Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 417: RUINED MOOD

Nick’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest, a mix of anticipation and disdain churning in his gut, the cool metal of his governor’s insignia pressing against his chest like a reminder of his authority.

"Hahaha. You have gotten it all wrong, son," Lilith laughed softly, her voice a melodic ripple that cut through the murmurs of the crowd below.

Amusement danced in her crimson eyes, her dark hair cascading like midnight silk over her shoulders.

She lounged gracefully in her seat, the faint warmth of her aura making the air around her feel charged, seductive even in this public setting.

On a well-designed area, the VIPs and important figures present sat, watching the event unfold on multiple floating screens that captured every angle.

Crystal chandeliers hovered overhead, casting prismatic lights that mingled with the holographic feeds, creating a spectacle of technology and magic.

The scent of exotic wines and spiced delicacies wafted from nearby tables, adding to the opulent atmosphere.

Sitting close to Nick were Lilith, Thor, Rhaigon, Ignis, Loki, and surprisingly Lilian.

Thor’s massive frame dominated his chair, hammer propped beside him like a silent sentinel; Rhaigon’s wings folded neatly, his draconic eyes scanning the displays with quiet intensity; Ignis fidgeted with faint sparks dancing at his fingertips; Loki leaned back with a perpetual smirk; Lilian sat poised, her uniform crisp, observing with professional detachment.

"True," Loki commented after Lilith, an amusing smile spreading across his face.

His green eyes twinkled with mischief, fingers drumming lightly on his knee as if already plotting some unseen twist.

"There’s no need for tactics and plans when one possesses absolute power," Thor added, his voice a deep rumble like approaching thunder.

He crossed his arms, muscles rippling under his armor, the weight of his words settling over the group like a shared truth.

"He is not as strong as you all think he is," Nick thought, the words burning in his mind like unspoken fire.

But he refrained from saying them outward, biting his tongue.

As the governor, he knew there were some things he couldn’t voice, alliances to maintain, appearances to uphold.

Frustration knotted in his chest, the holographic glow reflecting in his narrowed eyes.

Back at the event, the clash began imminently, with thousands being eliminated in seconds.

Explosions of mana lit up the terrains like fireworks, screams echoing through the illusions, sharp cries of pain, grunts of effort, the clash of steel and energy reverberating in a chaotic symphony.

Holographic counters ticked upward relentlessly, numbers flashing red as participants vanished in bursts of light, teleported out upon defeat.

Several soldiers close to Aaron’s area spotted him while ensuring they were well hidden.

They peered from camouflaged positions, behind illusory rocks that shimmered faintly, or atop simulated trees where leaves rustled in artificial winds.

Their breaths caught, pulses quickening at the sight of such blatant exposure, a mix of envy and irritation stirring within them.

Of course, Aaron had long noticed them, his mystic eyes piercing through every deception, every subtle shift in the landscape.

But he wasn’t bothered. The faint hum of their weapons, the rustle of their movements, it all registered like distant noise, irrelevant to his poised stillness.

He remained seated, analyzing his plans for the future while at it.

Thoughts swirled in his mind like shadows weaving through night, strategies for devouring clusters, alliances with gods and devils, the looming confrontation with Sovereigns.

One of the soldiers, proficient in sniping duties, decided to take his chance.

He lay prone on a high ridge, the cool metal of his mana sniper pressing against his cheek, scope glinting under the simulated sun.

Something about Aaron pissed him off, the arrogance he exuded irked them in ways they couldn’t express, a beacon of nonchalance amid their frantic survival.

Steadying his sniper for a headshot, he fired the gun.

The mana bullet flew at an insane speed, traveling several times faster than sound, a streak of blue energy cutting through the air with a high-pitched whine that pierced the illusions.

"How annoying, disturbing my thoughts," Aaron muttered, his voice low and laced with mild irritation.

He lifted Black Sphere effortlessly, the blade’s weight familiar in his grip, shadows coiling along its edge like eager whispers.

With a casual swing of his blade, he cut the bullet in half, putting an end to the attack.

The severed halves fizzled out harmlessly, sparks dancing into nothingness, the void around him undisturbed as if the assault had been nothing more than a fleeting breeze.

"System, how long till I will be able to make use of one of my abilities? How long till my soul heals to a great extent?" Aaron asked, his voice low and edged with impatience.

[Honestly can’t say. Depends entirely on you and how fast you can heal.]

The response landed like a cold splash of water, dousing any flicker of hope he’d harbored.

Aaron’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek as irritation coiled tighter in his chest.

"Great. Now my mood’s ruined," Aaron said with annoyance, rising to his feet slowly

The boulder shifted slightly under his weight, loose gravel crunching beneath his boots.

He stretched his neck, feeling the tension knot there, the weight of his unhealed soul pressing down like an invisible chain.

[And what are you going to do about that?]

The system’s query prodded at him, a neutral probe that only fueled his growing ire.

Aaron’s eyes narrowed, scanning the valley below where bursts of light flared like dying stars, soldiers eliminating each other in frantic bursts of violence.

The air hummed with latent mana, thick and electric, mingling with the earthy scent of the illusory terrain.

"What does it look like? I’m off to relieve some stress," Aaron replied, his tone sharp and decisive.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar hum of power stirring within him, shadows flickering at his fingertips like eager flames.

Initially, he had wanted to wait things out, sit back, observe the fools cull themselves, emerge unscathed when the numbers dwindled.

The plan had appealed to his strategic side, a way to conserve energy while blending into the chaos.

But now, he wasn’t in the mood for that anymore.

Patience evaporated like mist under a harsh sun, replaced by a burning need to act, to unleash the pent-up frustration gnawing at his core.

All he wanted was to vent his anger, to feel the release of motion and impact, the satisfaction of dominance in a world that had denied him his full strength for too long.

The battlefield’s illusions felt alive around him, winds whispering through fabricated grasses, distant cries carrying on the breeze, but they couldn’t mask the raw edge of his emotions.

Taking a deep breath, Aaron brushed his hair backward with one hand.

The strands felt cool and slightly damp from the simulated humidity, falling back into place with a casual flick.

His other hand gripped Black Sphere tighter, the blade’s weight a comforting anchor, shadows coiling along its edge in anticipation.

Moving his feet in a blur of shadow-enhanced speed, Aaron appeared in front of a soldier crouching low in the grass, trying to camouflage with the swaying blades.

The man’s uniform blended seamlessly with the green hues, his breath held shallow, eyes wide behind a tactical visor as he clutched his weapon close.

The grass rustled softly around him, a deceptive veil that Aaron’s mystic eyes pierced without effort.

"How did you—"

Aaron cut the words of the soldier short, stabbing his sword downward with precise, unyielding force.