Genetic Ascension - Chapter 2041: Ready [Bonus]

Chapter 2041: Ready [Bonus]

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[Bonus chapter thanks to ChronoTitan <3]

The echo of the voice seemed to worm into Sylas’ consciousness, reaching for the depths of his soul and seeking to rend it apart.

He had heard them almost too clearly, with a clarity that felt like it didn’t belong. It was like he had been granted the consciousness of a much higher being just to truly experience the depths of the tone and the breadth of the power.

Yet, it just felt like every moment since he had seen the ceiling of the universe felt a little less impressive. Maybe something like this would have at least made him pause in the past, but right now it might as well have been like a breeze passing through and pain needling at his brain.

And pain… that, he could deal with.

He had heard some variation of these words too many times already. Even if the words themselves weren’t spoken, the actions taken upon them were clear enough.

How much effort had it taken before the Mortal Realm came to fear him like it did now? And even then, Sylas was fairly sure there were still fools plotting against him in the background when he couldn’t even really muster up the care to give them the time of day.

Even now, Sylas was waiting patiently for the Thryskai to come beg for his help as though he knew that it was coming, and how long had it been since the Tutorial? Had it even been two years yet?

He wasn’t even 30 years old, an age that, to this world, would still be considered a man swaddled in his mother’s embrace. And yet he could already lay dominion over large stretches of land.

For someone to tell him that he was weak…

Well, even if Sylas didn’t have these feats he wouldn’t care a single moment for the words, let alone now.

The First Race was impressive.

He was more impressive.

The black mountains shook.

“Your accomplishments rest at the feet of our altar.”

The voice became layered and boomed with a deep-seated Pride.

Sylas gave the faintest, imperceptible nod. Maybe that was true in part. A lot of what he had been able to do with Earth was thanks to the First Race. Their existence had weakened a lot of the pressure they were facing, and it might very well be the case that the enemies the First Race had been forced to fight on Earth’s behalf so many years back were far more powerful than anything Sylas had to face.

But the First Race didn’t teach Sylas his Pride nor his Dao. It didn’t take him down the Path of Madness, nor did it help him carve out a new Path wherein he could wield three Virtues and thus three Comprehensions and four Classes.

And it had certainly not taught him a single thing about Rune Mastery.

The one person who had taught Sylas much of anything about Rune Mastery was Gralith, and he was now a B-tier Rune Master. Sylas wasn’t sure what level Gralith was at, but what he did know was that this master of his had never given him guidance in Rune Mastery that was profound enough to enlighten him.

Sylas’ greatest breakthrough in Rune Mastery—at least in relation to his strength at the time—came from reading a rulebook.

If these attacks were meant to seed self-doubt into his heart, they were far too weak and flimsy. Even if they had been far closer to home… They were too late.

Sylas had already regained his Pride.

The voices roared, a peeling echo of shuddering might ripping through his body. Splintering flesh erupted across him, his bones fracturing.

For mere Will to do this alone… it really was impressive.

Of course, Sylas had seen Will do much more impressive things. What else was it but impressive that the Monkey King could project his Will epochs into the future?

By now, Sylas had simply seen too much of the world. He had done too much, accomplished too much.

His foot raised once more and pressed down for the final time at the peak of the black mountain.

Before him, there was an altar that lay in complete silence, one that seemed to touch the void, the Mesh of Reality, and the Real Plane all at once. It was both there and not, both present and lost in a distant past.

Upon this altar, swirls of blackness began to spin, churning and churning until it formed the figure of a humanoid construct. It had no face, no discernible features. Even its general shape seemed to change continuously, an ever- morphing, endless tide of variable switches that were hard to read.

It was impossible to tell whether this figure was trying to represent multiple people, or if it was the case that this figure never represented anyone at all in the first place.

“You are better than we thought.”

The voice said again.

It seemed to have changed its opinion. The words spoken before weren’t falsehoods, nor were they attempts to break Sylas’ spirit. They were warnings.

Sylas could feel it in his soul, he could feel the intention in their Wills, he just hadn’t cared, walking all the way up here with the same cadence in his step.

And it was precisely because of that that by the time he walked to the peak of the black mountain, he had already known what would happen.

“We would not like our descendants to clash. But it seems that not all things can be calculated, even when you grasp the three Creation Paths. There lies something beyond, something that we could not reach.”

The figure almost dimmed as though it was steeped in sadness.

“You are not asking, so you already understand.”

Sylas was, indeed, not asking because by now it was obvious.

Vesta wasn’t the only decoy. Neither were the nearly 10,000 others he had gathered.

Earth itself was the decoy.

Meaning, there was a Clan of First Race descendants out there unfathomably more powerful than they were.

And now Sylas had just lit a beacon that told them their home was ready.