Aetherios System [Slow Build OP MC, Isekai LitRPG/Cultivation] Chapter 143: Book 2: Chapter 57: Demon of Terraxum

Read chapter 143 of Aetherios System [Slow Build OP MC, Isekai LitRPG/Cultivation] by TTReynolds on NovelPedia.

Book 2: Chapter 57: Demon of Terraxum Book 2: Chapter 57: Demon of Terraxum The grand throne room of Terraxum was already waiting for him when the doors exploded. Fragments of blackened wood flew across the white marble, streaking it ash. Alex stepped through the smoke like a being ascending from the depths of Tartarus. His cloak was soaked with blood that painted dark streaks across the floor. Each of his steps left a red print behind him. His face was empty, a mask stripped of everything but purpose. All except for his eyes which burned like twin azure stars. The throne room guards hesitated, their discipline wavering under the weight of Alex’s gaze. Fear crawled across their faces. Some backed away, weapons trembling in their hands. A few tried to stand firm. Alex didn’t slow his approach, but he didn’t hurry either. He moved like a whisper, like a blade. In seconds each of the guards were on the ground, disarmed, broken, their weapons scattered like fallen leaves to the wind. The marble drank their blood, joining the crimson trail that followed him. Beyond the carnage the King of Terraxum sat upon his throne. He was unnervingly calm, draped in regalia that shimmered faintly with protective wards. He did not rise to meet the coming threat. Nor did he call for aid. He simply leaned an elbow on one armrest, his chin resting on his knuckles. He smiled faintly, as if greeting an old friend. “Ah,” the King said, his voice carried across the vast hall. “I wondered how long it would take you to arrive.” The King rose a single hand, golden magic rings igniting in the air around his gesture. They spun slowly, enchantments woven so tightly they sung like a chorus of voices. His declaration was smooth, carrying to every corner of the throne room. “After having attacked the peace summit, killing my son in the process, you do this? Sadly while I personally did not see those actions, now, before my eyes, you storm my palace and strike down nobles and royal guards alike.” The rings of energy around the King’s hand blazed brighter, feeding on the weight of his words. “That certainly violates the restrictions of your System Oath.” The golden circles flared brightly, runes spiraling outward to wrap around Alex. For a heartbeat, the throne room vibrated with their power. The System itself almost felt as it looked down on the room, a presence pressing down on the area, ready to deliver its judgment. And then… nothing happened. The glyphs stuttered, light faltered, shattering apart in tiny pieces like confetti from a birthday party celebration. The air went still. No punishment came. Throughout this, Alex didn’t flinch. His face was blank. “You’re looking for something that isn’t there.” He stepped forward, the fading light washing over his blood-streaked cloak. “You see, I have no Mage Core.” His words were calm, almost conversational, but each one hit like a hammer. “It was shattered, crushed into fragments of nothingness. There’s nothing left for your oath to cling to.” This was the realization Alex had about the System Oaths so long ago. The possible work around that he had thought of, but never dared to whisper allowed in case of any possible prying ears. The Oath sworn be each of the worldstriders was under pain of their core being destroyed by the Heavenly System. Alex’s didn’t have to worry about that, he was already a walking anomoly, no core, yet still a mage. The King’s expression flickered, first showing utter confusion, then realization. The power he had commanded with absolute certainty had found no anchor. After a few second a slow, cynical smile spread across his face.“…Interesting.” The King’s fingers flexed, and a second hand rose. This time, the magic wasn’t gold, it was a deep, resonant crimson, laced with threads of black. Circles bloomed in the air behind him, each one a cruel flower etched with runes of binding. They spun, slow and inevitable, feeding on power drawn from somewhere beyond the throne room itself. The air sh