My Charity System made me too OP-Chapter 414: Null Void III

The wind around the island was unnatural—thick, slow, and cold.

As they stepped onto the floating landmass, Leon’s boots crunched against broken marble. Cracked stone paths twisted between towering, half-destroyed structures. Everything was massive in scale—designed not for mortals, but for something far greater. Empty thrones lined the center, spaced evenly around a crater in the middle of the ruins.

Kael’s voice broke the silence. "This whole floor... it’s a fortress."

Roselia nodded. "Built around something they couldn’t protect."

Aris knelt beside one of the statues. Its face was eroded, but a faint crown symbol remained etched along the chestplate. "Whoever this was... they didn’t fall easily."

Leon walked to the edge of the central crater. Inside it, long-dormant energy swirled—a pool of elemental fragments flickering faintly, clashing and dissolving into one another like a storm of broken legacies.

He stared down into it.

Five thrones surrounded the crater. All of them empty.

But the sixth...

Was still occupied.

A body, or what remained of one, slumped motionless upon it. Not decayed. Preserved. Wrapped in chains of wind, fire-scorched steel, vines of crystalized water, and crackling lightning locks.

Even void runes pulsed faintly beneath the throne’s base.

Aris stepped beside Leon. "That’s the last Elemental King, isn’t it?"

Leon didn’t answer.

He took one step forward.

The moment his foot touched the inner ring of the crater—everything moved.

The air ignited.

The skies flashed.

And the body on the throne opened its eyes.

Silver. Hollow. Timeless.

Roselia shouted, "Get back—!"

But it was too late.

A wave of elemental force erupted from the center, slamming into the team. They scattered—barely holding their footing. Kael rolled behind a broken pillar. Aris landed in a crouch, blade drawn.

Leon stood firm.

The chained figure didn’t rise—but its voice echoed across the ruins.

"You carry the six... and yet you still breathe."

It sounded like many voices layered into one. Male, female, old, young. Echoes of past selves chained to the same soul.

Leon’s hand hovered near his blade. "Are you the last Crown?"

The chained king stared at him. "I was."

A pause.

"Are you here to replace me, or free me?"

Leon met his gaze without flinching. "Neither. I’m here to finish what you couldn’t."

The ruins pulsed again.

The king smiled, just barely. "Then show me. Here... now... in this grave, prove you are more than a carrier."

The throne disintegrated in a flash of pure elemental overload.

The chains broke.

And the dead king moved.

He moved like lightning. Like fire. Like water. Like a shadow folded inside light.

Leon barely raised his arm in time. A half-second before the impact, he vanished—Eclipse Step active, the Void phasing him just out of reach.

The king struck again—earth rising in spikes under Leon’s return. He flipped backward, channeling wind to lift over them.

Roselia fired a chain of water spears—only to have them caught and redirected as steam.

Kael activated a defense barrier.

Aris blurred in from the side, slicing with precision—only for the king’s hand to catch her blade with fire-wreathed fingers.

"Too slow," the king said. Then launched her across the platform.

Leon breathed.

Focused.

And for the first time—let all six elements awaken at once.

Flame in his core.

Wind around his limbs.

Earth in his stance.

Water in his veins.

Lightning in his reflex.

Void in his mind.

He stepped forward.

And met the strike head-on.

Blades clashed. Not once. Not twice. But in a chain of blows that bent air and cracked sky. Sparks flew. The platform split apart. Every collision sent a pulse through the floor like thunder. The others could barely see them—only flashes of motion and bursts of element.

Then—Leon switched.

From offense to silence.

A burst of Void shimmered—and he slipped under the king’s next strike, appearing behind him, blade glowing with all six lights. He didn’t shout. Didn’t roar.

He just drove the blade through.

Straight through the king’s back.

The dead king shuddered—once.

Then stilled.

He turned slowly, his form already crumbling.

"You... remind me of how I used to feel," he whispered.

Leon didn’t speak.

The king reached forward—just briefly—and pressed a hand to Leon’s chest.

A small fragment of silver light passed from one Crown to the next.

Then, like dust in a wind, the last Elemental King faded away.

Not violently.

Not in agony.

Just... peacefully.

The crater stilled.

The five empty thrones crumbled.

And in their place, one single stairway rose—spiraling into the skies above.

