My Charity System made me too OP

Floor 611 – The Hall of Echoed Deeds

They stepped through the arch and were greeted by silence.

But it wasn't empty silence.

It was the kind that pressed into their ears, heavy with expectation. Like the world itself was holding its breath.

The space they entered was vast—an open cathedral-like chamber without walls, stretching endlessly in every direction. The ground beneath them was a polished obsidian surface, so perfect it reflected not just their images but their actions. As they walked, the echoes didn't mimic their current movements.

They showed their past.

Leon saw it first—his reflection showing him back on Floor 300, bloodied and barely standing, facing the Obsidian Ant Champion. A moment of near collapse, turned into victory.

Roselia's reflection showed her holding the line against a wave of beasts on Floor 422. She'd fought alone for almost an hour, so the others could escape.

Milim's showed her throwing herself between a falling ceiling and a wounded stranger she didn't even know—on a floor where strangers often betrayed each other for gear.

Every step they took, another moment played.

Some heroic.

Some terrible.

Some small—but no less real.

[Welcome to Floor 611 – The Hall of Echoed Deeds]

Zone Type: Echo Record / Identity Archive

Core Function: Judgment via Self

Challenge: Face the deed you regret most

Failure Condition: Denial

Kael tensed. "It's another trial of memory."

Naval shook his head. "No. It's a trial of truth."

Leon stepped forward, and the space responded.

A pillar of light formed in front of him, slowly revealing a scene. The others backed away instinctively, giving him space.

Inside the light—

A battlefield. Cracked stone. Burnt trees. The air shimmered with ash and mana.

A girl stood there. Not an enemy. A survivor.

She had been calling for help.

Leon had walked past her.

Not because he was cold. Not because he didn't care.

But because he knew that if he stopped, he wouldn't reach the others in time.

And in doing so, she had died.

It had been years ago. But now it played again.

Not accusingly.

Just honestly.

The girl didn't scream.

She just stood there, eyes searching, asking silently, Why didn't you try?

Leon didn't speak. He didn't justify.

He walked forward. Stepped into the memory. Faced her.

"I made the choice to save four lives at the cost of one," he said softly. "It wasn't noble. It wasn't cruel. It was just the only path I saw."

The image held.

Then the light pulsed once—and vanished.

[Regret Faced – Integrity Preserved]

Trait Gained: Resolved Clarity – Immune to illusion-based guilt and emotional manipulation

Title Unlocked: Walker of Unshaded Paths

The others each faced their own echoes.

Roselia—having killed a friend in a misjudged command.

Roman—hesitating to fight back when someone else was punished in his place.

Kael—once betraying his entire squad out of fear, before he found the courage to become more.

Milim—choosing strength over family, and walking alone for years.

One by one, they stepped forward, accepted the memory, and passed.

Some shook.

Some cried.

But none turned away.

[Team Sync Level Increased – Emotional Weight Balanced]

Floor Cleared: 611

No reward given

But nothing lost either

At the end of the black floor, a stairwell made of white stone waited. Pure. Unmarked. Leading upward once more.

They gathered at the base of it, silent for a while.

Until Roman said, "Funny. This was the quietest floor we've had, and it hurt the most."

Roselia wiped her face. "That's what happens when the Tower stops testing your strength… and starts testing your heart."

Milim shook her arms out. "No more memory stuff for a while, please. I wanna punch something again."

Leon turned toward the stairs.

"Good. Because the next floor won't be quiet."

He didn't say how he knew.

But the way the Tower had shifted… the way the pressure returned… something higher was waiting.

And this time, it wouldn't ask them questions.

It would simply try to break them.

As they ascended, none of them looked back.

The Tower remembered them now.

But more importantly—they remembered who they were.

The stairway from Floor 611 narrowed the higher they climbed, its walls shifting from pale stone to gleaming silver—metal polished so finely it distorted reflections, twisting their faces into sharper, sterner versions of themselves.

At the top, the door was simple steel. Not grand. Not glowing.

But the instant Leon pushed it open, the noise hit them.

Not sound.

Pressure.

A wall of killing intent so thick it pressed down on the lungs, made Roman stumble back with a grimace. Milim's hands curled into fists. Even Roselia, always calm under threat, dropped slightly into a defensive stance.

Kael stared through the doorway. "Okay. This is different."

Leon didn't answer. He stepped through without hesitation.

