NOVEL NEXT Ch. 53
Chapter 53: “Is There a Secret Art That Allows One to Rely on Another’s Power?”
Nilia hadn’t moved yet when strangers cloaked in black hoods streamed out of the auditorium.
Polika noticed the collar clasps on their hooded capes.
Pure scarlet gemstones, perfect materials for secret arts.
When Polika worked as a professor’s lab assistant and secretary, he handled a piece the size of a fingernail.
Though merely a consumable material, the professor treasured it, measuring its use by the second, much like Nilia shouting over cafeteria credits.
When not in use, the professor stored it in a velvet-lined box, wincing in pain if it suffered even a small chip.
Yet these people extravagantly carved pigeon-egg-sized gemstones, each etched with a sundered sun.
This pattern represented a secret organization—the Death Cult.
In these lands, faith wasn’t widespread.
Most kings didn’t recognize religion’s legitimacy but didn’t ban it either, leaving theological education to schools’ discretion.
In the Vidalia Kingdom, where Polika resided, the state still maintained churches.
There was even a church on the outer perimeter of Saint Imolai, convenient for noble students to worship.
Saint Imolai had only banned theology courses after a student’s secret art rampage.
But no country, no religion, acknowledged the Death Cult.
The Death Cult began as a clandestine gathering of secret art practitioners.
The entry bar was high; countless master practitioners studied secret art theories, but few qualified to join.
They shared research scrolls with the Secret Art Association, gaining substantial funding.
Yet all secret art research ultimately pointed to the Death God, Hikta.
The rogue student at Saint Imolai wasn’t an anomaly.
They had indeed touched a forbidden power exclusive to gods, a force that stripped scholars of dignity, leaving them groveling at desire’s feet.
No research tied to death ended well—whether for the researchers or the unfortunate individuals, towns, cities, or even nations they targeted.
Regardless of the acknowledged origins of secret arts, consensus held:
All secret arts were a power to manipulate and change the world through knowledge, understanding, and practice, achieving effects beyond common sense by mastering hidden laws.
Thus, the clandestine gathering evolved into the Death Cult, abhorred by the Secret Art Association.
Their symbolic pattern was the torn sun.
Polika struggled to stand, hands on his knees.
That earlier blow seemed to have broken his ribs; his chest throbbed painfully.
He should’ve applied protection—combat classes taught it—but when danger struck, Polika couldn’t react in time.
“Run…” he told Nilia, “To the foothills… find the stationed knights…!”
It was a sound judgment.
The morning assembly, called by the headmaster, gathered all teachers and students.
Saint Imolai’s core strength was in the auditorium—now reeking of blood.
Only the knights, masters of physical arts who forsook secret arts, could fight.
Long ago, people doubted human physical strength could rival secret arts.
A hundred and twenty years prior, during a war provoked by a neighboring kingdom, Vidalia’s proud secret art practitioners fell to the enemy’s enigmatic arts.
The chief secret art practitioner, pale on the battlefield, reported seeing the sundered sun among the enemy.
The war’s nature shifted abruptly.
Whatever the neighbor’s intent, ceding land or paying reparations wouldn’t end it.
When the Death Cult appeared on the battlefield, the only outcome was endless silence.
The knight commander, then merely a royal guard, volunteered.
Their only fear was failing to serve their lord.
It was the knights’ first time as the main force on the front lines.
Clad in iron armor, their weight rivaled a war chariot.
They swept through the battlefield like a hurricane.
Secret arts that could destroy bodies broke their arms, knees, and chests, but as long as a knight had breath, they advanced over comrades’ corpses.
Secret art practitioners went mad, clearing paths for the knights with fire, ice, floods, and meteors—a battle aptly described as earth-shattering.
Vidalia’s bloodiest, most primal war ended with the knight commander beheading the Death Cult’s bishop.
The commander was ennobled, becoming Vidalia’s first female grand duchess in a century.
Under her leadership, the knights became a key military force.
If secret art practitioners couldn’t counter deeper, darker powers, perhaps only the knights could!
Polika spat blood and growled, “What are you standing there for—go!”
Nilia snapped back to reality.
