Absolute Cheater

The next morning arrived with a crisp stillness, broken only by the distant hum of shifting energy lines that pulsed beneath the city's streets. World Heart City was awake in a different way today—there was a quiet tension in the air, the kind that heralded great gatherings or looming power plays.

Asher stepped out onto the balcony of their inn, his eyes sweeping across the city. In the distance, the towering Spire of Assembly shimmered under the early sunlight. Its crystalline structure rose into the sky like a blade splitting clouds, humming with energy only World Rankers and beyond could properly sense.

Valeris joined him, dressed in a flowing onyx robe lined with faint golden veins that pulsed like a dragon's heartbeat. "The banquet's being held at the Spire's heart. Only those deemed worthy will be let in without challenge."

Asher nodded. "And those not deemed worthy?"

"They're tested—or turned away. Some are killed if they offend the Spire's guardians," Valeris said without blinking.

Veyra appeared behind them, adorned in a sleek crimson outfit of ancient blood-silk, her hair tied into a loose braid. "Then we'd better not offend anyone too important," she said with a wry smile.

Asher chuckled. "You'll be fine. You carry my aura. And here, that counts for something when here everyone respects power."

They descended the inn's steps and headed toward the inner district. The streets had been subtly cleared today, not by force, but by sheer pressure. Only those who carried world-level auras—or disguised them well—dared to be outside now. Golems of blackstone patrolled every corner, glowing softly with the breath of the World Core.

As they approached the Spire of Assembly, a wide path unfolded before them—golden tiles spiraled in arcane sigils, and two enormous statues of long-extinct beasts flanked the entrance. Between them stood an armored sentinel, clad in layered mythril infused with law-marks. He raised a hand—not to stop them, but to acknowledge.

"State your purpose," the sentinel intoned.

"Invitation to the banquet," Asher said plainly, releasing a faint pulse of his Sanguine Supreme aura. It didn't flare, but even a whisper of it carried the blood of conquest.

The sentinel blinked once, as though processing something deep within the world's memory. Then he stepped aside. "You may enter. The Spire awaits."

Asher led the way, and they stepped through a veil of light into the Spire's interior. The change was immediate—gravity shifted, time felt slower, and space was denser. Inside, they were no longer in a structure, but in a sanctum forged from pure Law.

The banquet hall itself hovered between planes. Tables floated in midair, suspended on platforms of starlight. Hundreds of world-level figures moved with elegance and silence, each cloaked in divine, ancestral, or demonic auras. There were few smiles, only masks of politeness hiding ambition and judgment.

"This is no ordinary gathering," Veyra whispered.

"No," Asher said. "All of them are elites not common World Rankers."

Valeris glanced at him. " Well, still they can't be compared to an monster like you."

As the trio walked forward, whispers followed. Eyes turned. Some recognized them—others only felt the tremble of ancient bloodlines and fate converging. Asher took his seat at the center table reserved for foreign sovereigns, while Valeris and Veyra sat to either side.

Then a bell rang—a single, clear chime that froze the air.

From above, descending slowly like a falling sun, came the true host of the Spire: a being cloaked in cosmic robes, with a crown shaped like a collapsing star and eyes that burned with understanding beyond mortality.

"Welcome," the being said, its voice echoing through laws instead of sound. "To the Banquet of Sovereigns."

The room stilled as the being's presence fully unfolded. Every World Ranker in attendance, no matter their pride or heritage, sat straighter. Even the arrogant, the old, and the divine-born quieted when the Spiremaster arrived.

He hovered just inches above the platform, his robes flowing in impossible directions. Stars blinked in and out across his form, constellations tracing his breath. He was not merely strong—he was the will of the World Heart City made manifest.

"This gathering," he said, each word like a falling decree, "is not a celebration. It is not a courtship. It is not peace."

A tension rippled across the room. Some held their breath. Others instinctively reinforced their internal laws.

"It is a judgment."

A low murmur began but was immediately silenced by a second, sharper chime from the bell—one that struck not through ears but through the soul.

"Each of you here is marked," the Spiremaster continued, sweeping a gaze over the hall. "Marked by fate. By war. By treachery. By hope. Some of you will rise from this night bearing gifts of ascension. Others… will vanish from the world, their names stripped from the record."

The hall darkened slightly. Above, runes carved into the Spire's unseen ceiling lit up like galaxies—forming a great wheel of names, emblems, and ethereal sigils.

Asher saw one flicker faintly—a blood-red mark pulsing in time with his heartbeat. His own.

Valeris saw hers too. It burned in the outline of a dragon's eye, coiled with darkness and light.

Veyra blinked slowly as hers flickered in the shape of a crimson thorn wrapped around a mirror. Hers was faint… but growing.

"Let the judgment begin," the Spiremaster intoned.

Without warning, a column of silver light struck the floor near the far end of the hall. A platform rose, carrying three figures—a noble from the southern Flame Houses, a priest from the Hollowed Sky Monastery, and a cloaked sovereign whose aura bore the icy sheen of time itself.

"First trial," the Spiremaster said. "Declare yourselves."

Each stepped forward, offering their names, lineages, and claims.

Then came the second chime.

A pillar of law descended upon them. A test—not of power alone, but of truth. History, karma, sin, and merit—all weighed at once. One passed and glowed with ethereal reward.

The priest stumbled and wept blood, falling to his knees—his lies too great.

The cloaked sovereign was reduced to dust.

There was no drama. No fanfare. Just law. And judgment.

Asher narrowed his gaze. So this is the real nature of this banquet… he thought. Only those who have earned their right will be recognized by this world's deepest will.

Valeris leaned in slightly. "That priest was part of Frost Hollow."

"Figures," Veyra muttered. "They lie behind scripture and think no one sees."

Across the room, several other foreign guests now looked pale. One even fled.