The darkness rippled once—and shattered.
Rin opened his eyes to a world not of sky or stone but concept.
He was back in the mind realm where the Codex resides.
A vast hall, built from living shadow, stretched beyond sight.
At its center stood a throne carved from night's first breath.
Flames hung in the air, suspended between burning and not—each one whispering in forgotten tongues.
On that throne sat the Codex, the will of the system made flesh.
He wore black robes stitched with runes older than gravity.
A blindfold of midnight silk wrapped his eyes, yet his gaze cut through worlds.
> "You've returned," the Codex said softly.
"Good. This will be the last time we meet as teacher and student."
He rose. Power rippled outward—silent thunder.
The hall buckled; the air cracked open into a city of ruins beneath a blood-red sky.
Shattered towers leaned like exhausted titans. Rivers of glass flowed between them, slow as thought.
> "This place," the Codex murmured, "is your mind. And this time, I've reshaped it for what comes."
"Why does it feel heavier?" Rin asked, voice echoing in the ruined streets.
> "Because," the Codex replied, "one day here equals a minute in reality, and I simply crafted the dimensions with extra gravity."
Rin blinked. "You compressed time?"
> "I expanded you." The blindfolded figure stepped down from the throne, the sound like frost cracking.
"You'll have a couple of years—perhaps a year and a half—before eight hours pass outside. You will need them. This duel is not only for the Void—it is the bridge to the Conflux of Crowns."
His tone deepened—ancient, almost wistful.
> "Long ago, before your queen ruled, before even the World Tree fell asleep, I met an elf woman. Beautiful. Wild. Eyes bright as glacier glass. She looked like your current queen, though that's impossible—Seraphina Sylvanyr would be dust by now."
He paused, smiling faintly.
> "She fought in the Conflux then. Back when there were no rules—where a child could cross blades with a five-thousand-year-old general who'd worn the same body since stars learned to die. You will face such monsters, Rin. Immortals who wear youth as disguise. If you wish to stand above them—stand against me first."
"This is also a good opportunity for you to learn your Adaptation and the mechanism of adapting."
Rin drew in a long breath. The air stung with static frost.
His blade—Winter's Touch—appeared in his hand, humming in recognition.
> "Then come," the Codex said. "This is training for your spirit, mind, and body. If you train with a strong opponent here, your flesh can finally catch up with your spirit and the experience you gain."
Make sure you deactivate your defense for this battle, the Codex thought. I may be rusty, but it's not like it would be useful against me.
He raised a hand. The world bent.
??? — First Verse: Falling River
The line of power wasn't seen—it was felt.
A cut that existed before movement, a current slicing through possibility itself.
Rin twisted on instinct; the strike skimmed his chest and the world imploded.
Pain—white, immediate. Then silence.
He respawned in the same crater, gasping.
> "Again," the Codex said simply.
The next cut split the sky.
Rin blocked—late by half a heartbeat. His arm broke like glass; he died again.
The third time he parried the first swing. The Codex used First Verse: Falling River, but it didn't work—the attack was simply ineffective, as though Rin had become immune.
> "So that's how your Adaptation works," the Codex mused. "However—"
The avatar burst forward, swinging his blade. Rin had adapted to his speed, but with a tap on Rin's chest, concentrated mana created a huge explosion that blew him apart.
He died again.
A thousand lives later, his breathing matched the rhythm of the Verse itself.
Each death refined him.
Each revival rewired his reflexes.
His Adaptation worked not on muscle but on concept.
The first strike severed him.
The second rewrote him.
The third—he lived through.
When the Codex's blade swept horizontally, Rin's body bent before thought.
Steel scraped his cheek—no blood.
The Codex nodded, faint approval behind the blindfold.
> "Your instinct begins to read ahead," he murmured.
"Good. But instinct without understanding is still ignorance."
He lifted two fingers.
??? — Second Verse: Crossing Reed
The move came with the sound of a glitch as the air folded like paper.