He knew his limits.
Even with dreamlike voices in his head, he nearly rushed forward.
But reason restrained his body, stifling the impulse to obey.
As Polika stood in front, Nilia moved to leap through the window behind, but blood-red, thick sludge suddenly clung to the frame, sealing the stained-glass shut.
Worse, the sludge slithered down like a giant snake, lunging at Nilia!
Though a weakling, Nilia excelled at dodging.
In combat classes, he hadn’t mastered much, but he was adept at not dragging Polika down, fleeing while cheering his roommate.
This wasn’t like being chased by a shady boss’s thugs—Polika would cover him!
Nilia planned his escape routes, but before he could move, the voice returned.
“If you step out of this room, I guarantee you’ll die on the spot, and so will Polika Landor.”
The cold voice pinned Nilia in place.
He could no longer dismiss it as a daydream.
Even if he dreamt of seeking death, he wouldn’t drag his roommate down with him.
Who’d want to die with a guy?
Disgusting!
Nilia didn’t dare flee, yet didn’t dare stay, dodging the sludge like a frantic dog, nearly in tears.
He wanted to run, but he feared the tyrant in his dreams.
When the tyrant pointed his sword at others, Nilia could cheer, shouting, “King, I’ll conquer with you!”
Talk was cheap, not a crime.
But when the tyrant’s gaze truly fell on him, commands seared into his mind.
The weight and bloodlust made Nilia want to kneel, begging for mercy repeatedly.
One plea wasn’t enough—he’d beg multiple times, counting any extra moments of life as a jackpot!
Polika was frantic, fending off attacks without a moment to glance back: “What are you doing, Nilia?!”
Nilia tripped, eating dirt, wanting to yell back:
What’s the rush?
I just learned those dreams weren’t madness.
I’m the chosen One, struggling between death and miserable death, crying in pain!
…
“I get it, a low-born protagonist might be pathetic early on… but Nilia is still… ugh…”
Chu Zu sighed, “Just back from regression, the contrast is too stark. Sagteni doesn’t keep idlers.”
System: “…”
System: “Just bear with it. This is Vidalia, not your Sagteni…”
Chu Zu: “What secret art was I supposed to teach him?”
System flipped through: “Number 397, Mirror Annihilation. A banned art by the Secret Art Association. Though not top-tier, with strong will, it can reflect arts the user can psychologically endure…”
“Wait.”
Chu Zu said, “Do you think Nilia has a strong will? I feel like without art, just beating him would make him cry for mercy…”
System: “…”
It was doomed.
Even the little yellow chick wasn’t sure.
I noticed a fatal issue.
Per King of All Kings’ ability system, learning high-numbered arts required mastering lower ones first, with numbers not too far apart.
To learn Number 397’s Mirror Annihilation, one needed at least Number 450+ arts as a buffer for bodily strain.
The only exception was Zui.
He was the cheat code, set to master all arts from the start, like a pay-to-win gamer clicking wherever it shone.
But Nilia’s art limit was… 1684.
A four-digit number, worse than arts used to scam him or those Chu Zu used for his dreams.
The chick paled: “I remember, Host.”
“Per the original plot, after the history test, you became his teacher, teaching many arts, raising his number.”
“While learning, Nilia’s slow progress earned him plenty of beatings, building his mental resilience, so he could learn Mirror Annihilation now…”
But Chu Zu was busy regressing, sorting the world’s lore and Zui’s persona.
Nilia was obsessed with histories wilder than fiction.
The former didn’t teach; the latter didn’t learn in class.
Chu Zu and the system fell silent.
After a while, Chu Zu said:
“It’s a miracle I’m not cursed out. Whose cheat code makes early teaching feel like forcing homework, teaching useless arts and beating the protagonist?”
System: “Wasn’t it to shine now…”
Its excuse didn’t even convince itself.
It was hate-worthy.
Delayed gratification required payoff, but learning useless arts only to need new ones at key moments.
Zui’s bad temper made it seem like he didn’t want to teach, using it as an excuse to beat Nilia.
Only when Nilia was near death did Zui grudgingly save him, and Nilia had to thank him humbly.
