Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Chapter 588: PLAN TO KILL A MYSTIC

"The rules were designed to ensure that the system survives even after a Legend falls," the third Aaron explained, his voice taking on a didactic, ancient quality.

"The first rule is simple: Only Mystics are permitted to compete for the Throne for All.

The second rule is where things get interesting.

Mystics are strictly forbidden from killing one another until every candidate has reached the peak of the Nameless Rank, or until the Archive of the Throne for All declares that the official battle for succession has begun."

He paused, his white eyes locking onto Aaron’s.

"And that second rule, Aaron, is exactly how we are going to tear those eyes out of your skull."

"Calling me by my own name when you’re literally a part of me is beyond weird," Aaron muttered, rubbing his temples.

"Regardless," Aaron continued, shaking off the existential discomfort, "how does breaking a rule like that actually help us?

Usually, breaking fundamental laws of the universe ends in agonizing erasure."

"It’s a matter of cosmic protocol," the System interjected, finally sitting up on the sofa.

"When you, as a recognized Mystic, deliberately incite a battle with another Mystic and proceed to kill them outside of the sanctioned window, the universe reacts.

You will be forcefully stripped of your Mystic Organs as a penalty."

Aaron turned a suspicious, burning gaze toward the System.

"You knew this.

You knew the rules of the Throne, yet you didn’t say a word while I was struggling to find a way out?"

"Because he is programmed with limitations; he can’t just hand you every cheat code in the manual," the third Aaron defended with a dismissive wave.

"Plus, up until now, you didn’t have a need for such a radical solution.

But now?

It’s the only way to purge Aegon’s influence."

"Then I’m on the right track either way," Aaron said, his jaw tightening.

"I was already planning on killing Chen Mo.

His luck has finally run out."

"True.

But do not be naive enough to think Aegon hasn’t accounted for that," the third Aaron warned, his expression darkening.

"Aegon’s plan is almost certainly to manipulate the situation so that Chen Mo is the one who incites the battle.

That way, Chen Mo takes the penalty, and Aegon keeps his hooks in you.

You have to flip the script.

You must be the one to initiate the slaughter.

You must be the aggressor."

"And how am I supposed to outmaneuver him?" Aaron asked skeptically.

"Aegon has the Mystic Brain.

He’s playing chess while I’m still trying to find the board.

He will always be a step ahead of my plans."

"He is a step ahead of you, perhaps, but he is leagues behind me," the third Aaron countered with a cold, arrogant smile.

"The moment you ascend to the Origin Rank, I will forcefully take control of your vessel.

I will set the stage, initiate the breach, and then return control to you to finish the job.

It won’t take long—just a flicker of time."

"That sounds fine in theory," Aaron admitted, "but there’s a massive hole in this plan.

If I lose the Mystic Eyes, I lose my greatest defense.

What is to stop Aegon from simply vaporizing me the moment I’m vulnerable?

I’m his greatest threat; he won’t hesitate."

"You will be untouchable," the third Aaron stated firmly.

"Because you will bear the Mark of Cain."

The weight of the words seemed to press down on the white room.

According to the ancient laws of the Throne, any Mystic who killed another after inciting an illegal conflict would be branded.

The Mark of Cain acted as a universal deterrent; it rendered the bearer completely immune to the touch or killing intent of any other Mystic until a candidate finally ascended to the Throne for All.

It was intended as a form of divine punishment—a path of forced atonement.

The brand was a death sentence draped in a shield.

If the one bearing the Mark of Cain could somehow manage to kill the newly ascended One Above All, they would claim the Throne themselves, their crime washed away by supreme conquest.

It was the ultimate "hail mary" for a sinner.

However, if they failed to defeat the new god of the entity, they would be the very first to suffer the absolute wrath of the One Above All.

Given that the occupant of the Throne was, by definition, the most powerful being in existence, it was considered a mathematical impossibility for a branded murderer to win.

"So," Aaron whispered, the reality of the gamble sinking in.

"I trade Aegon’s surveillance for a shield that eventually turns into a guillotine."

"Exactly," the third Aaron grinned.

"But at least you’ll have your own eyes when the blade drops."

"That’s too risky.

If Aegon actually manages to claim the throne and becomes the One Above All, my chances of winning are nonexistent," Aaron said, shaking his head.

He wasn’t buying the plan; it felt like jumping out of a burning building just to see if he could survive the fall.

"And if you continue down this path, you remain a puppet in Aegon’s palm with zero chance of victory.

This isn’t a suggestion, Aaron.

It is the only way."

The third Aaron didn’t give him a moment to argue or refuse.

He radiated an absolute authority that forced the deal into place, anchoring it to Aaron’s very soul.

"Good.

Now, we move to the main reason I summoned you here," the third Aaron said.

His voice dropped an octave, and his casual arrogance vanished, replaced by a gravity that made the white void feel heavy and suffocating.

"What is it?" Aaron asked, wary of the sudden shift.

He couldn’t fathom what could possibly be more serious than being played like a fiddle by his greatest enemy.

"Mother," the entity said flatly.

"She is coming."

"And?

Why is that a problem?" Aaron asked, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

"Wait—isn’t she dead?"

"It’s a massive problem because she is coming to kill you," his bloodline self replied with a grimace.

"She must have sensed your signature when I briefly stirred from my slumber to deal with Aegon.

I swear, if we actually survive Mother, I am going to tear Aegon apart myself for forcing my hand."

"Kill me?

Why would she want to kill me?" Aaron’s mind was reeling.

"And you still haven’t answered me.

I thought she was dead."

"She is.

But a Spectral is never truly dead.

They exist in a constant, flickering state between life and death once they’ve suffered a ’True Death.’

That is their nature.

As for why she wants you dead?

She has no memory of you as her son.

Think about it: a jealous, ancient Queen realizes her husband has another child she has no knowledge of.

She doesn’t see a son; she sees a stain on her husband’s legacy."

"Damn.

We are dead," Aaron muttered, swallowing hard.

The weight of the revelation was crushing, but his mind instinctively sought out more information.

He had always assumed both his parents belonged to the same race, but the mention of ’Spectrals’ changed everything.

"Same race?

My foot," the third Aaron spat.

"She was a high-ranking member of the Spectral Clans.

They are also known by a much more accurate title: Legend Killers."