My Charity System made me too OP

The marrow battlefield stilled.

Where moments ago the requiem had howled, now only fragments of ash drifted like snow, faintly glowing with residue of the Arbiter's broken authority. The silence was no longer suffocating—it was wide, empty, waiting.

Naval leaned on his knees, blood dripping from split knuckles, his breath heavy but steady. "Heh… tell me that's the last one, Leon. Because if there's another… I'll have to punch the marrow itself."

Milim slumped down beside him, smoke rising from her singed skin. She grinned anyway, fangs glinting. "If the marrow itself shows up, I'll eat it. Problem solved."

Roselia's stars flickered gently above her head, no longer trembling, but soft and resolute. She wiped her tears with the back of her wrist, smiling weakly. "We shouldn't have survived that. But we did. Because none of us stood alone."

Liliana was still kneeling, her fingers trembling as the last silver threads dissolved into the marrow air. She lifted her gaze to Leon, voice barely above a whisper. "You turned requiem into harmony… no Arbiter, no Throne, no law of the marrow could stop it. That's… you."

Leon said nothing at first. His hands still clutched the jagged remnants of his chains, bleeding where the shards had cut his palms. His marrow flame flickered, not steady, not whole—but stubbornly burning.

Finally, he raised his eyes to the vast, emptied battlefield.

"The Arbiter said resonance was unjudged," Leon murmured, voice raw. "That means this isn't the end. It means we've broken through—past what the marrow said was possible."

He opened his palms. The fractured chains pulsed faintly, shards floating upward like fireflies. They didn't vanish. They circled, slowly, like pieces of a song waiting to be rewritten.

Naval chuckled hoarsely. "So what now? Do we get a break before something else comes to measure us?"

But before Leon could answer, the marrow itself shifted. The battlefield's black sky cracked with veins of white flame, each fissure humming with resonance. Where the Arbiter had stood, a hollow remained—not empty, but inviting. A space that pulsed like a heartbeat, waiting to be filled.

Milim tilted her head, grinning wider. "Ohhh. Looks like the Tower's leaving you a throne-shaped present, Leon."

Roselia shook her head, eyes narrowing in thought. "No. Not a throne. A verdict. The Arbiter's death left a void, and the marrow is offering it to him."

Liliana's breath caught. "A new resonance… born from fracture."

Leon stepped forward, the marrow flame burning hotter with each pace. His allies watched in silence as the fragments of his chains rose higher, weaving around him, not yet forming—but promising.

The battlefield pulsed once more, asking its silent question.

Leon stopped just short of the hollow.

The marrow around it pulsed like a wound, bleeding quiet light into the void. Each throb carried weight, a question without words, pressing against his marrow flame. The fragments of his chains quivered as if eager to answer, as if they already knew their place was here—woven into a throne of verdicts.

But Leon's chest tightened. He saw it clearly: if he stepped forward, the marrow would no longer oppose him. It would bind to him. He would not simply wield resonance—he would become resonance's measure. A new Arbiter, written from fracture.

Naval wiped the blood from his jaw, watching him with narrowed eyes. "Careful, Leon. You step in there, you're not just you anymore. You're part of the marrow itself."

Milim tilted her head back, grin still fierce but edged with unease. "Heh. It would be fun seeing you sit on some divine chair and boss the marrow around. But that's not you, is it? You don't sit. You break and walk forward."

Roselia's stars shimmered faintly, her voice soft. "If you take it, you'll carry judgment for all who climb. If you refuse… then you'll tear the Tower further from what it was meant to be. Either way, none of us can follow you there."

Liliana rose unsteadily, stepping closer, her threads faint as spider-silk. She met his gaze, voice trembling but clear. "Leon… you don't have to decide for the Tower. Or for us. Decide for yourself. What do you want to resonate as?"

The battlefield pulsed harder, cracks spreading through the marrow sky, demanding his choice. The hollow widened, beckoning him to step inside—or daring him to deny it.

Leon closed his eyes. His marrow flame flared with the rhythm of every battle, every fracture, every harmony. Chains rattled, broken but alive.

Then he opened his eyes, voice like a verdict of his own:

"I am no Arbiter. I don't exist to weigh or to balance. I exist to resonate—to carry every fracture forward, not lock it in law. If the marrow wants me to sit, then I'll stand. If it offers silence, then I'll sing."

The fragments of his chains roared, scattering upward into the cracks above. The hollow shuddered, as if the marrow itself recoiled. The battlefield split with thunder as Leon raised his bleeding hands.

"I reject the void you offer. My resonance will not be chained to judgment. It will rewrite judgment itself!"

The hollow collapsed, imploding into pure resonance light. The cracks in the marrow sky split wider, not in collapse—but in transformation. Stars began to bleed through, burning with colors the Tower had never shown before.

Naval whistled low. "Guess that's our answer."

Milim laughed, pounding her fist into her palm. "Perfect! No thrones, no chains—just Leon breaking the rules again."

Roselia lifted her stars higher, awe glimmering in her eyes. "He… he made the Tower itself change."

Liliana's lips curved in a quiet, fragile smile. "Not an Arbiter. Not a Throne. Leon is… something else now."

And as the marrow battlefield shifted, the resonance of his refusal echoed outward—carving a new path through the Tower.

The marrow battlefield rippled outward like a drumbeat, each pulse no longer oppressive but alive—resonance freed from verdict, from scales, from law. The marrow flame that once smothered all things now bent, reshaped, and spiraled into living patterns.

Where silence had ruled, sound emerged—first faint, then swelling. The echoes of every duel Leon had fought—Mirrosh, Rav'nok, Vaer'Zhul, Vorrak, even the Arbiters themselves—rang together, not as ghosts, not as chains, but as part of a chorus.

The Tower itself was listening.

Naval shielded his eyes as shards of marrow-light streamed upward, vanishing into the cracks of the sky. "Leon… whatever you just did—it's not stopping here. That refusal of yours, it's spreading."