MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

At Vega's words, Reynold nodded his head in quiet understanding. Sometimes, not knowing was far better than knowing. What Kingsley had been shown was a wall, an immense, vast barrier, much like how Anthony had once revealed a wall to Aaaninja.

But not everyone was Aaaninja, capable of immediately deciding to confront the wall, chasm, or bridge that stood before them without hesitation. Yes, Kingsley was undeniably strong, immensely powerful, but was he the type who would falter when faced with an obstacle so high, so insurmountable, that scaling it seemed impossible?

None of them could say for certain.

As for Vega, she simply did not concern herself with the existence of any wall separating her from anyone else. If she surpassed Anthony, so be it; if she did not, that was equally inconsequential. It changed nothing in the intricate web of their relationship, neither the bond of love nor the rhythm of their dynamic. To her, such barriers were irrelevant, mere trifles to be acknowledged but not feared.

Seraphim turned her attention to Clement and Spectre, her gaze sharp and deliberate. "Although neither of you would likely admit it," she began, her tone direct and unflinching, "I suspect that soon, very soon, you will reach the Planetary level in terms of combat prowess. Tell me, how long until you attain it?" Her words were precise, cutting through any pretense of small talk; she was not one to beat around the bush.

Spectre remained silent for a moment, exchanging a brief glance with Clement, before answering in unison with him. "A month."

Seraphim's eyes seemed to dim slightly at their answer. There was a stir deep within her chest, a small yet undeniable pang of disquiet. She realized she was being left behind. She was not alone in this feeling, Dale and Reynold had experienced the same uneasy awareness. Yet, despite the discomfort, they all understood the cold nature of reality: life progresses relentlessly, and those unable to keep pace are inevitably left behind.

Former friends, allies, companions, many had already fallen to the wayside. And now, this time, it appeared they themselves were on the shorter end of the stick, witnessing greatness surge ahead while they lingered in its shadow.

In an instant, Anthony appeared before them, calm and composed, Kingsley's unconscious form floating beside him. Anthony held and controlled his friend's body with effortless telekinesis, the unconscious man suspended as if weightless in midair.

"Well… it seems the spar ended far sooner than anyone anticipated," Anthony remarked casually, a small, serene smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he addressed the group.

Reynold let out a tired sigh, his tone edged with incredulity. "We need to ask the Supreme Monarchs what they are feeding you. You cannot possibly be human."

Anthony merely laughed softly at the remark, fully aware of the source of their astonishment and their awe. He understood their perspectives and the natural incredulity that came with witnessing such unparalleled power.

"Let us return," he said, waving his hand with ease. A shimmering portal materialized before them. Taking one last moment to gaze across the vast expanse of the galaxy, the void punctuated by glimmering constellations, Dale, Seraphim, and Reynold stepped forward and passed through the portal. Vega, Clement, and Spectre followed close behind, their expressions calm and unperturbed; the outcome had not surprised them in the slightest. Anthony stepped through last, the portal sealing shut behind him.

Once they arrived before Reynold's room, Anthony carefully placed Kingsley upon the couch. His friend's body was still battered, a harrowing sight: broken bones, discolored skin mottled in shades of red, brown, and purple from bruising and injury, a visage of utter vulnerability.

Reynold, Dale, and Seraphim stared, their emotions a mix of pity and concern. After all, it was an extraordinary occurrence to witness Kingsley in such a state, injured, unconscious, and helpless, an anomaly in his usually impervious form.

"It seems there is a first time for everything," Dale said quietly, his blood-red eyes fixated on Kingsley's prone form.

"Indeed. I cannot recall ever seeing him unconscious, except for when he sleeps, of course," Reynold added, his voice tinged with unease.

"Why are his injuries not healing?" Seraphim asked suddenly, her gaze narrowing. Kingsley's normally miraculous regenerative abilities appeared ineffectual, failing him at a time when he needed them most.

Anthony's gaze softened as he looked upon Kingsley. "You may think of it this way," he explained calmly, "the force of impact simply exceeded the threshold that his body could endure."

With a snap of his fingers, mana surged through the air. Time itself seemed to slow, time particles trembling as if anticipating his will. Around Kingsley's battered form, the flow of time appeared to reverse, muscles and flesh knitting back together, bones once shattered reassembling as if they had never been broken. His jaw realigned perfectly. Within moments, Kingsley's body was restored, flawless as it had always been.

"Is that… Time Magic?" Reynold asked, awe and disbelief intertwining in his tone.

Anthony nodded silently, offering no further explanation.

"Damn… you even possess time affinity? I do not believe I have ever witnessed you use Time Magic," Dale remarked, incredulous.

"I rarely use it," Anthony replied calmly, expression unchanging. "There is rarely a need." With a composed grace, he walked over to the couch where Vega was seated, laying beside her. He rested his head gently upon her thighs, crossing his legs comfortably, making himself at ease.

"You are likely the only individual in the galaxy with Time affinity; it must be exceedingly rare," Seraphim commented, her eyes lingering on Kingsley as she spoke, tracing his restored form with cautious fascination.

"Not entirely," Anthony explained. "The First Supreme Monarch possesses Time Magic. Vega here can also utilize it, and another of my friends, Aaaninja, shares this rare affinity."

Seraphim paused, contemplating his words, then shook her head lightly, as if resigned to abandon any further questioning.

"Sigh… do you know when he will awaken?" she asked, her tone weary but laced with curiosity.

"I cannot say with certainty," Anthony replied. "It depends upon him, upon the state of his mind. But if I were to hazard a guess, a few hours at most. There is no need for concern." As he spoke, Vega's delicate fingers traced through his silvery hair, patting his head with a quiet tenderness.

"Hey, Spectre," Reynold said, a small smile spreading across his face, "how about another spar?"

He adjusted his glasses, confident that his enhanced perception would allow him to keep pace with Spectre's movements. After all, Kingsley had possessed Planetary-level perception, but Spectre did not… correct?

Spectre turned toward Reynold, sensing the fervent excitement radiating from him. A gentle smile appeared on his face as he rose from his seat. He was curious to observe what Reynold could accomplish with his newly acquired perception. With a shared understanding, the two of them stepped out of the room, leaving the others behind.

Time moved forward with a calm swiftness, seconds flowing into minutes, minutes stretching into hours, hours dissolving into days, all passing in what felt like the mere blink of an eye.