Atticus’s Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground - Chapter 823

Chapter 823: Spine
“Hmm,” a smile appeared on Atticus’ face, an action that baffled Ismara.

“I don’t recall saying anything funny, Atticus Ravenstein. Why are you smiling?”

Atticus shook his head, still calm. He had been thinking about the possibilities of bonding with Ozeroth.

“Ah, I apologize. I zoned out for a bit.”

“Your apology is accepted. Anyway—”

“I apologize once more, but I think I’ll still bond with Ozeroth,” Atticus interrupted.

Ismara froze, utterly shocked. She wasn’t the only one, Seraphina’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Ismara turned to Seraphina. “Seraphina, is intellectual impairment a dominant trait of your race, or is this child simply slow?”

“Sweetie…” Seraphina muttered, looking worriedly at Atticus.

Despite their reactions, Atticus maintained his calm demeanor, the smile on his face not changing.

“I heard everything you said, and I understand it all,” he said.

“Then—”

“But,” Atticus interrupted Ismara again, “I honestly don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t bond with him. Last time I checked, he’s an enemy of your spirit king. What does that have to do with me?”

Ismara was left speechless, struggling to process the absurdity of the situation.

“I’ll spell it out for you since your primitive mind clearly can’t comprehend the situation,” she said coldly. “A bond is for life. If you bond with any spirit, you inherit everything; their friendships and especially their enemies. Bonding with Ozeroth would make you an enemy of the spirit king and, by extension, every spirit on this planet and in the spirit realm,” Ismara’s tone had turned ice cold.

However, Atticus simply chuckled, a loud, genuine laugh that left both the spirit and the paragon baffled.

“It seems you misunderstood,” he said, his voice calm but carrying a weight that made the room feel heavier.

“I didn’t choose to become anyone’s enemy. I’ll simply live my life, choose my path, and if your race, in its infinite wisdom, decides to make an enemy of me…”

His words turned cold, an icy chill spreading through the room.

“I’ve never questioned my enemies, nor have I cared for the reasons they choose to stand in my way. Their choices are their own, as are the consequences.”

“If anyone chooses to make me an enemy, I will choose to end them.”

The room descended into a tense, oppressive silence. The air grew colder, and a faint killing intent radiated from Atticus.

Ismara’s golden eyes blazed, her piercing gaze sharp enough to cut steel.

“Is that a threat, Atticus Ravenstein?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be an intellectual? You tell me,”

Ismara’s expression darkened further, her aura unfurling as the room began to quake. Spiritual energy surged around her, thick and oppressive.

Before she could act, Seraphina’s stern voice cut through the tension.

“That’s enough, Ismara.”

But Ismara didn’t listen, her energy still building. Seraphina’s eyes narrowed before glowing an intense blue. Before Ismara could react, a burst of blue light engulfed her, and she was forcibly pulled back into Seraphina’s body.

Even as Ismara’s muffled protests echoed faintly, Seraphina ignored them, focusing entirely on Atticus. Her gaze was serious but warm.

“Listen, sweetie. I can’t force you to do anything,” she said gently. “But I urge you to think this through very carefully. I understand that you’re drawn to his power, but you need to consider the consequences. Ismara might be difficult, but she doesn’t lie. This is the first I’m hearing of this spirit king, but is that really an enemy you want to make? Especially now… Just think about it, alright?”

Atticus smiled softly, nodding. “I will, Auntie. Thank you.”

“That’s all I ask,” Seraphina said, visibly relieved.

“But in the meantime, can I continue training in the sanctum?” Atticus asked. To him, there was truly nothing to think about, his mind was already made up. But he appreciated Seraphina’s genuine concern.

Seraphina hesitated. Now that Atticus had made contact with an enemy of the spirits, his presence here in this sector was complicated. She wasn’t entirely sure how the spirits in the area would react to him.

Plus, the boy’s unpredictability made her uneasy, and she couldn’t shake the nagging thought: What if some overlord from another world descended next?

She sighed deeply, reluctant but she still decided to grant him access.

“Okay,” she said.

…

A tall figure cloaked in robes that seemed to shimmer with both light and shadow stepped out of a swirling portal.