Space itself rippled outward in thin concentric rings.
Rin dashed forward—and felt a line of pain open across his abdomen. He looked down.
No wound.
Then his consciousness caught up, and he fell apart.
Respawn.
Breathe.
Again.
This time, he anticipated the distortion, his Adaptation mapping the ripple's pattern.
When the cut came, his sword was already there, intercepting light itself.
The Codex shifted, the faintest sound of approval.
> "Better. You have begun to hear and adapt to the Verses."
Their duel expanded into symphony.
Blades crashed, shattering entire districts of the mind-city.
Each collision birthed new suns.
Winds screamed, dust coiled, rivers of light carved through rubble.
Rin lunged, cutting through memory, through fear, through self.
The Codex parried with the calm of inevitability—each motion effortless, divine.
> "You think victory lies in surviving me?"
"No," Rin rasped, eyes glowing with frostfire. "It lies in understanding you."
Their blades met again.
The impact rippled across timelines.
Whole chunks of the city dissolved into particles of possibility.
??? — Third Verse: Where All Roads End
The Codex whispered it like a prayer.
The world stilled.
Edges bloomed from nothing; every stone, every breeze turned sharp.
Rin's vision filled with infinite cuts—each one tracing his death before it occurred.
He smiled faintly, exhaustion bleeding into defiance.
> "Then I'll walk every road."
Rin died multiple times beyond count; the moment he adapted to one form of death, he was struck with another.
He swung.
The jian in his hand sang, answering his will.
One, two, three clashes—and for the first time, both blades locked instead of killing him outright.
The Codex pressed down; cracks webbed through the ground.
> "Your Adaptation has found rhythm," he said. "But rhythm is not mastery. Can your mind hold infinity?"
Rin's body screamed. Bones fractured, aura detonated—but he didn't yield.
> "You said I'd face monsters."
"Yes."
"Then make me one."
He pushed back.
The city broke apart under their clash.
Whole constellations inside the mind realm flared and collapsed.
Rin's Adaptation flared in full—a crystalline web of instincts.
Each failed dodge, each fatal strike before became data etched into his soul.
He read the Codex now—not as sight, but as inevitability.
He could feel where the man's sword would decide to exist.
For the first time, the Codex bled.
A single cut, thin as a whisper, marked his sleeve.
He glanced down—and smiled.
> "Finally… your sword speaks."
He stepped back. The air calmed, ash falling like snow.
The throne re-formed behind him, rising from the ruins.
> "You've adapted to the three Verses," the Codex said.
"But there is a fourth—one I did not give you."
Rin straightened, chest heaving. "Why not?"
> "Because you are not yet strong enough to survive it—and I currently have insufficient power to perform it."
The Codex's tone softened, almost human.
> "Although I can't use the Fourth Verse, all sword styles are dynamic, not static. Compressing mana in your blade and tapping the ground could cause massive damage; at the same time, compressing mana into a blade could split space and time. You could freeze the atmosphere to generate steps, and draw pure mana from it if needed. These are basic rules to become Supreme."
He turned, settling once more upon the throne.
The hall rebuilt itself in ripples of light.
> "You've fought me for what, three minutes outside? Then rest, Rin Sylvanyr. You have lived seven hundred years in here."
"Seven… hundred… isn't it meant to just be three days?" Rin whispered, voice trembling.
> "You experienced infinite forms of death per second when I used my Third Verse, and adapted to them. After experiencing all those deaths the second time, your mind has approximately lived seven hundred years."
"Enough for the mind to surpass gods," the Codex said.
> "I know you must be wondering what your second ability is, but just remember—it will be something spatial, like mine and your father's."
"Now, wake—and teach your body to remember."
The blindfolded figure raised a hand.
A circle of silver light opened beneath Rin's feet.
> "When next we meet, you will not be my student."
"Then what?"
"My finished product."
Light consumed him.
The last thing Rin saw was the Codex smiling—soft, proud, and infinite.