Level Up Legacy-Chapter 1426: Arriving to Nexus

The gates of Nexus loomed ahead.

Arthur stood at the ridge, Tiara and Ali flanking him. Before them stretched a city unlike anything he had seen—alive, shifting, humming with energy that wasn't quite mana and wasn't quite spiritual energy either. It was something older. Something deeper.

The walls were made of translucent stone, layered in runic patterns that breathed—each pulse slow and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of a slumbering titan. The streets twisted and wove into great arcs, not built but grown, bending according to some law foreign to the physical world. Buildings reached skyward in impossible shapes, tapering into spirals that vanished into drifting clouds of spirit matter.

"It's beautiful," Tiara whispered, clutching the pendant around her neck.

"It's dangerous," Ali said, his voice low. His eyes never stopped moving, wary.

Arthur said nothing. His gaze fixed ahead, to where the city's heart pulsed brightest—the Gates to the upper layers. They shone like a vertical river of stars, framed by great archways of living crystal.

The three of them crossed the threshold into Nexus.

The air changed.

It thickened, became heavier, saturated with power. Every step stirred the spiritual fabric around them. Every breath tasted faintly of ash and memory.

Nexus wasn't a city. It was a crucible. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

The streets teemed with life. Spirits of every kind—some shimmering with incomplete forms, others fully flesh—mingled with seekers clad in strange armor. Each carried the mark of those who had shaped their souls through fire, combat, and endurance.

The marketplaces here sold no food or trinkets. Vendors called out quietly, offering soul-bound relics, crystals that pulsed with nascent power, runes etched from pure will. Training grounds and dueling arenas dotted the streets, humming with the clash of spiritual energy. Entire buildings floated above the city, tethered by chains of spirit light.

"Don't stare," Ali muttered. "Here, strength is survival."

Arthur nodded slightly. He could feel the weight of gazes already—brief, assessing. This city had no use for weaklings.

They pressed deeper into Nexus, drawn toward the central plaza.

The Ascendant's Plaza.

It stretched wide, bigger than any coliseum Arthur had seen. Rings of stone and spirit surrounded it, each inscribed with runes so ancient they vibrated slightly in the air. In the center, a stage floated—an island of smooth black stone, suspended by tendrils of spiritual current.

At the very heart of it all stood the Gates. Massive, sealed, and unmoving—the only known path into the upper layers of the Spirit Realm.

Crowds had already begun gathering.

Seekers of every race and spiritkind filled the edges of the plaza. Some bore banners marked with ancient glyphs; others simply carried weapons that reeked of purpose. A tension, electric and expectant, saturated the air.

"What's happening?" Tiara asked.

Ali smiled faintly. "We are lucky. Every seven days, the Gatewarden holds a tournament."

"A tournament?" Arthur repeated.

Ali nodded. "Seekers who wish to ascend must prove themselves—not through words, not through tests of character—but through combat. Only those who survive the arena gain the right to approach the Gates."

Arthur studied the crowd again, this time seeing not just strength, but hunger. Determination. Desperation.

"How does it work?" Tiara asked.

"Each tournament is different," Ali said. "Sometimes one-on-one duels. Sometimes trials of endurance. Sometimes... more cruel designs." He shrugged lightly. "Today, we will see."

A gong sounded—deep, resonant, shaking the very bones of the plaza.

From the far end, a figure approached—the Gatewarden.

He was wrapped in a mantle of shifting worlds, his face hidden behind a mask of hammered silver. The ground warped subtly with every step he took, the spiritual energy bending toward him in silent reverence.

The Gatewarden raised a hand.

Silence fell like a hammer.

"Today," the Gatewarden said, his voice booming without sound, "we open the Rite of Battle."

He gestured toward the floating stage.

"Pairs will be chosen. Victory is survival. Defeat is exile."

Around the plaza, murmurs began.

Arthur watched as names were called, seekers stepping forward one by one. They ascended the stage in pairs, and the battles began immediately.

The first clash was brutal. Two figures collided in a storm of spiritual force—one wielding a spear forged of condensed flame, the other wrapping himself in barriers of bone-white light.

They moved faster than the eye could track. Blades rang out, shields shattered, the ground cracked under the weight of their strikes.

