Shuurai

[FT: O King of the Fairies] Chapter 60

Added 2025-04-02 13:57:27 +0000 UTC

The air in the training room was suffocating, thick with the weight of my own thoughts. My breathing was steady, measured—but inside, I was anything but calm.

Not enough.

I clenched my jaw, scrolling through my inventory.

For so long, I had been careful. I had picked my weapons with precision, with restraint. I had convinced myself that overwhelming power wasn’t necessary, that skill, experience, and tactics would be enough.

And then that thing appeared.

Something that didn’t belong in this world. A thing beyond magic, beyond strength, beyond anything I had ever faced. It twisted reality itself, shattered minds with its mere presence.

And worst of all—people had died because of it.

Not because I was weak.

Not because I hesitated.

But because I was ignorant.

Arrogant

Naive

I exhaled sharply, forcing the tension from my shoulders.

That wouldn’t happen again.

I scrolled through my inventory, my fingers hovering over a category I had ignored for far too long.

[Cosmic Slayers]

Weapons forged with one purpose—to kill the unkillable.

I had avoided them until now, convinced they were unnecessary. That was a mistake I would never make again.

I exhaled sharply and accessed the list.

[Voidpiercer.] – A spear that could puncture through dimensions and erase beings from existence.

[Black Star Epitaph.] – A sword that had once severed a cosmic god from reality itself.

[The All-Ending Scythe.] – A weapon designed to cut the threads of fate, ensuring nothing could return from the void.

Each one was crafted specifically to combat horrors beyond mortal comprehension.

I clenched my fist.

"Why the hell didn’t I take these before?"

Because I had believed I wouldn’t need them.
I should have known better.

I reached into the void and pulled.

The moment my fingers wrapped around the hilt, the entire room shifted.

The temperature dropped. The walls groaned under an invisible pressure.

The weapon in my hand was sleek, black as the abyss, its surface pulsing with something wrong. It hummed—not like magic, not like anything I had ever wielded before.

I exhaled, adjusting my grip.

Then I swung.

The air split apart, warping under the force.

The reinforced training dummies—built to withstand S-Class destruction—didn’t explode. They didn’t shatter.

They simply ceased to exist.

Not broken.

Not destroyed.

Just… gone.

I stared at the empty space where they had been, my breathing slow, measured.

This was what I needed.

I dismissed the weapon, summoning another. Then another. Then another.

Each one carried the same weight, the same suffocating presence.

I tested them all. Their reach, their speed, their abilities. I had to know them, had to make them an extension of myself.

Because next time—

Next time, there wouldn’t be any hesitation.

There wouldn’t be any ignorance.

There would only be the enemy.

Hours passed before I finally let myself stop.

I leaned against the wall, running a hand through my hair. My body ached, my muscles screamed, but my mind refused to let me rest.

I had spent the last few weeks training like this—pushing myself harder than ever before, forcing my body and mind to adapt to weapons I had never dared touch.

But even now, I wasn’t sure if it would be enough.

Tch. That’s a dangerous thought.

I pushed off the wall, rolling my shoulders. I couldn’t let doubt creep in. Not now.

I glanced at the time. Alma would probably be back soon.

A small smirk tugged at my lips.

"She’s gonna be pissed."

I could already imagine the look on her face when she saw me like this—exhausted, barely standing, the remnants of eldritch weaponry still lingering in the air.

"You look like shit, Aiden."

Yeah, she’d say something like that.

And she wouldn’t be wrong.

I sighed, dismissing the last weapon back into my inventory.

Then, my fingers hovered over something else.

Something… greater.

I had never paid much attention to the Godkiller and Cosmic Supremacy categories of my inventory. Not because I couldn’t use them—my Celestial Inventory granted me absolute mastery over anything I wielded.

But mastery wasn’t the same as experience.

I could wield a sword flawlessly, but that didn’t mean I had fought a thousand battles with it.

And weapons capable of rivaling gods?

That was an entirely different level of warfare.

I scrolled further, my eyes narrowing at what lay within.

Artifacts. Relics. Weapons that could make me omnipotent—or something dangerously close to it.

The kind of power that would make any battle meaningless.

I exhaled, then smirked to myself.

Not yet.

Omnipotence wasn’t what I wanted. Not yet.

There were still too many things to do. Too many things to explore. Too many things to enjoy.

If I reached the peak now—if I became something untouchable, something beyond the struggles of mortals—then what would be left?

I didn’t want to ruin this. Not yet.

Perhaps, at the end of my journey, when there was nothing left to fight for, nothing left to experience… maybe then.

But that day wasn’t today.

Today, I trained.

Today, I prepared.

I exhaled, summoning another weapon. The moment my fingers wrapped around the hilt, reality twitched.

[Endbringer.]

A sword forged in the dying heart of a collapsing universe.

The instant it appeared, the training room felt… wrong. Like the very air was recoiling from its presence.

The blade was pitch black, absorbing the light around it, devouring reflections like a black hole. It carried no aura, no sense of overwhelming magic. Just a suffocating, absolute silence.

I adjusted my grip.

Then I swung.

The reinforced training dummies didn’t move. Didn’t even react.

For a second, I thought nothing had happened.

Then I blinked—

—And they were gone.

Not destroyed. Not broken. Gone. As if they had never existed at all.