Sure, he taught, saved him, and made Nilia stronger… but the process felt subtly infuriating from the protagonist’s view.
Zui shouldn’t appear to save the day now.
This was a major plot turning point; readers needed to expect “Nilia can grow to a certain level.”
“Here’s the plan.”
Chu Zu quickly devised a solution: “Check for an art that lets him rely on another’s power, number high or low doesn’t matter. If his body can’t handle it, I can save him.”
The system searched all arts by the criteria.
“There is one.”
Secret Art Number 054, Descent.
Per the lore:
Through the art as a medium, the user could request a specific entity to spiritually descend into their body.
The art had a time limit, and even during descent, the user could only wield their own maximum talent.
In the original, Polika used Descent several times, choosing Lady Blythe as the entity.
“You scoffed at healing arts, calling Nilia a coward for wanting them.
He learned Descent from you but was repeatedly rejected by Lady Blythe, so Polika had to use it.”
The system wasn’t sure: “Is this suitable?”
Chu Zu mentally patted the chick’s head: “It’s perfect. I haven’t revealed my identity, so I’m still an ambiguous ally or foe.”
“It’s ideal. I’ll paint him a picture, set a precedent for his growth, and make him look grand before readers.”
He said, “We need to truly tie King of All Kings to Nilia.”
The system nuzzled its host’s claw, seeing the clear plan, brimming with enthusiasm: “Great!”
…
Nilia moved with difficulty.
The voice in his head vanished, as if no one watched, commanding him to die.
But he didn’t dare flee.
Damn it, he just didn’t dare!
The sludge cornered him, leaving no escape.
He was nearly back-to-back with Polika—forward was death, backward was death.
Nilia suppressed his fear, spouting bad ideas: “Polika, you go find the knights, I’ll cover!”
Polika thought he’d lost it: “Cover with what?”
Nilia snapped: “With the credits I owe you, alright? You’re always nagging, and now you’re still yapping. I’m dying here today, no one can stop me! Can you just leave? What’s the point of getting dragged down with me?!”
Polika nearly spat blood from anger.
How could Nilia explain?
He couldn’t say, “Look, if I don’t escape, I die here. If I escape, we both die. Wanna bet if the tyrant in my head will make us die together romantically?”
He held back the words, fearing he’d disgust his roommate first.
Bad ideas raced in his gut, then his mind buzzed.
A real buzz, a white noise tightening his nerves, reality’s sounds suddenly distant, yet he could still hear Polika cursing him.
Then, a heavy chant swept through his mind, clearing all chaos, ringing out of nowhere.
The center of the world cannot hold.
Disorder falls, pure chaos spins upon the world.
That terrible moment approaches,
Something awakens from the world’s edge.
The voice coldly said: “Recite.”
Nilia cursed his memory.
He’d heard it once and remembered every syllable.
Including the stresses, cadences, and the secret art rhythm even a failure like him could sense.
This was an even more undeniable command, from a king daring to burn gods.
Instinctively, Nilia recited the strange prayer verbatim.
Only when the name left his lips did he realize what he’d said.
“Ashurbanipal-Zui-Sagteni, please descend—”
No no no no no no!
Nilia clamped his mouth shut.
He felt his chest burning.
No, not his chest—the amber hung on a string!
Only now did he recall the amber, but it was too late.
This was no art he could wield!
He was dead, dead, dead, truly dead!
But it was too late.
The imperious king rarely showed mercy, answering a plea beyond his era, from one not his subject.
“I consent.”
*
Polika instantly sensed something wrong.
He knew the Death Cult hadn’t gone all out.
Beyond the initial strike, their attacks felt “gentle,” like child’s play.
Were they stalling?
But why?
Saint Imolai’s practitioners and apprentice knights were weak, but the stationed knights below weren’t pushovers.
Even if secret art reactions spread slowly, the foothills would notice eventually.
Worse, something was off with Nilia’s head.
Normally, he fled trouble faster than anyone, never lingering a second, but since the back-mountain incident, Nilia grew stranger daily.
Now he refused to leave, insisting on staying.
Polika heard him muttering behind, too quiet to discern.
