards, each reflecting a different battle. Some showed warriors locked in duels, others armies clashing on impossible landscapes.

The floor beneath his feet pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. Every few seconds, thin silver lines raced outward from where he stood, as if the arena itself was scanning him.

A voice—calm, but carrying an edge—echoed through the space.

"Floor 91. Dominion Tier Initiation."

Across the arena, three figures appeared at once.

They were not challengers. They were rulers. Each wore a crown, not as ornament, but as an extension of their presence—manifested from their aura. One was draped in crimson and gold flame, another in crystalline armor, the last wreathed in a void-like shadow that bent the reflections in the sky.

The flame-clad one stepped forward. "We are not here to defeat you, Leon Aetheren. We are here to judge whether you can hold power without breaking beneath it."

Leon's gaze swept across them. "Then let's get this over with."

The shadow Sovereign's lips curled. "Impatient. Good. The Tower will eat you alive otherwise."

The glass beneath them cracked—and the fragments of the sky above began to fall, each shard becoming a weapon.

The trial had begun.

The first shard hit the ground beside Leon, splintering into a curved blade made of pure starlight.

The second came down like a meteor, and Leon had to roll aside as it smashed through the glass floor, leaving a gaping void that tried to pull him in.

The Sovereigns didn't move toward him—they stayed in place, letting the falling sky do the work.

The flame Sovereign raised a single hand, and the shards closest to her ignited, streaking toward Leon as burning spears.

Leon activated Timeline Drift, but not fully—he kept himself anchored enough to interact with the falling fragments. As one spear passed, he caught it, letting its momentum spin him before hurling it straight toward the crystal-armored Sovereign.

The crystalline figure raised an arm. The spear shattered against their barrier, fragments dissolving into light.

The shadow Sovereign finally stepped forward, and the arena dimmed. The reflections in the sky twisted, and suddenly Leon's own reflection stepped out of one of the shards—then another, and another.

Within seconds, he was surrounded by a dozen copies of himself, each armed and moving with his exact timing.

Leon tightened his jaw. "Of course."

He didn't waste energy striking them—they'd only mirror him. Instead, he shifted into Drift Alignment, looking for the tiniest inconsistencies between their movements. One moved a hair too late when the floor pulsed.

That one wasn't his copy—it was real.

Leon dashed in, Echo of Origin primed—

—but before the strike could land, the flame Sovereign's voice cut through.

"Stop."

All movement froze. Even the falling shards hung in the air.

She looked at the shadow Sovereign. "Enough. He adapts faster than I expected."

The crystal Sovereign nodded. "Agreed. He's not ready to rule… but he's ready to be seen."

The shadow figure's grin was faint but real. "Then we open the path."

The shards dissolved, the glass floor reformed, and the gate to the next trial appeared—tall, black, and edged with golden chains that writhed as if alive.

Leon exhaled, stepping toward it.

"You'll regret letting me through," he said without looking back.

The shadow Sovereign chuckled. "We're counting on it."

The gate opened.

Leon stepped through, and the world went silent.

Not quiet—silent.

No echo of footsteps, no breath, no heartbeat. Even the movement of his clothes made no sound. The air was dense, heavy enough that each step felt like wading through deep water.

The ground was black stone veined with faint, glowing runes. Above, there was no ceiling—only a vast, unlit void, with shapes moving somewhere far beyond sight.

A single figure waited at the center.

They weren't massive, but something about them pressed down harder than the Sovereigns' combined presence. Their cloak trailed behind them like an endless shadow, and their face was covered by a plain white mask—no features, no markings.

When they spoke, the voice didn't come from the mask. It came from inside Leon's head.

"You've come far for one so… new."

Leon kept his stance loose. "And you're?"

The figure tilted their head slightly. "A Warden. The first and last step before the Thrones."

The ground between them lit up in a pattern of concentric rings, each one filled with shifting symbols. Leon felt his muscles tense involuntarily as something ancient stirred.

The Warden's tone didn't change, but the pressure doubled.

"This isn't a duel. This is a measure. If you cannot withstand the weight of a Throne's domain, you will be erased. There is no loss here—only survival or removal."

Leon flexed his hands, focusing his breathing. Timeline Drift wouldn't help against something that was pure presence. He needed to anchor himself deeper than that—beyond time, into something absolute.

The Warden stepped forward.

The rings flared.

The weight came down.

It was like standing under the ocean while it collapsed on him. His bones ached, vision flickered, thoughts slowed. His knees nearly buckled, but he dug in his heels.

The Warden kept walking.

Another ring ignited. The weight grew again.

Leon's pulse slowed to a crawl. But somewhere in the pressure, in the crushing silence, he caught it—an almost imperceptible rhythm hidden beneath the oppression. A pulse, like a heartbeat that wasn't his.

He locked onto it. Matched it. Stepped in sync with it.

The crushing force lightened—not by much, but enough to breathe.

The Warden stopped only a meter away. "Interesting. You're not resisting—you're resonating."

Leon forced a smirk, even through the strain. "If the tower's gonna crush me, I might as well dance with it."

The Warden regarded him for a long moment, then the weight vanished entirely.

"Pass."

The rings faded, the void above rippled, and a second gate appeared—simpler than the chained one, but giving off a heat that felt alive.

The Warden turned away. "Beyond this, there are no tests. Only wars."

Leon stepped forward. "Then I'll fight them."

The gate opened.