The Transcendent Godslayer-Chapter 42: Not a Saint

The door slid open with a soft hiss, releasing a billow of warm, white fog that curled into the air like ethereal wisps. From the mist, a boy stepped forward, he was about nine to ten years old. His crimson hair, still damp, clung to his forehead, with faint streaks of silver barely noticeable beneath the dim glow of the corridor.

His bare torso gleamed with sweat, each droplet tracing the contours of his lean but chiseled form, muscles subtly flexing with every breath. His breathing was slightly uneven, and an occasional, involuntary twitch rippled through his limbs, betraying the strain that still lingered.

This training was hellish!.

He walked out of the door, navigating the colossal castle's archways and winding paths with the ease of familiarity. The vast corridors stretched out in silent grandeur, crimson-gold sconces casting long shadows against obsidian walls.

When he reached his room, he paused at the window, exhaling softly. The night had fully descended in all its glory, draping the world in its quiet majesty.

Below, Crimson City pulsed with life, its streets illuminated in a mesmerizing display, street-lights flickering like distant stars, weaving an intricate beauty of warmth against the dark.

Twin moons hung high and full in the sky, their beautiful glow reflecting in his sharp eyes, each one shimmering with it's individual brilliance.

A month had passed since he had received his Pathfinder title and its Active Effect. A month since Azarel had designed the pressure training suit for him. Kallen had to admit—it worked wonders.

His body had adapted, his constitution growing stronger, but his mind? That was another matter. The mental strain still clung to him like an ever-persistent ache. However at this point, he had learned to ignore it.

It had taken him three years; from six to nine, to break past the 30-stat threshold, a feat that had once seemed insurmountable. Yet in just one month, he had seen measurable growth.

The gravity chamber and the pressure suit had been invaluable, pushing him beyond his limits. He wasn't far from breaking the second limit, but he had to acknowledge that now, gaining even a single stat point now was excruciatingly difficult.

If not for the intense pressure of his training, he doubted he could have advanced more than three stat points since his breakthrough.

Now, he felt he finally understood what the Existential Compendium had meant when it said his foundation was being reaffirmed. His growth was no longer just about numbers—it was about solidifying his body.

Turning away from the window, he made his way to the bathroom, muscles still tense, shoulders tight with the residual strain of training.

He began filling the bath pool, the sound of cascading water a soothing contrast to the rigid silence of his thoughts.

Soon, the room was swathed in mist, the air rich with the earthy scent of mint and cedarwood. Beneath those layers lingered the subtle tang of sea salt and minerals, a concoction meant to soothe and rejuvenate.

Kallen slipped into the steaming water, exhaling a quiet groan of satisfaction as warmth seeped into his weary muscles. His pores opened, tension releasing from his tendons, every fiber of his being surrendering to the blissful relief.

He closed his eyes in bliss.

And before long, sleep took him.

---

Kallen's nap was violently cut short.

His ears twitched, pupils constricting as danger signals screamed through his mind like blaring war horns. Neural synapses fired like a barrage of bullets, snapping his body awake. Without thinking, he jerked his head underwater.

A kunai sliced through the air, whistling past his skull by a hair's breadth before colliding on the same spot his head had been moments ago.

His heart pounded against his ribs, each beat a thunderous drum echoing in his chest.

CRACK!

The sound of fracturing stone resounded. The kunai buried itself in the pool's edge with a sickening crunch, sending a chill racing down his spine.

'No way...'

The Crimson Castle's floors were built to withstand the power of Ascendants. Also, Ares was Sixth Ascendant world; a world where beings below Saint-level Ascension had so much trouble, leaving so much as a dent on the earth, let alone cracking the floor.

That kind of force required the might of a Saint! Someone on the level of Azarel or Ariel!

His blood ran ice-cold at the realization. His life flashed before his eyes, panic clawing at the edges of his mind. He almost succumbed to it—almost let fear swallow him whole—until his thoughts slammed to a halt.

A Saint? Sneaking up on him? With a weapon?

No! That made no sense!

A Saint wouldn't need a sneak attack. They could kill him with a flick of their wrist... hell, just a glance! And yet, he had just dodged? A Saint's attack? Impossible!

His breath steadied, and his mind sharpened like a blade.

'Not a Saint... then it's a treasure! A powerful one...'

His chest tightened as the realization hit.

'Well played. How insidious!'

He didn't waste another second. Twisting in the water, he turned toward the kunai's impact point. His eyes remained shut; the bath's soapy lather would burn like acid if it got in them, but his spatial awareness and perception were enough..... enough to not thrash about in the water.

At this point his mind was computing every movement, every angle, every second, like a supercomputer.

His hand lashed out, fingers clamping around the kunai's hilt, lodged into the edge of the pool about twenty centimeters above the water surface.

He pulled hard with all his strength afraid that it might not budge. The force behind its throw had shattered the surrounding marble tiles, meaning it had driven deep into the stone. He grit his teeth, straining, feeling the resistance fight against him.

It was too slow!

His instincts screamed at him to abandon it and run, but that would be suicidal. This was his family's castle. If someone had dared attack him, it meant they weren't alone. The whole Crimson Family was under attack too.

And if his assailant got their weapon back, he'd be dead before he could even blink.

The accuracy of that first throw was terrifying. There wouldn't be a second chance.

Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion, but that was just his mind. His perception had stretched time, a result of his brain adapting to the relentless strain of the pressure suit.

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Three seconds.

That was all that had passed.

But to Kallen, those three seconds might as well have been thirty.

There was a new sound. The whistling hiss of a projectile even sharper than before.

It was fast, deadly, and perfectly aimed.

He felt it pierce through the water, its trajectory bending as it angled straight for his throat.

Without thinking, he moved.

His body shifted, subtly, but precisely adjusting his position.

But he wasn't on stable dry land. The water's friction and the slick bath floor slowed him just enough. The projectile grazed his shoulder, leaving behind a thin, burning cut.

But the kunai however, was free.

Kallen kicked off the pool wall, his legs coiling with raw power. Water exploded behind him as he launched out of the bath like a torpedo, droplets scattering in every direction like liquid stars.

And then he saw them.

Three figures, dressed in black, standing at the entrance. From the look of things, they had just arrived in the bathroom too, which means they had been attacking him from the outside.

'Seems I didn't take as long as I thought,' He mused with a cold expression.

The kunai spun in his palm in a perfect blur before he snapped it into a reverse grip. His muscles coiled like a drawn bowstring, his heartbeat slowing.

Then his eyes flashed with murder!.