Nilia knew few arts, none offensive or defensive enough to matter.
If Polika weren’t preoccupied, he’d have turned to curse him a thousand times.
In an instant, the Death Cult members halted their assault.
Their murky eyes under hoods fixed on something behind Polika.
The miraculous pause didn’t ease Polika, but the eerie atmosphere, like time frozen, let him hear the cultists’ breathing, heavier than his own.
Polika turned.
“Nilia” hadn’t fled.
He stood atop the blood-red sludge conjured by the art, his gaze piercing past Polika, locking with the cultists’.
Polika’s breath caught.
“Nilia” was transformed.
His usual punchable smirk was gone, his disheveled brown hair framing scarlet eyes.
This wasn’t Nilia, not just the eye color.
Nilia wouldn’t resemble an unsheathed blade, his eyes steeped in subtle madness.
When he glanced at Polika, it felt like facing an army!
“I don’t recall permitting faith on this land.”
“Nilia” seemed cloaked in a colossal presence.
The sludge dissolved beneath his feet, the stained glass cleared, and colorful sunlight rose behind him, glinting on the sundered-sun gems at the cultists’ collars.
“Nilia” issued a lofty question: “So, by what right do you breathe?”
The next moment, the auditorium’s outer wall, chandeliers, and murals collapsed.
Unfiltered light, no longer softened by glass, stabbed the eyes.
Polika scrambled through debris, hearing screams from the auditorium.
Secret Art Number 098, Earth’s Wrath.
Polika instinctively used his highest defensive art.
Not for himself, but to cast a fragile barrier over the now-open ruins of the auditorium.
Reality soon shattered his hope to protect the academy.
He saw “Nilia’s” skin cracking.
Amid the earth-shaking roar, Polika could still hear the crisp sound of “Nilia’s” bones breaking.
This was the precursor to collapse when a body couldn’t serve as an art’s medium!
“Nilia” ignored it, his body crumbling and repairing endlessly.
The pain seemed trivial, as he focused on his goal.
To punish those who defied the king’s will.
The Death Cult, which had silently swept Saint Imolai and intimidated the kingdom, was now crushed by rocks and mud, twisted into grotesque forms.
Yet these devotees of the Death God let out hoarse laughter from nearly broken necks.
“Supreme Hikta…”
“Majesty…”
“Great Sagteni the First…”
“Legacy…”
Amid countless murmurs, Polika caught the clearest one.
“The tyrant shall return to ‘death.’”
Scarlet flames surged.
“Nilia” lowered his gaze, watching shadows consumed by fire.
“I said, by what right do you breathe?”
Secret Art Number 006, Refining Flame.
Cold sweat mixed with blood dripped down Polika’s face.
The kingdom’s chief practitioner could only reach two-digit arts, with single-digit arts nearly untouchable.
Talent limited everything, the very boundary the Death Cult’s lunatics sought to break.
Professors could only demonstrate low-tier arts, describing single-digit ones to students.
Polika wouldn’t mistake it.
The scarlet flame transcended “fire.”
Per the professor:
Refining Flame was a process of purging impurities.
Nothing in the world was truly pure; all captured would turn to ash.
This meant, though Nilia’s body couldn’t yet withstand it.
He… had the talent to wield single-digit arts?!
When the towering flames vanished, the collapsed earth left only fragments.
The Death Cult was gone.
The wind cleared the dust, leaving only “Nilia.”
Polika knew he was powerless.
From the cultists’ dying words and “Nilia’s” sparse remarks, he pieced together the other’s identity.
Nilia was a reckless fool, bragging about meeting someone in dreams, but how dare he.
All historians said secret arts stemmed from gods’ mercy after their retreat.
What had they researched?
Sagteni the First’s mastery of arts was unparalleled.
How could that be divine mercy?!
A true master at the pinnacle, unbound by arts’ constraints.
He wasn’t a human medium for arts; the arts were his slaves.
Like “Nilia,” ignoring pressures far beyond his body’s limits, wielding arts at will.
He even used other arts to suppress Descent restrictions!
How dare Nilia use an art to summon Sagteni the First?!
