Absolute Cheater

"Now we only have a week," Asher said, glancing up at the flickering starlight from the alien sky above. "Then… we go home."

Valeris smiled gently at his side, brushing his arm with her fingers. "Your home," she said softly. "The one you've been searching for through all of this."

He turned to look at her—his smile small but real—and wrapped his arms around her. She returned the embrace, pressing her head to his chest. She knew what it meant to him. Not just the return, but the ending of the journey that had dragged them across galaxies and many worlds. The memories, both heavy and fleeting. The ache of wandering, always one leap away from rest.

And now, finally, the trail had come to a close.

A week remained. One last adventure.

They took it gladly.

***

Their ship—crafted from the bones of a collapsed dungeon-core star—glided silently through the void of Dungeonborn sector. An entire galaxy born of dungeons and aberrant growths, it glittered strangely in the dark, filled with living planets and semi-conscious dungeon-worlds that pulsed with radiant colors.

They didn't aim for the center. That was where the Spiremaster's authority extended in waves of control, and Asher preferred the untamed fringes.

Their first stop was Verikal-7, a planetary ringworld stitched together from ancient ruin-belts. It was littered with half-devoured fortresses, orbiting endlessly around a crystal moon that bled mana into the air. Asher and Valeris, accompanied by Veyra.

The dungeon itself was shaped like an obsidian nautilus shell—spiraling inward with runes that flickered between languages. It was old. Pre-sentience old. One of the few places in the galaxy not corrupted or governed by the systems of the Spiremaster's children.

Inside, they faced no ordinary beasts. Every guardian was a test of identity—mirror-creatures that reflected their regrets, ambitions, and misdeeds. Veyra fought a version of herself still enslaved to the Syndicate, a past deafeat of hers when she was wandering here and there. Valeris stood against a form twisted by time, bitter and cold, who had lost Asher and wandered alone.

Asher's opponent had no face. Just a void that asked, What would you become if you had never met her?

He crushed it beneath his will.

The dungeon gave them no treasure—only a moment of silence as they exited into the twilight wind, something heavy and distant unraveling behind them.

They left Verikal-7 in silence, fingers brushing.

Next was Lo'kan'shiel, a desert world orbiting a twin black sun. It wasn't just heat that burned here, but time itself. The entire planet rotated in discontinuous loops. One half of it moved forward in time; the other half moved backward. A relic dungeon—one formed from a fragment of a god's final breath—hung within the space where time converged.

Inside, they found Chrono-Eels that aged their weapons into rust mid-swing, and whispering priests made of frozen dust. Valeris nearly lost her hand to a trap that rewound her bones out of sync, but Asher's Absolute Appraisal saw the curse in time, and with one brutal incantation, he realigned her fate to the timeline she was meant to walk.

They left with a paradox crystal—still vibrating—and the knowledge of an artifact dungeon untouched by recorded explorers.

On Kraedon-44, a metallic world with endless gears grinding continents apart, the trio dove into a Forged Vault dungeon. Unlike others, this one fought with logic and machinery—clockwork riddles and conveyor paths that shifted beneath each choice. Veyra flourished here, solving three floors ahead of the others, delighting in the brutal elegance of its design.

The reward was a suit of armor laced with auto-reactive mana threads—offered only to those who had walked across fire without hesitation. Valeris gave it to Asher, though she knew he'd outgrow it within the year.

He wore it anyway.

Finally, after a long week filled with countless adventures, Asher returned to the Spire—where the World Will resided.

"So, you're back," the Spiremaster said, his voice echoing with a calm certainty. "I take it you're ready to return home."

Asher nodded.

Veyra had already returned to her own home. Before leaving, she had said her goodbyes, uncertain if they would ever meet again. The Spiremaster, however, had gifted her a pair of communication crystals—powerful enough to work across galaxies—so she could stay in touch with her parents.

Then, with no more words needed, the Spiremaster opened the portal.

A fracture of light split the air, spinning silently before expanding into a doorway of white mist and golden resonance.

