20 advance chapters on [email protected]/Saintbarbido.
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[ Artoria: I often find myself thinking about my kingdom. It brings me joy knowing how far it has come.]
[ Iskandar: A king shouldn't be burdened by worries. His task is not to stress over his people, but to shield them. Your ideals about ruling through conquest... they don't sit well with me.]
Iskandar's words carried a stern weight, the kind that lingered. He had always believed that once a decision was made—whether wise or foolish—it could not be reversed. A king must bear the consequences.
Their conversation was interrupted when Mark's father turned toward him, eyes steady, curious.
"I heard your recent test scores were excellent," he said casually.
Mark responded with a small nod. The truth was, the old Mark hadn't exactly been the best student. But now, with the guidance and intellect of Solomon enhancing his mind, schoolwork had become effortless.
"You remember I promised to show you my lab once you started getting good grades?" his father continued, his tone lighter. "Well, I think it's time to keep that promise."
Mark couldn't hide his excitement.
He tried to appear calm, but his fingers twitched in anticipation. To see firsthand the kind of alien technology his father was working on—now that was something. After all, this was the DC Universe, and the possibilities were endless.
Elsewhere...
"Luthor, how is the project progressing?" a voice crackled from one of five large screens surrounding the figure in the center of the room.
Lex Luthor stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The screens each displayed shadowed figures—commanding presences speaking from behind anonymity.
"It's coming along. The father box has proven... stubborn. But it's only a matter of time."
"Then accelerate your efforts. The League is starting to close in on us. We must not miss our window."
The central voice was heavier than the rest, its tone final. One by one, the screens blinked off until Luthor stood alone in silence. He didn't flinch.
"Mercy," he said, calling out to his assistant, "bring Mr. Flinch back. We've got work to finish."
Back at Mark's home...
Mark sat cross-legged in his room, his breathing deep and even. A thin stream of magical energy coursed through his veins as a sword materialized in his hand, its form shimmering with ethereal light.
In an instant, his surroundings shifted. The system had transported him to a secluded training field—an interface feature he had only recently unlocked. He stood now across from the King of Knights.
Artoria faced him, her posture regal, Excalibur resting in her grip like an extension of her soul. She was ready.
Mark's stats hovered to the side in a glowing interface:
Strength: 235 points
Speed: 265 points
Vitality: 314 points
Perception: 189 points
Exp: 57 ponts
Skill: 281 points
He had made clear progress. But not enough.
They locked eyes. Then, in a blur of motion, both disappeared from view reappearing only as their blades clashed, the force shaking the very ground.
Artoria's technique was flawless, her strikes both elegant and forceful. Mark had to rely on cunning. He unleashed a barrage of attacks, each carefully measured, but Artoria parried and dodged them all.
Then, with one quick motion, she caught his arm mid strike and twisted, hurling him across the field.
Mark rolled on the ground, absorbing the impact as best he could.
Lightning crackled around his limbs as he summoned several swords from his magical circuits, launching them at her in rapid succession.
Artoria weaved through them like wind slipping through cracks
each deflection swift, precise, graceful.
Mark closed the distance, pretending to strike with his right. As she moved to block, he summoned another sword into his left hand mid-swing, aiming to surprise her.
Artoria smiled faintly she had already read his move.
With a clean block and a sharp step forward, she landed a direct kick to his stomach. The blow sent Mark staggering backward, breathless, nearly doubling over.
He tried to steady himself, but the pain was too much. Defeated, he deactivated the interface, returning to his room.
The chat group responded almost immediately.
[ Artoria: Don't let defeat weigh on you. You've grown. I can see it in every move you make.]
[ Iskandar: I agree. You're improving, but your reaction time needs sharpening.]
[ Artoria: That last maneuver your feint—was clever. It forced me to raise both hands in defense. Impressive.]
Mark appreciated their words, but deep down, he knew: he had a long way to go. Still, the praise gave him hope. He awarded Artoria thirty points for her help in training.
It was late, and the house had grown quiet. He assumed his parents had gone to bed. Yet, as he descended the stairs, he heard their voices from the dining room soft but intense.
He didn't want to eavesdrop. If they were being affectionate, he would regret it forever. But something in his father's voice made him pause.
"I can't keep doing this, Catherine," his father said, his voice shaking. "Those people… those poor souls are dying."
Mark's heart sank.
"Every time I close my eyes, I hear the screams—the children, the families. I thought this project would push science forward. But instead… it's tearing me apart."
"Then quit," Catherine pleaded, her voice gentle. "Leave it behind."
"Quit?" His father stood suddenly, making her flinch. "I can't. They won't let me walk away—not after everything I've seen. I've already delayed the project once to buy time, but… I can't stall any longer."
A phone buzzed on the table. His father glanced at the screen and paled. Catherine asked if it was someone from work, but he didn't answer. He simply turned and walked away.
Mark pressed himself against the wall, hidden from view. He watched as his father passed silently, his face tight with fear.
Catherine called after him, but he waved her off.
"I'll finish this," he said quietly. "Just stay home."
And then he was gone.