THE REAL PROTEGE-Chapter 520: THE WEIGHT OF MEMORY

Mushu added in a low voice, "And external cultivation is the opposite — use the body as your anchor. Hammer bones, strengthen meridians, until even heaven can’t break you."

The Azure Dragon inclined his head. "Most cultivators are forced to choose. Few have the patience or talent for both. Those who master both can become nearly untouchable."

Shun swallowed. "No wonder Otako is different."

Beyond Samsara

Shi Min’s fingers clenched slightly at his side.

"Otako’s external cultivation has tempered his body beyond heavenly decay."

Shun’s gaze moved instinctively toward Shi Min.

"His existence is already partially detached from the law of reincarnation." For an ordinary soul, death would mean entry into the endless cycle of rebirth that governs all living things. In this world, the law of reincarnation is an unbreakable cosmic mandate: every creature, when their life ends, is drawn by unseen currents to be weighed and spun anew into another form. Past lives vanish, their deeds remembered only by the heavens. The cycles offer both justice and mercy, setting all beings on the endless road to redemption or damnation. But Otako moves outside this order, no longer fully bound by that fate.

That line struck deeper than the others.

Ling Li lowered her lashes.

"And Otako is not bound fully by samsara."

The koi in the pond shifted.

For a short moment, even they seemed restless.

"Others would—" the Azure Dragon continued calmly, "lose their soul attempting it."

The word lose felt insufficient.

"They would be erased by heavenly backlash."

Fatty shifted uncomfortably.

"They will be struck by tribulation lightning instantly."

Ren’s breath stopped.

Lightning was not metaphorical in their world.

It was the law.

"Otako alone can endure the recoil."

That finality came down heavily.

To Save and Forget

But the Azure Dragon was not finished.

"However."

The single word tightened every muscle in the hall.

"Everything comes with a cause, defying heaven."

His tone darkened slightly.

"Otako does not lose lifespan."

Ling Li’s fingers tightened faintly.

"He does not bleed."

Shi Min’s eyes did not blink.

"He loses something worse."

Now even Lily’s smile had vanished.

"Each time Otako uses ’Silent Immortal Adjudication’..."

The Azure Dragon’s voice slowed.

"The memory of that person fades from him." It does not happen all at once. At first, their name slips from his tongue, though their face still lingers sharp in his mind. Later, details blur and soften — shared moments lose their color, laughter recedes into a distant echo. In time, only a hollow ache remains, a feeling that someone mattered, even as every memory tied to them dissolves like mist at sunrise.

No one reacted immediately.

The concept took time to penetrate.

"Otako restores their life..."

The Azure Dragon’s eyes softened faintly.

"But slowly erases his own connection to the person."

The weight of that truth settled like ash.

Shun glanced at Ren instinctively.

Ren stared forward, stunned.

Mushu’s jaw tightened.

Fatty lowered his gaze.

Even Lily had no comment.

"That," the Azure Dragon concluded quietly, "is why Otako never uses it lightly."

He glanced around the room.

"That is why he seems detached."

Ling Li’s expression did not change.

But Four Eyes saw it.

The flicker.

So brief it might have been imagined.

But it was there.

The Dragon continued, voice lowering again.

"When Otako uses this technique—"

The atmosphere subtly shifted.

As if the mountain itself remembered.

"The sky darkens as if in partial eclipse."

A sudden chill seeped into the air, raising goosebumps along exposed skin, as if the whole room recoiled from what it had just heard. The faint scent of rain drifted in, mingling with petrichor from distant stone, and a prickle of unease settled over the listeners — even the familiar freshness felt unsettling, like some subtle warning. No birds called; the garden’s hush became dense, broken only by the soft rustle of unseen bamboo leaves — a silence that pressed against each heart, echoing the heaviness clamping down on everyone’s chest.

Red’s fiery aura dimmed instinctively.

"Otako’s mask reflects no light."

Four Eyes felt an involuntary tightening in his chest.

"A black-silver ring expands beneath his feet."

The carved stone floor beneath them seemed colder.

"Wind stops."

Outside, the air stilled again.

"Sound disappears."

The koi pond reflected absolute stillness.

"And in absolute silence..."

The Dragon’s voice barely rose above a whisper.

"The dead inhales."

Lily’s eyes widened.

"No glow.

No chanting.

No miracle light.

The dead just return to life."

The simplicity made it more terrifying.

There was no spectacle.

No drama.

Just inevitability.

Silence lingered for several long heartbeats.

Then—

"Does Otako fear that he could bring back a dead person to life?" Lily asked softly.

The question was innocent.

Curious.

But it cracked the stillness like porcelain.

"...."

Everyone felt it.

Another bombshell was coming.

The Azure Dragon did not answer immediately.

He studied Lily carefully.

Then glanced slowly at Ling Li.

Ling Li did not move.

Not a single muscle betrayed her.

But Four Eyes’ pulse quickened.

The Azure Dragon leaned back slightly.

"Fear," he repeated thoughtfully.

He did not smile this time.

"Otako does not fear bringing someone back."

His gaze sharpened.

"He fears the day he no longer remembers why he should."

Ren found her thoughts spiraling. If all it took was a gentle brush with this power to erase her ties to those she cared for, what would become of her? For her, memories carried warmth and purpose — laughter echoing in the quiet, the familiar brush of a friend’s hand, that ache of loss. Without them, love would become hollow, a name without feeling, a story without meaning. She held tightly to the truth that what bound them all together was not merely fate, but every fragile recollection they guarded inside.

The words cut deeper than any dramatic declaration.

Ren felt something twist painfully in her chest.

Shun’s protective instinct flared again.

Shi Min remained very still.

The Dragon continued quietly.

"Imagine saving someone you love."

"Only to wake one day unable to recall their laughter."

"Unable to recall why their loss once broke you."

Red lowered her eyes.

The bamboo outside resumed a faint whisper.

"Power," the Azure Dragon said, "is rarely the burden.

Memory is."

Lily’s enthusiasm had faded completely now.

She looked unsettled.

Mushu stared at the floor in thought.

Fatty rubbed the back of his neck uneasily.

Even Sisu, who has been silent from the start, bit his lip.

Ren’s mind churned.

Healing.

Gift.

Threat.

Correction.

Sacrifice.

Shi Min finally spoke.

"If he keeps using it... what happens?"

The Azure Dragon did not hesitate.

"Eventually?"

His gaze turned distant.

"He may save everyone.

And remember no one."

The statement settled like snowfall.

Cold.

Final.

Ling Li’s teacup made the faintest sound as it touched the table.

The smallest sound in a hall that had become unbearably quiet.

And in that silence—

Every person present realized something profound.

Otako was not terrifying because he could kill with a flick of his finger.

He was terrifying because he could deny death.

And still choose not to.

The koi resumed swimming.

The wind stirred.

But something had changed.

Knowledge had weight.

And they had just accepted it.

No one was ready for what that knowledge would cost.

But none of them could pretend they hadn’t heard it.

Not anymore.

"Is this the most fearsome aspect of Otako?" Lily asked once again.

"...."

Everyone, ’Hays! Their heart isn’t ready yet!’