If the tyrant wished, Nilia would never return to his body!!
Polika knew his face was etched with fear.
In agonizing moments, he’d nearly exhausted himself, barely standing.
Yet, somehow, he found the courage to step toward “Nilia.”
“Great Sagteni the First…”
Polika chose his words, his mind nearly exploding.
“You have… punished the transgressors, please… please… let Nilia…”
Return?
Come back?
Polika couldn’t find words that wouldn’t anger the tyrant, known for his unrelenting wrath, willing to drag all humanity to ruin.
That bastard Nilia.
“You know who you stand before, Polika.”
Hearing his name, Polika trembled uncontrollably.
He clenched his teeth, suppressing fear.
“Yes…”
He added quickly, “I know… Majesty.”
“And you hold no weapons.”
Polika was speechless, lacking even the strength to clench a fist, but he forced words through his teeth.
“…But humans still have nails, and teeth.”
He regretted the words instantly.
Spending too much time with Nilia, when had he picked up such reckless habits, saying something provocative?
“Raise your head.”
In blazing sunlight, Polika saw those scarlet eyes fixed on him.
His expression was impassive, showing no trace of the rage from minutes ago.
Polika wasn’t sure, but the tyrant seemed… to chuckle lightly.
Before he could recover, the figure screamed shrilly.
“It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts—I’m dead I’m dead I’m dead, spare me, go find my roommate, he’s stronger, I can’t handle this aaaaah!!!”
Polika: “…”
Nilia kept wailing, until a weak shout came from the auditorium, from a lucky classmate:
“Nilia, shut up! I played dead to save the headmaster, and you just screamed him back unconscious!!!”
Polika: “…”
The academy’s chaotic, absurd atmosphere finally eased Polika’s immense pressure.
He stumbled, collapsing into the rubble.
Nilia’s eyes widened: “What’s wrong, brother? Did our king beat you too? Shouldn’t have, his strikes seemed precise, no collateral damage…”
Polika: “Can I punch you twice?”
Nilia rushed to help his roommate up, slinging him over his shoulder: “My whole body’s still aching… one punch, okay?”
Polika laughed.
Another weak shout came from the auditorium, from the same adept-at-playing-dead classmate:
“Stop chatting and help! The headmaster’s really dying, Nilia, don’t you want credits—!”
At the word “credits,” Nilia bolted, nearly flinging his roommate off.
“Coming, coming! Credits, I’m here!!”
*
“Done.”
Chu Zu said with satisfaction, “Next, the academy investigates the Death Cult’s search for the tyrant’s legacy. Nilia can take his roommate, pack up, and hit the road.”
System: “Great, great, great!”
Nilia’s talent was roughly shown, he was now a hero, his status in the academy would rise, and he’d formally connected with the cheat code.
Perfect!
“Last time was an exception. Can we check the reader forum now?”
Chu Zu said, “The turning point’s done smoothly. Let’s see the forum for feedback on the world’s lore.”
The system agreed eagerly: “Sure thing!”
But as it tried to access the forum, it saw a flood of red 404 errors.
“The reader forum’s got a bug, under emergency repair…”
It dashed to the system exchange center.
“They say it’ll be fixed in a few days, no more than a week here.”
It grumbled, “Why so many bugs lately? Still no results on that amber issue.”
Chu Zu chuckled: “So no stage evaluations now?”
The chick, unwilling to disappoint its host, tinkered.
“Can’t access the forum, but I can pull from the database. Wanna see?”
Chu Zu: “Show me.”
Strictly, this was against rules, but the system held the moral high ground.
If superiors complained about disrupting bug fixes, it could counter the amber issue.
Very forcefully!
The chick bustled through the database, analyzing and compiling posts.
It felt like something was off.
System: “Readers… are cursing again.”
Chu Zu: “Cursing me for what now?”
System: “Not you, this time it’s… Nilia.”
It projected the content into its host’s mind, a bold title venting frustration.
[You Had Your Chance and Blew It! 800 Forum Brothers Waiting to Smash Arts with Our King, Nilia, Stop Obsessing Over Your Stupid Credits!!!]