A wide, sharp smile spread across Ozeroth’s face as he strode forward, his golden eyes filled with amusement. He had just observed the interaction between Atticus, Ismara, and Seraphina back on Eldoralth.

Ozeroth had been curious. How would Atticus react when confronted with his history? Would fear grip him at the thought of making enemies in the spirit world, or would he remain unfazed? After witnessing Atticus’s bold response, Ozeroth was more than satisfied. The boy was as crazy as him.

His steps were calm, almost leisurely, despite the chaos surrounding him.

The city was a ruin. Buildings were reduced to rubble, streets littered with debris, and thousands of spirits lay unconscious across the ground.

The scene was pure devastation, yet Ozeroth moved through it as though strolling through a peaceful garden, his grin unwavering.

‘I can’t wait,’ he thought, his excitement palpable.

Suddenly, Ozeroth stopped. He tilted his head back, his golden eyes locking onto the sky above.

Five figures had appeared, their presence suffocating, the very air trembling under the weight of their power. Considering their power, they could only be Primarchs.

Their gazes swept over the destruction below, and in an instant, their killing intent exploded outward, flooding the ruined city like a tidal wave.

“Ozeroth!” one of them roared, their voice booming. “What is the meaning of this? Are you declaring war on us?”

Ozeroth tilted his head, his grin widening as if he had heard the most amusing thing in his life.

“Declaring war?” His voice was low, thick. “Don’t flatter yourselves. Would you notify insects before crushing them?”

The Primarchs’ expressions darkened at the blatant disrespect, their spiritual energy surging as the air grew heavy. Before they could act, a voice cut through the oppressive atmosphere.

“Enough.”

The sky split apart, blinding light pouring through the opening. The suffocating killing intent vanished instantly, replaced by a presence far more overwhelming.

The Spirit King.

He descended from the light with deliberate grace, radiating an aura that seemed to bend reality itself. His faintly glowing form exuded authority, and the ground cracked beneath his feet from the sheer force of his presence.

The swirling spiritual energy in the air stilled, bowing to his will.

The Primarchs immediately dropped to their knees, their heads bowed in deference.

“Your Majesty,” they murmured in unison.

The Spirit King’s cold, detached gaze swept across the ruined city before landing on Ozeroth. His voice was frigid, carrying the weight of command.

“Why have you attacked this city?”

Ozeroth chuckled, a low rumble resonating through the silence. Without bothering to look at the Spirit King, he turned and began to walk away.

“Attack? Is that what you think this is?”

One of the Primarchs stepped forward, spiritual energy flaring. “How dare you—”

The Spirit King raised a hand, and the Primarch froze mid-step, his energy dissipating as though it had never existed.

Ozeroth stopped, glancing over his shoulder with a sharp grin.

“Your bravado amuses me,” he said. “When you’re ready to stop cowering and face me, you know where to find me.”

With a casual motion, he raised a hand, summoning an immense surge of spiritual energy. The energy converged at the center of the ruined city, and in an instant, a massive estate materialized out of thin air.

The gates of the estate creaked open as Ozeroth strolled inside.

“Until then,” he continued, his tone casual, “I’ll be staying here. I trust your petty minds won’t mistake this for asking permission. I’m merely letting you know where to find me when you finally grow a spine.”

His deep chuckle echoed as the gates closed behind him.

The Primarchs seethed, their spiritual energy trembling with complete rage.

“My King,” one of them pleaded, bowing deeply. “Just give the word.” The others also joined in, bowing. They wanted nothing more than to put Ozeroth In his place.

The Spirit King’s gaze swept over the destruction, his expression unreadable.

“Stand down,” he ordered, gesturing to the city. “Look around. He caused all of this… and yet no one died.”

The Primarchs hesitated, scanning the area. Their King was right. Though the city was in ruins, not a single spirit had been killed.

The Spirit King exhaled slowly, his voice filled with cold calculation.

“Inform the Primarchs in the lower world of Ozeroth’s interest. I want to know everything about it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Primarchs replied in unison before vanishing, leaving the ruined city in silence once more.