I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 1258: The Test of Confirmation [part 2]

The training grounds were carved directly into the mountainside—a vast circular arena open to the sky, with stone seating rising in tiers around the central space. The floor was polished granite, scarred with scorch marks and impact craters from countless previous demonstrations. Some of those craters looked fresh. Others had been worn smooth by time and foot traffic.

By the time Northern and his group arrived, what looked like half the palace had gathered. Courtiers filled the upper tiers, soldiers lined the walls, and even servants had found spots where they could watch. Word had apparently spread fast.

’Of course it did. King’s best warrior versus the kid who claims he killed an Origin.’

Northern descended the steps to the arena floor, his friends taking seats in the front row. Ellis looked worried. Nyssira looked concerned but trying to hide it. Shae was analyzing the space with tactical interest—probably calculating sight lines and exit routes out of habit.

The King settled into a raised throne-like seat that gave him a perfect view of the arena. Roma took the seat beside him, her expression unreadable.

From the opposite entrance, a figure emerged.

Roma’s eldest brother was tall—taller even than the King—with the same blue hair but cut shorter, more practical for combat. He wore light armor that looked ceremonial but was clearly functional, and carried a spear that gleamed with essence-forged steel. His soul pressure washed over the arena—controlled, disciplined, the unmistakable weight of an Ascendant.

The crowd murmured appreciatively. This was their champion.

Northern just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking utterly unbothered by the soul pressure that should have made a normal Drifter struggle to breathe.

The warrior stopped about thirty feet away, studying Northern with professional assessment. His eyes lingered on Northern’s relaxed posture, his apparent lack of weapons, his youth.

’He’s trying to figure out what trick I’m hiding. Whether I have armor under my clothes, weapons up my sleeves.’

The answer was neither. Northern didn’t need them.

"I am Prince Rieran," the warrior said formally. "First of the Blood, Crown Prince of Ryugan, Ascendant of the Spear." He bowed slightly—respectful but not deferential. "It is an honor to test your claims."

Northern didn’t bow back.

"Rian," he said simply. "Let’s make this quick."

A flicker of irritation crossed Rieran’s face at the casual dismissal. But he recovered quickly, settling into a combat stance that spoke of decades of training. His grip on the spear adjusted subtly—a tell that he was taking this more seriously than his formal politeness suggested.

The King rose from his seat, his voice carrying across the arena.

"This will be a demonstration match. First to yield or be rendered unable to continue." He paused meaningfully. "Try not to kill each other. We’re civilized people."

His eyes lingered on Northern when he said it.

Northern just nodded.

"Begin!" the King called.

For exactly three seconds, nothing happened.

Rieran waited, expecting Northern to make the first move or at least adopt a combat stance. His spear tip didn’t waver. His breathing stayed controlled. Perfect patience—the mark of a true master.

Northern just stood there, staring at him.

But his eyes had changed.

The shift was subtle—pupils dilating slightly, an intensity to his gaze that hadn’t been there before. To anyone paying close attention, it looked like Northern was processing something. Reading something invisible.

Then he spoke, voice carrying clearly across the silent arena:

"You’ll open with a feint to my left, using your spear’s reach to test my reaction time. Then you’ll pivot for a soul pressure attack—trying to suppress me, see if I’m really as strong as I claim. When that fails to affect me, you’ll deploy your talent abilities." Northern tilted his head slightly. "Enhancement type, judging by your soul signature. Increases your physical capabilities by roughly 350%, with secondary effects on your weapon. You’ll aim for my center mass, expecting me to dodge right based on my current stance. Your follow-up will be a spinning strike targeting where you predict I’ll move, followed by an essence-charged thrust that you’re planning to stop just short of lethal range."

The arena had gone completely silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Rieran stared at him, the blood draining from his face.

"That’s not prediction," Northern continued, his tone almost conversational. "That’s just the most likely timeline—the one where you fight carefully, testing my abilities without overcommitting. There are 1,846 other possibilities I can see right now. Some where you go all-out from the start. Some where you try to surrender gracefully." He paused. "None of them end with you winning."

"That’s impossible," Rieran said, but his voice wavered. "Futuristic reading doesn’t work like that—not with that kind of precision—"

"Move," Northern said flatly. "Try me."

Rieran moved.

Exactly as Northern had predicted.

The feint came first—a lightning-quick thrust toward Northern’s left side, spear moving with the enhanced speed of an Ascendant. The blade cut through air with a whisper of displaced essence.

Northern didn’t dodge. Didn’t even shift his weight.

The spear stopped six inches from his body, Rieran already pivoting for the follow-up—

And then his soul pressure erupted.

The weight crashed down on the arena like a physical force. Several people in the audience gasped. Guards braced themselves against the wave of suppressive essence. Even the King’s expression shifted to something more serious.

Northern stood in the center of it, completely unaffected.

He yawned.

’Should have brought a snack. This is going to be tedious.’

Rieran’s eyes widened in genuine shock. Then his talent activated—azure light flooding through his body, his muscles swelling slightly, his movements becoming blurs of motion as he launched into his prepared combination.

The spear came for Northern’s chest—

And simply stopped moving.

Like someone had pressed pause on reality itself.

Rieran tried to pull it back, push it forward, anything. The weapon wouldn’t respond. His enhancement was active, his strength multiplied several times over, but the spear might as well have been embedded in solid stone.

[You’re using Absolute Lock]

And Rieran’s talent just... turned off.

The azure light vanished. His enhanced strength evaporated. He staggered slightly as his body suddenly weighed what it normally did, his momentum calculations all wrong without his talent supporting them.

"What—how did you—"

Invisible threads erupted from Northern’s position.

Hundreds of them, thousands, spreading out like a spider’s web made of pure soul essence. They were completely imperceptible—Rieran couldn’t see them, couldn’t sense them, wouldn’t know they existed until they were already wrapped around him.

Which they were.

In less than a heartbeat, soul threads bound his arms, his legs, his torso, his neck. They wrapped around his spear, his armor, even his hair. Rieran froze mid-motion, his eyes going wide as he realized he couldn’t move.

Not an inch.

Not even to blink.

He tried to break free—channeling essence, straining his muscles, attempting to reignite his talent despite the Lock.

Nothing happened.

The crowd erupted in confused murmurs. To them, it looked like Rieran had simply stopped moving mid-attack. They couldn’t see what held him. They couldn’t understand why their champion stood frozen like a statue.

Northern took one step forward.

Then he released a fraction—barely a whisper—of [Dread Manifestation].

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