I Can Assimilate Everything - Chapter 251

Chapter 251: They Will Fly! II
And then…

The command came.

It wasn’t words.

It was intention.

Go.

March.

To the Ancient Holy Land, Sanctarith Ultara where other Ancient Titans remained a distance from here.

Her gaze lifted slowly, and she saw the others, hundreds, thousands of Titans, each branded, each bound, each rising as one.

They turned.

Without hesitation.

They began to move, marching from the heart of Thornveil’s ruins, silent and overwhelming, like a living tide of ancient power reclaimed.

Toward the Ancient Holy Land still controlled by their brethren.

To conquer not for themselves, but for him.

Zyrethea followed.

She moved with the tide, her obsidian-green form shifting among the gleaming host. And as she did, she turned her gaze once more back to the figure standing at the center of it all.

Achilles Adrastia Maxwell was his name from what his command told them.

A human who radiated like no Titan ever had.

A human who had broken the unbreakable.

A human who healed as much as he conquered.

The Adrastia Emperor King!

Zyrethea’s lips parted in a breathless whisper, a thought half-formed, trembling in the cradle of her ancient soul.

“What kind of humans have risen after the Long Slumber…”

Her emerald eyes burned softly with awe as the branded Titans marched into the distance.

Were they all like him?

She wondered.

As she did, she released her old shackles and began to draw in starlight in her blood as she moved.

For an entity like him, she had no problem being powerful.

She would be the fifth Luminblood Stage Astral Core Ascension Ancient Titan under him.

And she wanted to be the strongest so that one day, she could actually talk to him!

She, Zyrethea of the Treetitan Core!

—

The battlefield was quiet now.

The winds carried only the distant crackle of collapsing thrones and the hushed awe of Thornveil’s battered survivors.

Achilles stood in the broken plaza, his golden-white form gleaming, his wings of Nirvanic fire folding slowly at his back.

Around him, the branded Titans began to move away, marching like obedient colossi toward distant lands.

Heading towards Sanctarith Ultara.

He turned his gaze toward the highest surviving spire of Thornveil’s ruined capital.

There, atop crumbling stones veined with vines and blood, stood Thorndike, the Thorn King.

Their eyes met.

The green and gold of old royalty met the burning violet-gold of a new era.

When Achilles looked at this being, he saw himself in him as he never wanted to be a King like this.

Not because he was not a good king.

But because he had failed to protect those under him.

He was sympathetic to how he currently felt as he could not imagine the feeling of fear.

The sensation of letting down his loved ones.

Of having a few hundred thousand deaths under his hand!

“…”

Achilles sighed internally.

Then, he spoke. Calm. Final.

“The other Colony Cities under the Thornveil Dynasty,” he said, voice carrying across the winds, “were in a similar state.”

Thorndike flinched. Shame, guilt, and anger flickered across his bruised, weary face.

“But,” Achilles continued, “my people have stabilized them.”

A small gasp rose among the surviving commanders around Thorndike.

Of hope.

Achilles let the silence hang for a moment longer before he spoke again, voice steady.

“With all of this having occurred, there now come choices to make.”

Thorndike stiffened.

“Will you rebuild yourself?”

The words echoed out.

Or…

Achilles’ tone was not cruel. Only inevitable.

“Will you take your people, your remaining cities, under a bastion of defense? A bastion, under my rule.”

…!

Thorndike’s breath caught.

He smiled, but it was a sad, tired thing, carved more from grief than joy.

“If I could secure any future for them,” he said, voice hoarse, “even a scrap of forgiveness for my incompetence…”

He swallowed thickly.

“I would.”

He looked over the shattered remains of his capital, his city of thorns now reduced to rubble and broken dreams.

“But how?” he whispered, almost to himself. “How can we relocate and move across distances teeming with Evolutius Beasts, with Ancient Ones rising across the Cenotaph Wild Lands?”

It was not merely a question.

It was a plea.

A confession of a King who no longer had the means to protect the people he had once sworn to.

Achilles did not answer with words as the more he sensed the sorrow and helplessness of that King, the more he never wanted to feel that sensation.

He raised his hand.

The ground trembled.

HUUM!

Before the eyes of all, human, hybrid, Titan, the Adrastia Emperor King began to move.

His fingers traced glowing patterns in the air.

Runes.

Not ordinary runes.

Living Runescriptures.

Woven from the combination of Primordial Energy and Evolutius Energy, their structure was layered and complex, a symphony of ancient logic and living will.

Achilles loved the sensation of designing and forging them as he felt like he was learning a new language more and more intricately.

The scripts bloomed in sequence, unfurling like celestial flowers, each one birthing another in an endless cascade.

Lines of burning violet and gold spread along the ground.

The earth cracked gently.

A circular core of concentrated Runescriptures formed at Achilles’ feet, pulsating with energy so dense that the ground began to warp and pulse around it.

He breathed once, slow, measured.

Then he pressed his hand downward.

The core sank into the earth.

A deep, resonant hum filled the air.

From below, the Colony Capital of Thorns shuddered.

Not with collapse.

With awakening.

BOOM!

Vast cracks split the earth, but not from destruction.

From release.

From liberation.

The land beneath the city stirred, folding and realigning under an invisible architecture of living runes.

Achilles’ energy spread outward in layered, concentric pulses, laying down unseen roots of power that embedded below the city as a Scaffolding!

The earth of the city itself responded as unlike any other time before, Achilles could fold this scaffolding extremely quickly!

Vines, stone, crystal, all intertwined under the growing scaffolding of Runescriptures.

A Titanwall Dome.

Ancient and impenetrable.

Dense enough to withstand even Astral Core Ascension entities now!

Above it all, Thornveil’s citizens watched in stunned silence as the earth beneath them grew lighter, as if gravity itself was lessening its grip.

As if the city itself…

Was preparing to rise.

Thorndike fell to his knees, hands trembling on the broken stone of his perch.

He watched the impossible unfold.

Achilles turned his gaze back to him.

Still calm.

Still inevitable.

And saddened by the broken state of a King who could fall on his knees.

Truly, he never wanted that to ever happen to him.

“Your people do not need to walk across the Wild Lands,” Achilles said.

Behind him, the air cracked and boomed as the ancient scaffolding took firmer shape, spreading outward like a shell of Primordial and Evolutius strength.

“They will fly.”

The Capital shuddered again.

The first edges of the scaffolding broke the surface at the very ends of the city, shimmering with violet and gold script.

Brilliant purple and gold formed and curved up like a bowl as it began to lift the entire decimated city with a few million into the air.

Thorndike’s mouth opened.

No words came out.

Tears did.

Because for the first time in too long, he saw a future.

Not one bound by chains.

Not one trapped in the past.

A future, above the Wilds, above the Beasts, above the reach of Ancient Ones.

A future under a new bastion.

And he wondered, just who the one who was able to save him and his people was!