The floor opened into a massive coliseum—blades stuck upright in the ground like a battlefield abandoned mid-war. The air shimmered from heat, not fire, but friction. There was no sky above, just an endless dome of shifting silver and iron clouds, rumbling like a storm about to fall.

They weren't alone.

Dozens—no, hundreds—stood across the arena.

Some armored.

Some bare-chested.

Some cloaked.

All carried weapons.

Some glowed. Some pulsed. Some whispered.

All of them were pointed forward.

At Leon and his team.

A voice, cold and formal, echoed around them.

[Welcome to Floor 612 – Trial of Unrelenting Blades]

Classification: Combat Crucible – Endurance Gauntlet

Challenge: Survive ten combat rounds against pre-simulated Legendary Duelists

Team Healing Disabled

Floor Reward: Title, Reputation Elevation, Weapon Essence Core

Failure: Death or Complete Collapse

Special Rule: If a teammate falls, their simulation restarts from round one

Roman winced. "...So if I go down during round nine, I start over at one?"

Milim rolled her shoulders. "Sounds like fun."

Naval added, "No healing. No breaks. This floor doesn't want winners. It wants survivors."

Leon's eyes were already locked on the first opponent stepping into the arena.

She was tall. Grey robes. Spear in hand. No aura—just stillness. But even from this distance, Leon could feel it.

She had killed more people than most wars.

[Round One Initiated – Opponent: The Silent Halberdier]

The woman didn't speak. Didn't shout a challenge.

She simply moved.

A flash of grey.

And then her spear was already in the air.

Leon stepped forward without drawing a weapon.

He parried with his bare hand—Shell Reverb activating on contact—and redirected the blow into the ground, sending up a shockwave that broke three nearby blades embedded in the arena.

Kael blinked. "He's not using his weapon?"

Roselia shook her head. "No. He's listening."

And he was.

Every opponent on this floor was legendary not because they shouted louder or burned brighter—but because they understood the flow of battle better than anyone else. If Leon was going to survive all ten rounds, he needed more than strength.

He needed efficiency.

The halberdier came again—low sweep, mid-thrust, a fake step into a spin—

Leon interrupted her rhythm with a soft pulse from Echo of Origin and struck her off balance—not with power, but with perfect timing.

A single tap to the shoulder.

And she froze.

Fell.

[Round One Cleared]

Leon exhaled slowly. "One."

The next figure stepped out.

Massive. Towering. Cloaked in magma-forged armor. Twin axes crackling with arcane energy.

[Round Two Initiated – Opponent: Wyrmcleaver Groth]

Roman stepped forward. "My turn."

Each team member took turns.

Roman endured Groth's brutal strikes by weaving around him, slowly bleeding his stamina dry.

Roselia faced a blademaster who used illusionary footwork—blocking every feint with pure instinct.

Kael was pitted against a shadow-duelist who used fear as a weapon. Kael fought him with memory, anchoring himself in every lesson he'd learned with Leon.

Milim took on a thunder monk who turned the entire arena into a web of sound. She didn't just fight him—she danced through his traps, laughing as she shattered his lightning with her bare fists.

And Leon?

Leon took the seventh round.

And the eighth.

And when the ninth challenger stepped forward—an entity made entirely of mirror steel, mimicking Leon's own stance—he didn't hesitate.

He fought himself.

No tricks.

No system aids.

No echoes.

Just Leon Aetheren vs. Leon Aetheren.

Every strike, perfectly matched.

Every breath, mirrored.

Until finally—he stepped out of his own rhythm.

And struck himself off-beat.

That made the difference.

[Round Nine Cleared – Personal Identity Confirmed]

And then came Round Ten.

The arena fell silent.

Everyone watching knew this was it.

The tenth opponent didn't walk out.

He descended.

A Sovereign.

A man clad in radiant blue and black armor, sword humming with pressure that bent the space around it. His eyes were closed. His steps made no sound.

But the ground cracked beneath him.

[Final Opponent: Commander Veyrix, The Thousand-Win Blade]

Leon stepped forward alone.

No tricks. No team backup.

Not because they wouldn't help.

But because this was his battle.

And as the sword of Veyrix rose, so did Leon's own.

Shell Reverb pulsed.

Not layered. Not complex.

Just focused.

He knew this fight would break bones.

He knew the pressure could kill.

But Leon didn't back down.

Because the Tower wanted to see if he could match the undefeated.

And as the clash began—steel against steel, timing against legacy—

Everyone watching realized one truth:

Leon Aetheren no longer chased the legends.

He was becoming one.