The path to Floor 503.

Kael walked up beside Leon, holding his side. "I’m guessing this is the part where things get even worse?"

Roselia smiled faintly. "He’s the King now. That means we start getting hunted."

Aris sheathed her weapon. "Good. I was getting bored."

Leon looked upward.

No words.

Just a quiet breath.

Then he started walking up the stairway, step by step, as the Tower above began to stir in full.

Because now?

He wasn’t walking toward power.

He was walking toward the truth.

They stepped off the staircase onto a floor made of glass.

Except it wasn’t glass.

It looked like memory.

Beneath their feet, scenes played like silent films—visions of moments long passed. A battlefield of golden giants. A crowd of Ascenders kneeling before a figure wearing a crown of flame. A Tower collapsing in on itself, screaming silently as people vanished into nothingness.

Kael crouched. "Are these recordings?"

Roselia shook her head. "Too detailed. Too layered."

Aris said it plainly. "They’re real. This floor doesn’t remember the past. It is the past."

Leon stood at the edge of a wide, cracked platform. The sky above was gray and full of storm threads—fine silver strings trailing down like puppet wires from clouds that didn’t move. The air felt thick with something unfinished.

And then a voice spoke.

From everywhere.

From nowhere.

"Welcome, Crownbearer."

A pulse of light rippled through the floor.

The scenes beneath their feet froze.

"You have entered the Tower’s Memory Core. From here, all things above and below are maintained. What is remembered, exists. What is forgotten... falls."

A shape stepped forward—formed from the flickers of memory. Tall, robed, with no face. Only a blank mask made of stone, inscribed with thousands of tiny, shifting glyphs.

Kael whispered, "That’s not a Watcher."

Leon answered calmly. "No. That’s a Curator."

The Curator tilted its head.

"Correct. I maintain what the Tower is allowed to know."

It raised a single hand, and a dozen images flickered around Leon—visions of him on lower floors, echoing through different versions of the same events.

Fights. Trials. Victories.

And failures that had never happened.

Leon’s hand twitched.

"These didn’t happen."

The Curator replied:

"But they could have. And so they are stored. That is the rule of the Memory Floor."

The ground beneath them cracked.

And from the cracks—people began to climb out.

Copies.

Shadows.

Dozens of them.

Leons.

Some younger. Some older. One cloaked in fire, one half-shadowed in void, one with lifeless eyes. Another wore the Crown openly—madness burned into his face. Another one died in Kael’s arms. Another stood with Aris, but she was bleeding.

Each version played out a different fate.

A different Tower.

A different ending.

Leon stepped forward.

"I’m not here to fight what I could’ve been."

The Curator moved closer.

"You must. Because the Tower does not rise by truth. It rises by belief."

Leon turned to face his reflections. Each one locked eyes with him. One stepped forward—his body gleaming with overused Flame power, his aura barely holding together. His expression was hollow.

"You made the wrong call," the version said. "You kept them alive, but you lost the Core."

Another one followed—wind-cloaked, faster than any human should be. "You should’ve let Roselia die. We would’ve reached Floor 700 by now."

More stepped forward. They spoke in unison.

"You were never the right Leon."

Leon didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

And then he spoke.

"I’m not a perfect version."

He looked at all of them.

"But I’m the one who’s here now."

Power surged—not blinding, not explosive—but stable. Grounded. The six elements didn’t shine. They settled. His marks pulsed quietly, not as weapons, but as roots.

He raised his hand—and didn’t attack.

Instead, he reached forward.

Toward one of them.

The hollow one.

The broken one.

And instead of resisting—

It faded.

Peacefully.

One by one, the rest followed.

The echoes dissolved.

Not in violence.

But in acceptance.

The Curator paused.

"You did not erase them."

"No," Leon said. "They’re part of me. I don’t need to forget them to move on."

The Curator was silent.

Then it stepped aside.

"You are cleared to proceed."

The path forward opened—a long corridor lined with mirrors. Not of Leon.

But of his team.

Kael. Roselia. Aris. Naval. Milim. Roman.

Memories that hadn’t happened yet.

Futures still unwritten.

Roselia stopped beside him. "What now?"

Leon looked ahead.

"Now we walk forward."

And for the first time on Floor 503, the path didn’t shift or fight.

It welcomed them.

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