Timeless Assassin

Chapter 1056: Timeskip(6)

(Meanwhile, The Outer Universe)

While fifteen years had passed for Leo inside the Time-Stilled World, only fifty five days had passed in the outer universe, and yet, even within that short span, the balance of power had shifted in ways that none of the Great Clan Gods could afford to ignore.

Because after the showdown on Helion-6 and Mauriss’s successful escape, not a single one of them had enjoyed even a night of uninterrupted rest, as the looming threat of retaliation hung over them like a blade suspended by a thread, ready to fall at any given moment.

The battle lines had already been drawn.

Mauriss was no longer a rival.

He was now an enemy of the state.

And although the truth of what had transpired had not yet been spread among the general populace, the upper echelons of power already understood the gravity of the situation, as quiet preparations began to take shape behind closed doors, while surveillance tightened and contingencies were drafted in silence.

Because they all knew—

It was only a matter of time before the Deceiver struck back.

Over the past two months, the Great Clan Gods had replayed the events of Helion-6 over and over again within their minds, as each of them dissected the battle from every possible angle, analyzing every decision, every delay, every miscalculation that had led to Mauriss slipping through their grasp at the final moment.

They had been close.

Too close.

And that was what made it worse.

Because the taste of victory had literally been ripped out of their mouths at the last possible moment by the ancient Dragon Moltherak.

The very thought of him caused Ru Vassa’s expression to darken, as her fingers curled tightly at her sides while a low, seething anger rose from deep within her chest, refusing to settle no matter how much time had passed since that encounter.

"That stupid dragon..."

Ru Vassa muttered under her breath, as her teeth clenched instinctively while her thoughts spiraled back to their encounter once more.

"I will cut him into a thousand pieces someday."

Her voice was quiet.

But the hatred within it was anything but.

Because of all those who sought revenge against Mauriss, it was Ru Vassa who carried the deepest wound, not only in pride but in flesh, as the scars across the back of her neck still throbbed faintly even now, a constant reminder of the humiliation she had endured during Mauriss’s ambush.

And yet—

Despite her anger, despite her hatred, and despite the fire that burned within her with every passing day, she had not been blinded by stupidity.

Because as a spell-oriented fighter herself, Ru Vassa understood better than most the complexity behind Moltherak’s power, as she had witnessed firsthand the depth of his control, the precision of his casting, and the sheer overwhelming scale at which he operated.

And it was precisely because of that understanding, that she was forced to accept a truth she despised.

That among the current pool of Gods, Moltherak stood at the very top, with Kaelith perhaps coming closest to matching him, while the rest of them, herself included, still lagged behind by a margin that could not be ignored.

"...Tch."

Ru Vassa clicked her tongue softly as she exhaled, her gaze hardening.

"I must improve."

The words came quietly, yet carried a weight of resolve that did not waver.

"It’s been too long since I’ve truly trained...

I’ve grown complacent, relying on what I already know instead of pushing beyond it," she admitted to herself, as her thoughts grew sharper, more focused.

"The gap between us is vast... but it is not hopeless."

She paused briefly, as her fingers slowly unfurled.

"If I start now... if I refine my control, if I evolve my spells, maybe... just maybe, I can find a way to bring him down the next time we meet."

There was no arrogance in her voice.

Only calculation.

Only intent.

Because Ru Vassa was not the type to chase revenge blindly.

She would prepare.

She would evolve.

And when the time came, she would not fail again.

"Next time..." she muttered softly, as her eyes gleamed faintly with cold determination.

"I’ll make sure it’s him who eats his own words."

She swore, because the next time they stood on opposite sides of a battlefield, she intended to be ready to counter everything that Moltherak threw at her.

—---------

(At the same time, The General Populace)

Two months was not a long time when it came to changing a generation’s worth of belief, as hatred that had been cultivated over centuries could not simply dissolve within a matter of days, and yet, despite that truth, something subtle had begun to shift beneath the surface of public opinion, something quiet and almost imperceptible, as though the very narrative that had once defined the Cult of Ascension was beginning to fracture ever so slightly.

Because two months had now passed since Chaosbringer’s final act.

Two months since coordinated explosions had rocked multiple planets across the universe in perfect synchronization, as entire systems were thrown into panic while the Cult delivered its message across GalaxyNet with a clarity that could not be ignored, making it abundantly clear that retaliation was no longer a possibility, but rather an inevitability.

And yet, strangely enough...

This time, the reaction to that threat message was not what it had always been.

Because while fear still spread, while anger still existed, and while hatred still lingered deep within the hearts of the masses, there was something new accompanying it now—

Something unfamiliar.

Acceptance.

Not widespread, not dominant, but present.

Because while ninety-eight out of every hundred people still despised the Cult to their very core, still viewing them as terrorists, monsters, and enemies of order, there were now a few voices.... small, scattered, but growing.... that no longer spoke of the Cult as something that could be eradicated.

But rather, something that could not be stopped.

"How many years has it been...?"

One such voice questioned during a widely circulated GalaxyNet discussion, as the speaker’s tone carried not admiration, but exhaustion, the kind that only came from watching the same cycle repeat itself over and over again.

"How many times have we been told that this would be the end of the Cult?

How many campaigns, how many wars, how many ’final operations’ have been launched to wipe them out once and for all... and yet they are still here?"

The question lingered.

Unanswered.

Because everyone already knew the truth.

"They don’t go away.

They don’t weaken.

If anything... they only come back stronger."

The discussion grew.

Others joined.

Not in agreement, because doing so would mark them as Cult sympathisers, but not in outright rejection either.

And that alone was new.

"Look at the state of the universe right now," another voice added, as frustration bled into his words.

"Planets destabilizing, resources stretched thin, entire systems collapsing... and what are the Righteous Lords doing?

They’re exploiting the weak.

They’re letting entire regions starve.

They’re making workers work in inhumane conditions.

All because they want to protect the borders and preserve their borders.

And nothing more."

There was a pause.

A dangerous one.

"They’re not doing it to protect us.

They’re doing it to protect themselves."

That line spread.

Repeated.

Shared.

Because it struck something deeper than fear—

It struck doubt.

"And the Cult?" the same voice continued, as his tone lowered.

"Hate them as much as you want, but on the Great War Feed, while our Monarch’s refused to let our brightest minds and scientists retreat to safety

The Cult Master.... That criminal, Leo Skyshard, led his forces from the front."

He hesitated briefly.

As if even saying the name carried weight.

"...He is a real leader. Not a coward like our protectors."

The statement was not praise.

Not fully.

But it was not hatred either.

"It’s strange, isn’t it?" another comment added, quieter this time.

"That the man we were taught to fear the most... is the one who actually bleeds alongside his followers."

That idea....

That single, dangerous idea....

Was what began to spread.

Slowly.

Reluctantly.

But undeniably.

Because for the first time in centuries, the conversation surrounding the Cult of Ascension was no longer one-dimensional, as it was no longer just fear, no longer just hatred, but something far more complex, something far more unstable.

Perspective.

"I’m not saying they’re right, attacking like terrorists is definitely a heinous crime" one user clarified quickly, as if afraid of being misunderstood.

"But I am saying this..."

A pause followed.

A deep breath.

"...maybe they’re inevitable."

The user concluded, before immediately being bashed by thousands of anti-cult comments under his post, until he was forced to delete it.

However, that did not matter, because it was still a start.

Because this was how the shift in narrative began.

Not with support.

Not with loyalty.

But with doubt.

Because once doubt took root within the minds of the masses, it did not need to grow quickly.

It only needed to exist.

As from there, everything else could follow.