Within minutes, one seeker fell, his spirit unraveling before the Gatewarden's silent judgment. He was cast out—not killed, but stripped of his right to ascend.

The winner stood proudly, basking in the roaring energy of the crowd.

"It's savage," Tiara muttered, unable to look away.

"It's necessary," Ali said. "The upper layers are not for the weak."

Arthur folded his arms, gaze steady. He didn't flinch as another duel began, even more vicious than the last.

He could feel it—the pull of destiny. The forge of true strength.

Soon, it would be their turn.

Not today, but someday soon.

They would step onto that stage.

And only the strongest would walk through the Gates.

"Until then," Arthur said quietly, watching as another pair began their deadly dance, "we learn."

The dragon overhead roared once more, circling above Nexus like a herald of judgment.

The city thrummed around them—a living, breathing crucible.

And Arthur was ready to be forged anew.

***

Ali managed to rent a shack near the outskirts of Nexus—if the word "shack" could even be applied to the crumbling structure they now called shelter. It was a two-room ruin wedged between larger spirit-crafted buildings, its walls flickering between solid and translucent depending on the flow of energy around it.

"It was the last of my Spirit Coins," Ali said, forcing a smile as he dropped their few belongings on the cracked floor. "We're officially broke."

"Spirit Coins?" Tiara asked as she wandered to the broken window, staring out at the city.

Ali chuckled. "The only true currency in Nexus. They're condensed fragments of spiritual trials. Every time a seeker completes a trial, survives a duel, or slays a spirit beast, a fragment is born—a Coin." He tossed one between his fingers—a shimmering disk of dense energy—before pocketing it again. "With no Spirit Coins, we can't buy sigils, gear, or even food for much longer."

"So we have to fight," Tiara said.

"Or find a way to earn," Ali agreed. "But that's another problem for another hour."

Arthur had already retreated to the far room, closing the thin, battered door behind him. He sat cross-legged in the center of the cracked floor, resting his hands loosely on his knees.

He closed his eyes and drifted inward.

Arthur's inner world had changed.

He stood on a rocky cliff that overlooked a vast valley. Before, this place had been a realm of writhing mountains, each one an expression of broken spirit. Now, the mountains had softened. The winds no longer howled but whispered in cool breezes. Life—green and vibrant—bloomed along the slopes.

The chained giant that had once dominated his horizon—the vessel of creation—had shrunk. The chains still bound him, but they no longer trembled from strain. The giant sat quietly by a silver lake, head bowed in solemn contemplation, carrying the immense weight of countless worlds within him.

Arthur walked forward.

He felt lighter here, like the very air lifted him.

Near the center of the valley, where ruins of broken towers once stood, a figure waited. A giant—but not monstrous. Regal, with features carved as if from ancient stone. His cloak was woven from starlight, his simple crown resting lightly atop his brow.

Arthur stopped a few steps away, recognizing him immediately.

"King Arthur."

The giant smiled faintly. "It has been some time."

Arthur exhaled slowly. "The vessel of creation. Still watching over me, I see."

"Watching, yes," King Arthur said. "And waiting."

Arthur folded his arms. "Creation is not a blessing, is it?"

"No," the giant said, his voice a rich, quiet thunder. "It is a burden. To carry the seed of infinite worlds is to carry infinite endings too. And to remain unbroken through it all—that is the true trial."

Arthur stood silent, taking in the blooming valley around them.

"What now?" he asked, quieter.

"You must continue to grow," King Arthur said. "Shape this world inside you. Strengthen it. The more stable your soul, the more stable your path."

Arthur was silent for a long moment, then asked the question that had been clawing at him.

"What do I want?"

The giant's laugh rumbled across the valley—a deep, knowing sound.

"That," King Arthur said, "is not a question I can answer. It is not even a question you can answer with words."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Then how?"

"By living," the giant said, stepping back, his form beginning to blend into the silver mist. "By breathing. By carving your will onto the world around you. In every river, in every mountain you forge inside your soul—you will find fragments of the answer."

"And when I find it?" Arthur asked.

"You will not need to ask anymore."

The winds shifted.

The mountains whispered.

And Arthur felt it for the first time—a heartbeat, not his own, pulsing through the land. A seed of something vast, something whole, waiting for him to claim it.

He opened his eyes.