Level Up Legacy

Chapter 1359 Ashes

Chapter 1359 Ashes

Ragnar sighed and gestured again for Arthur to sit. "The greatest mistake I made, Arthur, was believing that wrath alone could change the world. That it was the answer to all suffering and oppression. But wrath is a fire that burns until it leaves nothing behind."

Reluctantly, Arthur lowered himself onto the stone steps near the pond, the chill seeping into his bones. His eyes never left Ragnar, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. "You think that kindness will help me defeat Devaheim? That mercy and compassion can stand against their power?"

Ragnar's smile widened slightly, as if Arthur's question was expected. "Not kindness alone. But if you rely only on wrath, then you will repeat my mistakes and be consumed as I was. The gods will use your rage against you, just as they did to me.

The only way to defeat them is to understand what they never could—humanity's capacity for both wrath and mercy. Only then will you have the strength to wield wrath without becoming a slave to it."

Arthur clenched his fists, the familiar surge of anger bubbling within. "Why should I care about kindness? I've seen what it brings—weakness. Those who hesitate to strike are always the first to fall," he said while remembering the previous timeline.

Ragnar's expression grew somber, and he walked closer to Arthur, until he stood just a step away. "Do you know what I felt when I first faced Devaheim? When their celestial armies came down like a storm of light upon our world?" Ragnar's voice lowered, filled with a memory so vivid that Arthur could almost see the flash of divine power reflected in his ancestor's eyes. "It wasn't fear, or even rage. It was pity."

"Pity?" Arthur's brow furrowed. "For the gods?"

"For the world they made," Ragnar corrected, his gaze turning to the tree's branches, where dew continued to fall, creating new ripples. "The gods rule through strength, but they have never known the pain of losing something. They exist without change, without growth. They have never been broken or rebuilt. So, they destroy whatever they cannot understand."

Silence fell between them, interrupted only by the rhythmic drops in the pond. Arthur's thoughts tangled with memories of his own battles, of times when he was on the brink, moments where his wrath became his strength—but also his chain. He recalled the faces of those he cared for—Diana, Oriole, Julia. They were his tether to the world, but his wrath often felt like it pushed him away from them, isolating him behind a wall of anger.

Arthur's breath came in sharp gasps, his vision blurring as the world became a swirl of fire and shadows. His body ached with the strain of wielding such destructive force, and he felt the edges of his consciousness fraying, like a rope pulled too tight.

Then, amid the chaos, a single voice pierced through his thoughts. It was soft, but resolute—Diana's voice, speaking words he had forgotten. "You don't have to carry everything alone, Arthur."

For a heartbeat, he hesitated, and the wrath that surged through him recoiled, leaving behind a hollow ache. In that moment, the spirits around him paused, their forms wavering like smoke caught in a breeze. The flames dimmed, and the molten rivers cooled.

Arthur fell to his knees, the blade of wrath slipping from his grasp, dissolving into ash. He was surrounded by the ruins of his own power, and his heart pounded with a new realization—a fear that he had always refused to face. What if, in his quest for power, he loses everyone he held dear?

The battlefield shimmered, the illusion disappearing. Arthur found himself once more in the pavilion, his breaths ragged, his limbs heavy. Ragnar stood before him, the weariness in his eyes replaced with a deep, ancient sadness.

"You see now, Arthur?" Ragnar asked quietly, his voice filled with the weight of eons. "Wrath alone will never be enough. If you wish to break the cycle, to end the tyranny of Devaheim, you must find the balance between fury and compassion. Only then can you wield the power that I could not."

Arthur met his ancestor's gaze, the words sinking deep into his mind. He had always believed that wrath was his strength, his weapon against the world. But now, in the ruins of Ragnar's memories, he glimpsed a different path—a path that terrified him as much as it intrigued him.

"I don't know if I can," Arthur admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know if I can be what you want me to be."

Ragnar's expression softened, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "You do not have to be like me, Arthur. You just have to be more than the wrath that drives you."

And for the first time since their meeting, Arthur felt a flicker of something other than anger within him—a fragile, uncertain hope, like a single bloom in a field of ash.