Leon began to walk, his footsteps echoing through the hollow silence of the stolen Pantheon. He looked down at his hands, his gaze distant, as if he were leafing through the pages of a long, painful history. When he finally spoke, his voice was no longer the high-pitched tone of a child; it was laced with the heavy resonance of regret and a newfound, chilling acceptance.
"You know, you're right," Leon said softly. "I was naive. I truly believed that if I ignored a problem, it would eventually wither away. I ran from the truth of my existence, leaving myself with questions I was too terrified to answer. I was scared that if anyone saw the real me, they would hate me... they would call me a monster."
He paused, a sad smile flitting across his lips. "But by running, I became exactly what I feared. I hurt the people I love. I broke my own world. I hope... maybe one day they can forgive me. But I'm done running. I'm done playing the fool, hoping my problems will fix themselves. It's time to face my worst enemy."
Lace leaned back, his eyes mocking. "A very long, very boring speech. I don't think anything has actually changed, boy. At least you finally realize I am your worst enemy—and you've already realized there is nothing you can do to stop me."
"You misunderstand," Leon countered, finally looking up. His eyes were no longer human. "I am my own worst enemy. And I am finally standing my ground."
"I see..." Lace sighed, his hand stretching toward Leon, mana beginning to coil like a serpent. "It's obvious you have nothing left to offer. I'll kill you now and go collect my new puppets. You should know by now, Leon: only a Soul Palace can counter a Soul Palace. Since I have yours, you have nothing."
"Then," Leon replied, his voice gaining a terrifying weight, "I'll simply create a new one."
Lace froze for a heartbeat before bursting into a cacophony of uncontrollable, jagged laughter. "Create another one? You fool! Every practitioner knows that is impossible! You can edit a palace, you can evolve it, but you cannot manifest a second soul! No one can!"
"Impossible?" Leon asked, his hair beginning to drift in a wind that didn't exist. "Then watch."
Leon reached deep into the core of his being, no longer pushing against the tide of his power, but merging with it. He accepted the "Anomaly." He accepted the "God." He accepted every dark and brilliant corner of his spirit. He was no longer a boy pretending to be a B-rank; he was a singularity.
His voice was steady, a rhythmic chant that seemed to rewrite the laws of the realm as he spoke:
"The Creator whispers, and creation falls,
His decision finalized, and the counter nulls.
In a single word, all forms are born,
For in this realm, only His will remains..."
"Soul Palace: The Writer's Domain!"
The reality of the fire and the stolen Pantheon didn't just break; it dissolved. In its place emerged a boundless, blinding white void—a canvas of pure potential. Behind Leon, a monolithic book of impossible scale materialized, its blank pages fluttering open to the very center. Suspended within the spine of the book hung a colossal hourglass, its golden sand dripping in a slow, rhythmic pulse that seemed to dictate the heartbeat of the universe.
Leon did not stand. He sat upon a throne woven from solid clouds, staring down at Lace Freeman. His face was a mask of absolute stillness, devoid of the rage, fear, or hesitation that had plagued him for years. He rested his head against the back of his hand, the posture of a king bored by the antics of a peasant.
"Impossible," Lace muttered, his voice cracking.
His mind screamed in denial. This anomaly had spun a second Soul Palace out of the vacuum of his own will. Lace scrambled for control, lashing out with everything he had stolen. The endless gods of the Pantheon roared; the Black Dragons dived from the white sky; the earth-shattering storms and rivers of lava surged toward the cloud throne. It was an assault of total annihilation.
Leon didn't even move a finger. He merely leaned forward and whispered a single word:
"Erase."
The command was absolute. In a heartbeat, the gods, the dragons, the fire, and the storms ceased to exist. They didn't die; they were simply deleted from the record. Only Lace remained, standing small and trembling in the vast whiteness. Leon's gaze remained focused, unfazed by the erasure of an entire army.
Lace's mind spiraled. What if... He desperately manifested a mirror in front of Leon, hoping to use his peak Theft skill to reflect and seize the "Writer's Domain." But as Leon looked into the glass, the mirror shattered into a million sparkling shards instantly. Lace manifested a hundred more, a wall of reflections, but they all disintegrated the moment they caught Leon's image.
Taking a frantic step back, Lace realized he never stood a chance. He tried one last gambit—the only weapon he had left: psychological manipulation.
"I know you," Lace said, forcing a smile. "You have all the power in the world, but you still have the heart of a child. What are you going to do to me now? I know you can't bring yourself to kill me."
"Okay," Leon replied.
Lace didn't even see the attack. A sharp, agonizing pain exploded in his chest. Blood began to pour from his eyes, nose, and mouth. His skin began to peel away as if he were being flayed by invisible needles coursing through his very veins. His legendary healing factor—his pride and joy—stuttered and failed. He looked at Leon, searching for a flicker of mercy, but found only the cold void of a writer striking a line through a failed character.
"Please stop... please!" Lace screamed, his spirit breaking. "I know about the Dark Dimension! I can tell you how to draw power from it!"
The torment stopped instantly. "Dark Dimension?" Leon asked, his voice neutral. "What is that?"
Lace collapsed onto the white floor, his body shaking as his healing slowly began to mend the damage. He gasped for air, his eyes wide with terror. "I had mastered the Theft skill, but I was aging. I was a god who was going to lose to time. My research led me to a higher power... a higher dimension. I disappeared from Earth and found myself in a white void—the birthplace of all realities."
Lace looked up, his voice trembling with awe. "I saw a lady there... the most beautiful being I have ever seen. Dark hair, a white gown, and a voice that terrified the gods. I challenged her for immortality, but she ended the battle in an instant. She cast me down. I fell through different realms until I hit the Dark Dimension. That energy reverted my age to sixteen, but by the time I crawled back to Earth, a hundred years had passed. I've been back for nineteen years, trying to find my way back to that higher realm."
Leon narrowed his eyes. "A Dark Dimension? And realms above it?" He summoned Yudris to confirm the tale.
She appeared gracefully, her presence calming the chaotic energy of the void. She bowed low. "Young Lord, it appears he is telling the truth."
Lace looked at Yudris, his eyes bulging as recognition finally dawned on him. He pointed a shaking finger, his voice rising to a frantic scream. "It's you! You are the lady in white! The one from the higher dimension weaving the threads of reality! It's you... you are THE ARCHITECT!"