I Can Copy And Evolve Talents - Chapter 512

Chapter 512: Intro: Rise Of The Revolutionalist
In the labyrinth of damp stone, a man moved through the narrow, winding passageways of the underground prison like a regal shadow, his presence commanding attention even within the oppressive walls.

His black hair fell past his shoulders, streaked with a sharp contrast of white that caught the dim, flickering light from the iron lanterns.

A single red scar traced over an eye, stopping on his cheek, a mark of a past battle that had left him unchanged in his stoic demeanor.

His eyes, half-lidded with an indifference only sharpened by his inner focus, scanned the gloom ahead.

On either side of him marched two soldiers, both of whom strode alongside him with purpose and stoicism, struggling to stand up to his.

Their tailored jackets’ brass buttons gleamed in the low light. A scarlet sash draped across their chests, contrasting against the polished silver of their epaulettes.

Their high-collared uniforms were rigid with authority, every line precise, the dark trousers tucked neatly into knee-high, black leather boots.

Atop their heads, a tall shako crowned with a plume added to their imposing stature.

The man was also dressed in the same manner, except that he had no headgear, and over his pitch-black uniform was a black overflowing coat and a long curved sword strapped to the right side of his waist.

The air grew colder as they descended deeper into the dungeon’s bowels.

The stench of wet stone and rot thickened, though it never seemed to touch him.

His expression remained unbothered, as though the darkness itself bent to his will, recoiling at his presence.

The walls around him, slick with dampness and grime, groaned in protest as if recognizing that someone of his caliber did not belong in these forsaken depths.

But there was a purpose to his journey.

A rusted iron gate appeared before them, leading to the innermost sanctum of the prison.

The guards hesitated, but he moved forward without pause.

The gate creaked open, the sound loud and jarring in the silence.

He stepped through, his movements measured, unhurried.

Inside, the space was cramped, lit by a single torch flickering in its sconce, casting long, erratic shadows.

The cells beyond were dark recesses in the walls, filled with the whispers of forgotten souls.

But he was not here to feel pity.

He moved past the cells and finally stopped in front of one, his sharp eyes falling on the prisoner hidden deep within the darkness.

The prisoner sat cross-legged in the core of the engulfing darkness.

As the man stopped in front of the cell, his eyes opened. A gleaming white orb, glowing in the cold embrace of the shadows.

The man sent down a look of disdain, his eyes viciously emphasizing the air of authority that loomed around him.

He turned to the guard on his side and commanded, his voice reverberating in the hollowness of the dungeon.

“Open it.”

His voice was rich and steady, carrying the weight of his command without the need for volume.

The soldier to his right hesitated but suppressed his fears immediately and hurriedly proceeded to open the barred gates to the prison.

After several clankings, he stepped back, bowing his head. The gate slowly creaked open.

The man fearlessly pocketed one hand, resting the other on the hilt of his sword while he entered the cell.

“It is you, isn’t it? The prophet.”

The man raised his white orb eyes to meet the gaze of the man towering above him.

“Lieutenant Dante… Oof, the glory of your presence is oppressing the creatures of darkness, like a malignant light, spreading to illuminate and burn.”

“I am not interested in your prophetic rant.”

He snatched the prisoner’s hair before his eyes could follow.

Then lifted the prisoner to his face like a weightless doll.

“I hear you have the ability to see the future.”

The prisoner, despite being pulled by his hair, expressed no displeasure; his face was deadpan as the man asked his question.

As he answered, a smile slowly curved his lips.

“It’s more complicated than seeing the future. Let’s just say, I am a ticking time bomb Ul is waiting patiently to destroy.”

The man narrowed his eyes, discontented.

“Like I said, I am uninterested in your prophecy, it’s puzzles and their pieces. What use are you to me?”

The prisoner’s smile spread into a sinister grin. He spread his hands, shining his teeth like a man ridden by madness.

He brayed, “I see a world where you stand at the pinnacle of the Central Plains. And march to merge the world together once again. This vision of an age to come is the reason why you are standing before me…”

He paused and resumed with a low and melancholic tone, “However, there is one person that you will need to ascertain your victory.”

The man grimaced; he clenched the entire face of the prisoner with quick hand movements and smashed the prisoner into the wall of the prison.

Stone debris flew out as a webbed crack ran into the wall.

‘When did he move?!’ The prisoner could not comprehend.

They were in the middle of the prison; he didn’t sense the man move at all, just his back crashing into the wall and a network of pain spreading across his back.

‘Indeed! He is the one! He is a Paragon!’

“Do you think I have come this far to rely on someone?”

“Gaah…” He struggled to speak as he gargled with blood in his mouth.

The man released him, causing him to fall on the low mattress laid on the ground.

The guy coughed up blood several times and steadied his breath as he explained.

“It is not that you need him. It is just that there is only one person that Ul has no control over, in this entire continent. Having him by your side, I’m sure it would make your actions unpredictable to a certain degree.”

The man furrowed his brows, lingering for a few seconds before inquiring, “And who is this person?”

“I–I don’t know, but having me by your side will help you find him faster. Have me with you, and I shall pave the way for your majesty to tread.”

The man narrowed his eyes viciously for a second, then pocketed his hand.

“What good are you?”

“I have waited twenty-three years for this moment. I have prepared in every way for the day you shall approach me. For the day that the purge will begin, the day that the Revolutionalist shall rise again. I am every good that you need.”

The man’s eyes ignited with a subtle but intensely mad spark.

“You said the purge. You really know.”

“I am your ultimate weapon.”

Silence settled in the dungeon as the man examined the prisoner kneeling before him, his eyes carrying a weight of overwhelming authority.