I Can Copy And Evolve Talents - Chapter 1259

Chapter 1259: The God Among Us
[You’re using Dread Manifestation]

The supernatural fear aura washed over the training ground like a wave of ice water. It was targeted, controlled, and focused entirely on Rieran.

But even the audience felt the edge of it. That primal recognition hardwired into every living thing: predator.

Rieran’s eyes went wide with terror. His soul recognized something fundamental—this is a creature that can tear down the sky, and I am nothing.

“You’re bound by 247 soul threads,” Northern said, his voice carrying across the absolute silence. “Each one is invisible, intangible, and connected directly to your soul. You cannot break them at your rank—you’d need to be at least Paragon to even perceive them clearly, and even then you’d struggle.”

He gestured casually with one hand.

The threads lifted Rieran off the ground—just a few inches—and rotated him 180 degrees to face the King, demonstrating complete and total control. Like a puppet on strings. The prince’s boots dangled uselessly, scraping against nothing.

“Your talent is currently sealed by Absolute Lock. Even if you could move, you wouldn’t be able to access your abilities. This will last as long as I want it to.” Northern’s tone was matter-of-fact, almost bored. “I’m using less than 2% of my available essence for this. The fight in Stelia required everything I had and lasted two days.”

He set Rieran back down gently, almost carefully.

“This isn’t even close to that level of effort.”

Northern released both abilities simultaneously.

The threads dissolved into nothing. The Lock lifted.

Rieran staggered, gasping, his body responding again but his mind clearly shaken. His hands trembled as he tried to grip his spear, tried to settle back into a combat stance.

He couldn’t. The fear was too fresh, too visceral.

Northern turned to the King, ignoring the prince entirely now.

“I could have killed him in the first second. Could have used soul threads to sever his connection to his talent permanently. Could have manifested one of my copied forms. Could have summoned fifty Echoes of defeated monsters to overwhelm him.”

He met the King’s eyes directly, his expression cold and tired.

“I didn’t need to. This was me being gentle. This was me proving a point without causing permanent harm. The things I fought in Stelia didn’t get that courtesy.”

The King stared at him. Then at his son, who looked like he’d aged ten years in twenty seconds.

“How long did that take?” the King asked quietly.

“About fifteen seconds, not counting the explanation.” Northern’s tone suggested this was generous on his part. “Your Ascendant couldn’t touch me. An Origin took two days because Origins don’t break easily—they have contingencies, regeneration, soul defenses, and the raw power to actually threaten me back.” He paused. “But the principle is the same. Overwhelming force, applied precisely.”

The arena remained silent. No one seemed to know how to react.

Roma was staring at Northern with something between awe and concern. The Admiral looked like someone had just confirmed his worst fears. Even the courtiers had stopped whispering.

Rieran finally found his voice, still shaking slightly. “What… what are you?”

Northern looked at him for a long moment.

“Tired,” he said finally. “Very, very tired.”

He turned back to the King.

“So. Do we have a deal? Or do you need more convincing?”

The King rose slowly from his throne. Descended the steps to the arena floor. Walked until he stood directly in front of Northern.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then the King extended his hand again—but this time it was a gesture of respect, not testing.

“You’ve more than proven yourself.” His voice carried across the arena, formal and final. “Abyss Tyrant and that strange monster will be released to your custody immediately. You have my word as King of Ryugan.”

Northern shook his hand briefly, then let go.

“Thank you. That’s all I wanted.”

The King studied him a moment longer. “You really did it, didn’t you? You killed an Origin. Alone.”

“Not quite alone,” Northern corrected. “I had help containing the aftermath. But the killing itself?” He shrugged. “Yeah. That was me.”

“Why?” the King asked. “Why fight something like that at all? You’re young. You could have run. Hidden. Survived.”

Northern’s expression shifted—just slightly—into something harder. Colder.

“Because they threatened the Central Plains. I don’t have another continent for my family to live in,” he said simply. “Not at the moment.”

Understanding passed between them—king to warrior, father to son.

The King nodded slowly. “I see.” He turned to the officials hovering nearby. “Release the visitors to his custody. Immediately. And prepare supplies for their journey—food, water, whatever they need.”

“Your Majesty—” the official began to protest.

“Immediately,” the King repeated, and there was iron in his voice now. “This man just demonstrated he could kill everyone in this arena before we finished drawing our weapons. The fact that he’s asking politely instead of simply taking what he wants shows remarkable restraint. We will honor that restraint.”

The official bowed quickly and hurried off.

Northern allowed himself a small smile—genuine this time.

“I appreciate the efficiency.”

“I appreciate not having my mountain leveled,” the King replied dryly. Then his expression softened slightly. “You’re welcome in Ryugan anytime, Northern. As a friend, not as a threat. Roma seems fond of you, and I trust her judgment.”

Northern glanced at Roma, who was descending the arena steps toward them. She still looked shaken—not by the violence, but by the casual totality of it. By how little effort it had cost him.

“I’ll remember that,” Northern said.

His friends were approaching now too—Ellis in the lead, relief written clearly across his face. Behind them, guards were already moving to escort them to wherever Abyss Tyrant was being held.

‘Finally. Finally we can just leave.’

As he turned to go, a sound split the air—deep and resonant, like a horn announcing the end of the world. It rolled across the arena, through the stone, into the bones of everyone present.

The King went stiff. Roma too. Everyone in the arena, their expressions shifting in unison, filling with dread and fear.

Northern’s brows drew together as he looked from Roma to the King. Then at his friends, who looked just as confused as he felt. Soldiers were already sprinting into the arena, armor clattering with urgency.

‘Ah… this can’t be good.’