Asher stepped forward without hesitation.

But he was not alone.

He held their hands—Veyra to his left, Valeris to his right—and together, the three stepped into the portal. Light folded around them, humming with ancient resonance. Then, with a ripple of silence, they vanished from the world.

Behind them, the Spiremaster let the portal close with a lazy flick of his hand.

"I wonder," he murmured, stretching with a yawn, "how long it'll take him to finally meet Volarisa again."

Then, true to form, he went back to his usual routine—lounging across a suspended cloud-throne made from dungeon silk, sipping a drink that didn't technically exist in this reality. Lazing around was, after all, his divine right.

The portal opened again—not in the middle of a grand city, not within the Magnus Estate's opulent halls—but in the sky.

Specifically, a hundred meters above a quiet floating island surrounded by drifting stone gardens and glimmering mist-veins of raw mana.

"Really?" Asher muttered as he looked down. "Couldn't he have just teleported me directly to the center instead of the periphery?"

Valeris, wind catching in her silver hair, just laughed as the air pressure shifted violently around them. Veyra didn't even blink—she had already summoned a slow-fall array beneath their feet, shimmering like scales of light.

Asher sighed.

Below them stretched the outer reaches of the Magnus family's floating archipelago—massive islands chained together by gravity bridges, each one carrying districts, towns, training courts, and even atmospheric farms. It was a world unto itself, hovering thousands of meters above Volarisa's surface, encased in protective runic veils and defended by old war-wards.

From this height, he could see the highest spire of the central Magnus estate glinting far in the distance, the family crest burning with mana above its peak.

His home.

The place he hadn't seen in years.

The place he'd left behind as a child of war, only to return now with the power to shake galaxies.

He took a long breath.

The island they were descending onto was a border platform—an old training field turned outpost, likely forgotten by most of the inner family. The grass was long, the stone paths cracked, and the mana flow here was calmer than he remembered. But it was still Volarisa.

Still alive.

Still hers.

And beneath all of it, Asher felt it.

A pulse.

A slow, buried heartbeat humming through the floating continent itself.

Not the soul of a dead world… but the remnant of something being reborn.

"She's still here," Asher said quietly.

Valeris looked at him. "Volarisa?"

He nodded. "Not the same as before. But she's waiting."

Veyra frowned slightly, eyes scanning the horizon. "Do you think… she'll recognize you?"

"I don't know," Asher replied, narrowing his gaze. "But I intend to find out."

The wind shifted again. Mana currents pulsed faintly in the distance—likely ward runes reacting to his aura as it touched the atmosphere.

They'd been detected.

Which meant the Magnus family would know he was here within minutes.

He glanced down at the cracked stone under his feet as they landed. It felt… familiar. Not just the stone, but the weight of his own footsteps here. As though the world hadn't forgotten him entirely.

A soft breeze curled around them.

And somewhere far beneath, the living world exhaled.

Asher straightened, adjusting his coat.

"Well then," he said, voice even, "let's go say hello."

They landed on the edge of an old training field—its stage cracked, the runes faint with age. Weeds grew in patches where once disciplined lines had marched. It was unfamiliar now, but the land still remembered.

A figure approached them, his armor polished, posture rigid. He moved with the alertness of someone who took their duty seriously. From the faint ripple of his aura, Asher could tell the man was of Transcendent rank—no small feat. He stood tall and blocked their path with a sweep of his arm.

"Who are you?" the man asked sharply. "And how did you enter the Magnus floating territory?"

Asher looked at him calmly but said nothing at first.

He didn't recognize the man, but from his stance and the way he carried himself, Asher could guess—this was someone from the outer court. Likely promoted within the last three or four years, after Asher had left. His strength was real, yes, but to Asher—who had once held the peak Transcendent rank and surpassed it—this man's aura now felt faint. Almost dim.

Back then, I would've respected that level, Asher thought. But now… after what I've faced… after everything I've become… it's just an outer-court presence.