I Can Copy And Evolve Talents - Chapter 821

Chapter 821: Victory: Delayed Defeat
For the first time in his life, Northern doubted whether he had heard the system correctly.

‘Did it just say… I… slain? Slain?

‘Slain what?

‘That couldn’t be right.’

And it certainly couldn’t be good.

What he had come here to do was act as bait—not outright kill the monster.

Had he overestimated it?

‘It looked quite strong. I just wanted to make it mad…’

In his attempt to do so, he had conjured quite the recipe and somehow landed a one-hit kill.

It was… jaw-dropping.

And also appalling.

He particularly did not like it.

How was he supposed to witness Paragon Raizel’s strength if the evil Boneless Sea had simply died like that?

Too easily.

Just like that.

It was… frustrating.

Really frustrating.

‘I had great expectations for that bastard!’

At this rate, Northern didn’t know whether to blame the monsters for being defaulted or himself for being the defaulted one.

Whichever way, he needed an explanation for this.

All around him, the raging waves had begun to settle, collapsing back into the river with an eerie finality, causing another tremendous tsunami to roll forward across the water’s surface.

But this one was weaker.

From the sheer disparity between the two tsunamis, it was clear how devastating that thing called Essence Manifestation had been.

Northern clenched his fists, anger bubbling up again. He had really wanted to see Raizel use it.

Sighing, he dove into the torrent’s depths, seizing the sinking corpse of the monstrous abomination by one of its hand-limbs—more fin than limb.

The creature’s immense weight almost dragged him back down.

But then—

Several clones materialized.

They latched onto the body, pushing it upward, fighting against the thrashing waves despite their crushing force.

Moments later, Northern burst from the raging river, shooting into the air—his clones rising alongside him, carrying the evil abomination’s lifeless form.

Raizel was there.

Still.

Suspended in midair, his expression unreadable.

His confident front had cracked the moment he sensed the unholy presence vanish. The lingering traces of its Manifestation were already crumbling.

Something was definitely wrong.

But Raizel refused to jump to conclusions.

Even if he wanted to—

He was too riddled.

Too baffled.

And the only conclusion he could come to seemed… impossible.

If a Sage could defeat not just an ordinary Behemoth, but a catastrophic one—

Then the world would be a far better place.

So there was no way—

No way in this hellish world—

That it was possible.

However, Northern remained floating in the air, his clones carrying the lifeless mass of the abomination.

And from what he could tell—

It was undoubtedly that darned creature that had been controlling the storm.

The halo of rotten flesh gripped by one of his Sage clones was proof of it.

Northern flew toward the Paragon, whose expression was unnervingly stiff—his bewilderment carefully suppressed, waiting for a proper explanation.

His confident demeanor alone demanded an answer.

He wasn’t angry.

Rather, he was confused.

Very confused.

“Ral. What is… going on?”

Northern scratched the back of his head, chuckling sheepishly.

“I think I might have… killed it by mistake.”

The Paragon frowned.

“You… killed… it… by mistake? A Catastrophic Behemoth?”

Northern gulped.

He stayed silent for a moment, then finally admitted, “It seems so.”

The Paragon didn’t say anything at first.

Suspended in the air, he simply reached into the pocket of his pants, retrieving a pipe and a strange flame sparker.

With a quiet flick—

He lit the pot of the pipe, taking a slow drag before tucking the spark device back into his pocket.

Then, exhaling a stream of smoke through his mouth and nose, he fixed Northern with a calmly intrigued gaze.

“…Alright, Ral. Please come again.”

A pause.

“What did you say just now?”

***

The situation in the Trade City had calmed considerably.

Most of the invading monsters—both on river and in the air—had been ruthlessly dealt with.

And a cohort of three immensely powerful Drifters had played a crucial role in turning the tide.

The atmosphere buzzed with an unusual exhilaration as Drifters dragged carcasses across the port, harvesting cores, slicing off chunks of meat, and passing them along for processing.

Today’s battle had been their best yet.

They had lost only around thirty Drifters, with even fewer injured—far better than previous encounters.

And it was all thanks to those three ferocious forces.

Since the start of this long and grueling fight, today had marked their lowest casualties.

A real cause for celebration.

Yet, beneath the cheerful air, a silent unease lingered.

They all knew.

Paragon Raizel and some mysterious Sage had gone to confront the true catastrophe.

For the Paragon to personally accompany someone else into battle—

The enemy had to be monstrously powerful.

The city held its breath.

If the Paragon died…

Lithia was doomed.

None of them could afford that.

They understood how precious, how crucial his existence was to their survival.

Hundreds of thousands of lives depended on that single pillar of power.

Then—

Someone pointed to the sky.

A dot appeared.

Growing larger.

Larger with every passing second.

Civilians and Drifters alike raised their heads, squinting at the rapidly approaching figure.

At first, horror crept into their eyes.

But as the figures became clearer—

That horror faded.

Now, they could see them.

Multiple humans.

Carrying a colossal, terrifying creature.

Then—

Recognition struck.

The Paragon.

And another figure beside him.

The Paragon had slain the Behemoth.

Victory was theirs.

They would survive.

—

Raizel turned his gaze toward Northern.

“Are you sure you don’t want credit for this?”

His voice was casual, but his jade-green eyes gleamed with curiosity.

“If the people knew you did it, you’d be revered.”

Northern shook his head as they slowly descended.

“No, I don’t. I’m a social recluse, so I wouldn’t even know what to do with all that reverence.”

He paused, then added, “Instead, I hope you can do something else for me.”

The Paragon raised a brow.

“Oh? What is that?”

Northern smiled, tilting his head slightly.

“Maybe take me hunting someday?”

He paused.

“And… maybe spare me a few spars?”

The Paragon threw his head back and let out a booming, intimidating laugh.

“You—”

He grinned.

“You want to spar with me?”

Northern scratched his temple, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

After all, Raizel was older.

Far older.

“Well…”

Raizel smirked.

“There’s no problem with that, Ral.”

He exhaled through his nose, then nodded.

“I’ll grant you both your wishes.”

Then, his grin stretched wider.

“In fact—”

A glint flashed in his eyes.

“I should take you on as a mentee.”