I stared at the empty space for a long moment, my breathing slow.

This was what I needed.

Weapons that could kill the unkillable.

I dismissed the sword, summoning another.

[The Red Right Hand.]

A gauntlet, pulsating with something I refused to call alive. The moment it manifested, I felt it—like a whisper in my mind, something ancient and hungry.

I ignored it, flexing my fingers. The gauntlet felt weightless, yet my hand ached, as if reality itself was trying to reject it.

I clenched my fist.

Then I punched forward.

A ripple tore through the air, and the very fabric of the room cracked. The walls, reinforced to withstand S-Class destruction, trembled.

I inhaled sharply, dismissing the gauntlet.

Every weapon I summoned felt like this.

Not just powerful.

Wrong.

Like they weren’t meant to exist in this world.

I clenched my jaw, staring into the void of my inventory.

"So this is what it takes, huh?"

For so long, I had held back.

Not because I was weak. Not because I was afraid.

Because I had believed it wasn’t necessary.

Dragons. Demons. Warlords. Even the strongest enemies I had faced had been bound by the rules of this world.

I had convinced myself that skill, experience, and tactics were enough.

But eldritch horrors weren’t bound by the rules of this world.

And if I wanted to stand a chance against them, I couldn’t be either.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. My body was exhausted, my muscles screaming, but my mind refused to let me stop. My healing factor is going overdrive.

Not yet.

I scrolled through my inventory, searching.

Weapons weren’t enough.

Power wasn’t enough.

If I wanted to fight these things—if I wanted to kill them—I needed more than just strength.

I needed knowledge.

I opened a new section of my inventory. One I had never touched before.

[Forbidden Archives.]

A collection of knowledge, artifacts, and grimoires. Some from long-forgotten civilizations. Others from places that should never have existed.

I hesitated.

There was a reason I had avoided this category.

There were things in here that weren’t meant to be known.

Even with my Celestial Inventory, even with my ability to wield anything with absolute mastery, there were things that went beyond mere power.

There were books in here that could unravel minds. Tomes that could rewrite the very fabric of existence.

I wasn’t looking for omnipotence.

Not yet. Not unless it's necessary

There was still too much to do. Too much to explore. Too much to enjoy.

But I couldn’t afford to be ignorant anymore.

I selected a tome.

[Codex of the Nameless.]

The moment I did, the world dimmed.

The training room, the air, the very concept of sound—everything faded into an unnatural silence.

I exhaled slowly, flipping the cover open.

—The Beginning is the End.—

The words weren’t written in any language I recognized. And yet, I understood them.

I kept reading.

Lines and symbols twisted on the page, warping and shifting even as I stared at them.

The more I read, the heavier the air became.

This wasn’t magic.

This wasn’t a spell.

This was something else.

Something older.

Something deeper.

The room trembled. The walls groaned.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to keep going.

I read for what felt like hours.

By the time I closed the tome, my hands were shaking.

But my mind was racing.

There was something… wrong about all of this.

Because buried within the lines of the Codex, hidden between the knowledge of eldritch horrors, was something else.

They knew about the Celestial Inventory.

Not just as a concept. Not just as some all-powerful storage ability.

They had spoken of it.

Had feared it.

Had fought it.

I frowned, my grip tightening on the tome.

My eyes flicked to another section of my inventory—one I had deliberately ignored for even longer than the eldritch slayers.

[Artifacts of Absolute Power.]

I hovered over the category, hesitating.

Then, slowly, I accessed it.

And there they were.

Items that could grant omnipotence.

I had ignored them for so long. Dismissed them as unnecessary, as something I wasn’t ready for. But now, for the first time, I truly considered them.

I hovered over a few.

[The Crown of Absolute Dominion] – A relic that allowed its wearer to rewrite reality with a thought.

[The Omega Paradox] – A conceptual entity in the form of an artifact, existing in all possible futures and pasts simultaneously, making its wielder untouchable by time itself.

[The Architect’s Hand] – A glove that allowed its user to craft entire universes at will, bending existence to their imagination.

Each of these could grant everything. Power, knowledge, control.

Omnipotence.

If I truly wanted, I could take one now.

And yet—

I hesitated.

Because if omnipotence was that easy to obtain, then—

How did my predecessor die?

That was the question clawing at the back of my mind.

If the Celestial Inventory was capable of making someone all-powerful, if its previous master had truly achieved godhood, then who or what could have possibly killed them?

And perhaps the more terrifying question—

Did they even die?

Or did they vanish?

I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on the void.

The Celestial Inventory contained knowledge from across existence, from every plane, every reality, every possible version of the omniverse.

And yet, not a single trace of its previous wielder remained.

No records. No footprints. No legacy.

Nothing.

That shouldn’t have been possible.

If they had achieved true omnipotence, if they had reached the absolute peak of existence, then their will should have been imprinted on reality itself.

And yet—

They were gone.

Like they had never existed at all.

I clenched my jaw, dismissing the omnipotence-granting artifacts.

I didn’t want that power. Not yet.

Because there was still too much to do.

And if I took that step too soon—

If I let myself fall into the temptation of absolute power—

Then perhaps I might end up like my predecessor.

Wiped from existence.

And until I found out why…

Until I uncovered the truth of what happened to the last master of the Celestial Inventory…