My Charity System made me too OP

The figure stood still now, watching Aris with a strange posture—calm, steady, but not lifeless.

It no longer felt like some unknowable force.

It felt human.

Aris gritted her teeth. "What's your name?"

The figure's voice was rough. Like someone trying to speak after centuries of silence.

"…Eran."

The name echoed faintly through the air. Not through magic—just a man speaking his name.

Aris adjusted her grip on the baton. "You were Sovereign once, weren't you?"

Eran gave a single nod.

"Long ago. Before the Tower allowed names. Before the Choir made rules."

"And now?"

"I am what they buried. Because I chose to fight without permission."

Aris smirked. "Good. Then we've got something in common."

Eran didn't speak again.

He just charged.

This time, Aris met him head-on.

Their weapons clashed with a brutal clang—no rhythm, no tempo assist. Just raw force. Aris ducked a sweeping elbow, slid under Eran's follow-up strike, and jabbed upward at his ribs.

Her baton connected, sparks flying.

Eran didn't flinch. He turned and caught her arm mid-spin, hurling her backward into a cracked pillar.

Aris groaned, flipping back onto her feet just in time to dodge a chunk of stone he'd torn from the floor and thrown like a cannonball.

The impact shook the chamber.

Dust filled the air.

Aris leapt through it, spinning low, slamming her baton into Eran's leg.

He dropped slightly—his stance staggered—and she took the opening.

Two fast hits.

One to the shoulder.

One to the jaw.

He stumbled, grunted, and shoved her back.

Aris landed hard, rolled, and came up breathing fast.

Her knuckles were bruised.

Her ribs ached.

But she was still in it.

Still standing.

Eran cracked his neck.

"Improving."

"I'm just getting started," she said, raising her baton again.

This time, she didn't wait.

She rushed him.

Their fight tore across the Vault platform—every clash sending shockwaves through the floor. Stone cracked. Walls buckled. Their weapons blurred with sheer speed.

Eran was a brawler—strong, tight strikes, close-range grapples. He didn't rely on magic. He fought like a warrior who had been in hundreds of battles and lived through every one of them.

Aris was lighter. Faster. Her strikes were angles, not lines. She moved in broken rhythms—nothing smooth or predictable. Her training with Kael had changed how she fought.

And now, it was keeping her alive.

Eran came in again with a heavy downward strike.

She sidestepped.

Hooked his ankle with her foot.

Dropped him flat.

But he didn't stay down.

He rolled and came back up swinging.

She caught it.

Blocked.

Strained.

Their weapons locked for half a second—eyes locked even longer.

"You're not afraid," he said quietly.

"Should I be?"

Eran shoved her back and stepped away.

"No," he said. "You're the first person I've hit in three hundred years who didn't fall."

Aris straightened, wiping blood from her lip.

"Guess that makes me harder than most."

Eran looked at her. Really looked.

Then… smiled.

It wasn't cruel. It wasn't mocking.

It was respect.

"You've earned something," he said. "A real fight."

He raised his fists.

No weapon now.

Just him.

"Let's end this."

Aris raised her baton.

"No echo. No tricks."

He nodded. "Just us."

And they charged.

The final round was faster, harder, cleaner.

Aris's baton spun like a blade, smashing into Eran's forearms and collar. She dodged wild punches by centimeters, slipped in close, and landed heavy hits to his side.

He tanked them.

Hit back.

Every hit felt like a hammer.

But Aris kept moving. She took the blows that didn't matter. Dodged the ones that did.

And then—he staggered.

She saw the opening.

Dropped low.

And struck upward.

Clean to the chin.

Eran stumbled.

One more hit to the chest.

He fell.

Hard.

Silence.

Dust settled.

Aris stood, breathing hard, blood in her mouth, knees shaking.

Eran lay still.

Then—laughed.

Just a dry, low sound.

He looked up at her.

"You've got it," he said. "The fire. The reason they fear you."

Aris lowered her weapon.

"I'm not here to be feared."

"Then you'll be hated," he said.

"Maybe," she replied. "But I'm not backing down."

Eran let out a long breath.

Then closed his eyes.

"Don't let them bury you like they did me."

And he went still.

Not dead.

Just… finished.

The Vault pulsed once—lightly.

Her wrist device blinked to life again.

[Hostile Neutralized]

[Rhythm Reconnection Established]

[Pulse Integrity Restored – Sector Twelve Secure]

She collapsed to her knees.

Alive.

Barely.

But she'd done it.

Alone.

Back on Floor 307, Leon stared at the monitor as Aris's signal returned.

Kael just smiled.

"She wrote her second song," he said.

Leon nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "And this time, it's loud enough to scare even the Choir."

Floor 307 — Eastern Gate

The portal hissed as Aris stepped through, one hand gripping her side, the other holding her battered baton. Her armor was torn at the shoulder. Blood stained her forearm. Her rhythm signature pulsed faintly but steady.

A small crowd had gathered.

Kael was the first to move. He didn't speak—just walked up and gently took the baton from her hand, inspecting it.

Still whole.

That said enough.

Leon arrived moments later with Roman and Roselia in tow. Leon looked her over once, then gave her a solid nod.

"You walked into a Vault meant to break Sovereigns," he said. "And walked out."

Aris exhaled. "It didn't break me. But it tried."

Leon's jaw clenched. "Was it the Choir's creation?"

"No," Aris said. "They didn't create him. They buried him."

Kael raised an eyebrow. "Him?"

"His name was Eran," she said. "He was Sovereign. They erased him because he didn't follow orders. He wasn't evil. He was just… free."

Roselia stepped forward, gently guiding Aris to sit.

"I'll patch you up. You need rest."

Aris let herself be pulled to the side.

She didn't argue.

Because for the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe.

Elsewhere on Floor 307 — Archive Level

Renic moved with quiet precision through the pulse archive vaults. His steps made no sound. His presence left no impression.

He was invisible in all the ways that mattered.

A simple archivist assistant, copying rhythm logs. Filing tempo sync maps.

But behind his neutral expression, Voice Two was listening.

Watching.

Waiting.

He'd studied every floor plan, every resonance anchor, every emergency node the Sovereigns had built across the last two centuries.

And now, one by one, he was seeding the floor with null threads—invisible tempo disruptors that couldn't be detected by normal scans. Each one the size of a nail. Each one capable of silencing an entire combat team for a full minute if triggered.

Today, he planted the ninth one.

Near the Harmonium chamber.

He paused, turning to watch a trio of trainees sparring nearby.

One of them mimicked Aris's baton stance.

"She's inspired them already," he murmured.

His lips curled slightly.

That wouldn't last.

Because the next time the Choir moved, there would be no chance for rhythm to save them.

Only silence.

And death.