It wasn't arrogance. It was truth. He'd seen the gap, felt it in every clash of their weapons. Leon had survived by pushing himself beyond his limits, but even that came with its own consequences.

"I need to enter the Ascendant Stage," he murmured to himself. "Only at that level will these numbers have real meaning."

But even that wasn't his end goal. From the start, he had entered this trial to reach the Divine Stage.

"And the entry point to that…" He looked at his current rank—D-Rank—and exhaled through his nose. "...is S-Rank."

It felt like a distant horizon, but he wasn't discouraged. Sometimes he thought he was growing too fast, but whenever a real challenge came, he realized just how far he still had to go.

"I can't slow down now," he said quietly, steadying his breath. "Not when everything depends on this."

Then his gaze sharpened, the soft light reflecting in his eyes.

What he said next wasn't loud, but it carried weight, heavy with curiosity and quiet unease.

"What I really need to figure out…" Leon paused, staring at his reflection in the glowing panel.

"…is how I'm still alive."

****

Leon exhaled slowly, his breath the only sound in the quiet room. His brows furrowed as his thoughts spiraled inward.

"I remember clearly," he murmured, fingers pressing against his chest, "having my chest impaled."

His hand trailed over the spot where the hole should have been, where a fist had once carved straight through flesh and bone. There wasn't even a scar or trace. Just a smooth, unmarred skin.

Perplexed didn't begin to describe it. This wasn't the first time he'd brushed the edge of death, and it wasn't the first time his chest had been pierced, either.

The last time had been during the Selection. A demon of Lancelot's level had impaled him then, too. Leon had survived only because of his Stress Multiplier, using it to amplify his attack points and flooding his Vitality until it overflowed. It had been a desperate gamble, one that had nearly shattered him.

But this time, he didn't have that multiplier. The points he burned couldn't have equaled the amount he gained that day. Yet here he was, alive, whole and unscarred.

"So how," he whispered, "am I still alive?"

He already knew the answer, at least, part of it. It had to be his new race. The Void Spawn. But how it had saved him was what puzzled him.

What little he understood about the Void Spawn came from experience, not explanation.

One: it possessed near-endless stamina when shrouded in darkness, allowing his aura and energy to replenish far faster than before.

Two: he no longer needed the functions of a living being, sleeping, eating, breathing they'd become irrelevant to him.

Three: and most unsettling of all… he had been born of corruption.

At that thought, something clicked, as Leon's eyes narrowed.

"Born of corruption…" he said quietly. Then, his mind connected the next thought like a spark leaping between two wires. "Corruption is undying."

That was the reason he was here. The Empire believed he could destroy corruption—something that even Rank 9s, beings akin to SSS-level power, couldn't do.

If corruption couldn't die, then what did that make him?

Leon's voice dropped to a whisper. "If I was born of it… then maybe I can't die either."

The thought sent a chill down his spine, not fear, but awe mixed with uncertainty. Still, speculation wasn't enough. Leon wasn't the kind to believe until he tested it himself.

"I can't just guess," he said firmly. "I have to see it for myself."

Without hesitation, Leon summoned his his sword. The dim light caught the edge of the blade as he raised it above his open palm. Then, with a sharp motion, he drove it straight through.

There was no pain or blood.

Instead, a ripple of darkness spread from the wound, a deep, endless void swallowing the space where his flesh should have been. He drew the blade out slowly, watching in eerie silence as the darkness began to fold in on itself, devouring the emptiness like a living thing.

Within seconds, the wound was gone. His hand was whole again, smooth, pale and flawless.

Leon turned his hand over, staring at it. His voice was low, steady, but there was something uneasy beneath it.

****

Leon didn't stop there.

Curiosity, or maybe disbelief pushed him further.

He started small, slicing his skin in thin, deliberate lines. Each wound sealed in seconds, the flesh knitting together without even a drop of blood. But that wasn't enough. The more he saw, the more he needed to know. Soon the cuts went deeper, far beyond what any normal body could endure. He severed an arm. Then a leg. Every time, the missing limb reformed, threads of black nothingness weaving bone and muscle back into place.

He didn't dare try his head for obvious reasons, but even then, he had a feeling it wouldn't matter. If the void could remake him from nothing, what difference would a head make?

When the last of his limbs reattached, Leon exhaled slowly, the air trembling with realization.

"There's a limit… after all," he murmured.

The regeneration wasn't infinite, he could feel it. The more he destroyed himself, the slower the restoration became. At first, he couldn't grasp why. But after a few more deliberate amputations, the answer became clear.

"The void… it's reducing," Leon said under his breath.

That was it.

Although he looked human, he was merely an imitation of one, a shell sculpted by the void. The dark essence inside him worked endlessly to mimic life, to make him seem alive. But it wasn't endless. Every act of regeneration drained that essence, forcing it to fill the cracks, to reweave the illusion. If enough damage was done, the void would empty and when it did, Leon knew he wouldn't come back.

As he pieced this together, a strange thought lingered in his mind like an echo he couldn't silence.

'If the void imitates life… does that mean it doesn't have a true form?

Or is it something else entirely?'

The question sat heavy in the silence.

Then, without warning, a golden shimmer rippled through the room, soft at first, then blinding. Leon raised his arm against the glow, his expression tightening as the air itself seemed to hum.

In the next heartbeat, the light condensed, forming the silhouette of a man.

A man standing right before him.

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