MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 968: Big Brother

Anthony and Kingsley blurred across the battlefield, with time itself slowing to a crawl around them. Even though their sparring session lasted only two minutes, that brief span felt like forever to both of them, thanks to the special dimension they'd stepped into, the heightened state they'd reached—a domain where senses expanded without limit and every moment stretched into an endless expanse, each action holding the intensity of endless clashes squeezed into one fleeting breath.

The two-minute limit ended quickly, and they halted in mid-space, standing mere meters apart, locking eyes with warm smiles on their faces like they'd just shared love at first glance—the subtle, knowing grin reserved for those who've clashed fists and spirits alike, a wordless nod to progress, admiration, and a bond beyond mere competition, almost like a holy connection.

The world grew still, the breeze halted its whisper, light hung suspended, noises faded away entirely, mana currents stopped, and even air and particles froze as if Existence, Law, and Order had frozen this instant just to capture proof of such an unbelievable sight, for it looked like Anthony had stirred something inside Kingsley, a force not meant to stir yet, something old and hidden under layers of ages, a strength from lost times and vanished myths.

"I truly don't know what to say, or precisely how to feel—thank you just isn't sufficient right now," Kingsley shattered the quiet with his words, his tone softer than normal but brimming with deep honesty, "how can I repay you?" He wondered aloud, sensing that what he'd gained was far too vast and profound to measure with simple thanks.

Indeed, Aaaninja had aided the First Supreme Monarch before, but Kingsley figured that kindness paled against this one, since Anthony had mentioned Martial Rhythm as a force from ancient eras, not even part of this Galaxy's tier, something that went beyond all normal boundaries.

"No need to repay me—if you did, it'd turn into a deal, not a gift from an older brother," Anthony answered, a soft smile on his lips as his flowing white hair swayed gently in the breeze, each lock shimmering lightly under the glow like strands of silver thread, his voice steady, kind, and lightly playful, but utterly genuine.

Kingsley grinned once more, then shut his eyes briefly, immersing himself in the feeling he'd experienced, gaining more insight in those four minutes than from years of practice and endless fights. His eyes snapped open again, those golden pupils fixing on Anthony with fresh sharpness and resolve; he longed to voice another thanks, but now, words fell short—only deeds held value, only true progress could repay the favor.

'This will boost his offensive strength to unprecedented heights,' Anthony pondered silently, watching Kingsley's aura settle steadily, when a bold, alluring notion crossed his mind, though he dismissed it with a slight shake of his head, unwilling to aid Kingsley excessively; it was better for him to uncover paths on his own, since power given too freely seldom takes firm root in one's core.

'I'm curious what happens when Concept Of Destruction merges with Martial Rhythm,' he reflected inwardly with a faint smile.

Anthony hadn't tested it himself, just letting the thought drift by. Then, he rose into the air, his feet lifting from the ground as he hovered with ease, before streaking toward the spot where the watchers gathered, his glide smooth and silent like a feather borne on a hidden breeze.

Kingsley remained motionless, his heart still thumping hard in his ribs like far-off thunder rumbling in a deep cave. One might think he'd simply relax and proceed, but he found it impossible.

'Big brother, eh?' he pondered, remembering Anthony's self-proclaimed role as the elder sibling, 'that positions me as the little brother,' he gave a light shake of his head at the idea, yet oddly, it didn't irk him—instead, a strange warmth bloomed in his heart, a sensation absent for ages.

Though he'd lived over a hundred years while Anthony was scarcely twenty, the Acarnis Galaxy operated not by years lived, but by might, aura, and determination, and Anthony wielded all that in overwhelming excess, enough to shatter norms and reshape the meaning of genius.

Kingsley lifted his gaze to the floating white clouds above, but his stare pierced beyond them, as if peering into hidden depths outside the ordinary veil of the world. 'Thank you,' he thought, though this time, the message aimed not at Anthony, but at the Universe.

The Universe had stood by him through the years, quietly observing, steering, and letting him escape fatal perils, for without it, he'd be merely a lifeless body in his spilled blood, lost and wiped from history.

As if catching Kingsley's earnestness, the heavens grew a touch brighter, like the Universe returning a gentle smile, a faint and discreet response only one of his stature could notice. The Universe rejoiced in his step forward, knowing full well that Anthony was an outlier, as were his companions—entities that refused to slot neatly into fate's strict framework.

The sky settled back after mere moments, as if no change had occurred, but every onlooker there caught every bit of the unfolding events without missing a beat. With a mere intention, Kingsley ascended into the sky, then surged ahead, racing to join the spectators, his pace measured but much swifter than earlier, his aura markedly keener.

Vega, Aura Nova, Lucian, Aaaninja, Zachary, Collins, Mitchelle, and the other bystanders froze in pure, raw astonishment. They'd all caught Anthony's statements and hung on every one, straining to grasp or draw some benefit from them.

They'd observed the fierce ordeal Kingsley suffered to claim the Martial Rhythm. They'd also noted the abrupt surge in power and fighting prowess that hit Kingsley right as he unlocked the Martial Rhythm, a shift so profound it nearly broke all reason.

I want it.

They couldn't deny the urge. And who could blame them, for who wouldn't crave such a skill? Anthony had explained that awakening Martial Rhythm demanded purging all energies, yet oddly, he wielded it with ease. Sure, he could handle every energy type, but Martial Rhythm wasn't energy at all—it was something else, more refined, nearer to the core beat of being itself.

Yet another idea sparked in their thoughts. If Anthony managed it, why couldn't they? Each had their tricks to bend the rules and push toward unlocking Martial Rhythm, and all that was left was to give it a shot. Sure, some might claim their tries were doomed, but how could they confirm that without testing it personally, without striving and stumbling on their own?

But what escaped their knowledge, and what they'd grasp soon enough through harsh lessons, was that despite all their attempts, no matter the toil, the losses, or the frantic steps they took, failure awaited them in awakening that Martial Rhythm.