My Charity System made me too OP-Chapter 301: Body Force II

Leon stepped out of the arena's stone gates, the cheers still echoing behind him. His body ached from the clash, but his mind was burning—focused entirely on the scroll now clutched in his hands.

Roselia rushed over the moment he cleared the boundary, throwing her arms around his waist.

"You reckless idiot," she muttered into his chest.

He laughed, wincing a little. "That's me."

Roman whistled. "You just steamrolled Rank 88 with a summon and a single technique. That's gotta be a record."

Millim leaned over his shoulder, eyes locked on the scroll. "So, is it worth it?"

Leon unrolled the scroll slightly. Gold-etched letters shimmered along its length, but the language wasn't written in standard glyphs—it was raw body cultivation script, powered by tactile resonance. Just holding it made his veins buzz.

Tenfold Shell Pulse (Tier 1):

Every strike executed while this technique is active carries the weight of ten. Every hit taken distributes force through the body's internal lattice, reducing direct damage. Increases internal durability, bone density, and muscle tensile strength by 300% at initial mastery.

Naval peered over as well. "No mana… it's pure body refinement. This would make even mages monstrous in close combat."

Leon nodded. "And that's just the first rank. I'd wager the top ten fighters in this city have mastered Tier 3 or beyond."

***

Back at the inn, Leon sat cross-legged in the training chamber provided to ranked challengers. Strange gravity flowed here—denser, heavier—designed to help cultivate body force.

He stripped his upper armor off and began the Tenfold Shell Pulse breathing pattern. Every breath burned. Every cycle twisted his muscles inward like coils being compressed. Bones popped. Sweat poured.

An hour passed. Two. Five.

Then—he heard it.

Crack.

His spine snapped into alignment. His lungs expanded. His muscles pulsed, the sensation of raw presence anchoring him deeper into the earth.

[Shell Pulse Initiated: Tier 1 Resonance – 22% Mastery]

Leon stepped out of the chamber to find the others seated around a map of the Obsidian Expanse. Their table was littered with vendor trinkets, training manuals, and local cuisine—odd, spiced stone-fruit and roasted insect meat.

Roselia looked up. "How was training?"

"Brutal," Leon replied, sitting. "But I've got the technique started."

Roman tapped the map. "Good. Because I found the next arena—Rank 70 and up. But it's a death circuit. No summons allowed. Pure body combat."

Leon grinned. "Perfect place to test Shell Pulse."

Naval added, "And the arena is right by the entrance to the Obsidian Queen's palace… if we keep rising in ranks, we might get a direct audience."

Roselia leaned on his shoulder. "They might even share advanced cultivation methods."

Leon looked at each of them in turn. "Then let's hit Rank 50 next."

Millim punched the air. "Now you're speaking my language!"

***

The next day, the sun never rose—the Obsidian Expanse was a cavernous biome, lit only by radiant crystals blooming like stars across the ceiling. The city never slept. And in the deepest quarter of that sleepless city, the Death Circuit stood waiting.

The arena breathed.

A deep, almost inaudible hum vibrated beneath Leon's bare feet, as if the obsidian beneath him recognized the gravity of what was about to unfold. The Death Circuit wasn't just a battleground—it was a living crucible, forged from generations of pain, war, and sheer determination. This place tested not strength—but truth. Who you were beneath the power.

Across from him, Kragg emerged from an iron gate, his massive silhouette outlined in volcanic steam. The crowd's reaction was immediate—a rhythmic stomp that echoed like a heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Kragg raised his arms—four of them—each plated in obsidian-black chitin. His mandibles clicked once. No words. No theatrics. Only purpose.

The bell rang—an ancient resonance that silenced the crowd like a blade.

Begin.

Kragg moved.

Not fast—but inevitably. Each footfall cracked the arena tiles. His first strike was a horizontal sweep with his lower arms, timed perfectly with a rising punch from his upper right. A pincer strategy meant to both crush and cage.

Leon slid under the first swing, Shell Pulse guiding his motion with fluid grace. He twisted like liquid mercury, rising with a coiled elbow aimed for Kragg's armpit joint—a known weak point in Obsidian Ant warriors.

But Kragg anticipated it.

Boom!

His exoskeletal elbow dropped like a hammer, intercepting Leon's attack and forcing the human back in a wide arc. Leon skidded, knees bending to absorb the shock. Dust curled in his wake.

"So his reflexes match his bulk. This won't be easy."

Kragg didn't pause. He launched into a four-strike assault: two punches, a spinning backhand, and a devastating overhead slam.

Leon dodged the first, blocked the second with his forearm, ducked under the third—but the fourth?

He couldn't dodge it.

Instead, he took it.

Shell Pulse activated fully, Leon's body absorbing the crushing downward punch by redirecting the kinetic energy through his shoulder and spine. He groaned, but not from pain—more like strain, like a dam holding against a flood.

Then—he returned it.

He twisted and threw the absorbed energy forward, fist-first, into Kragg's chest.

Crack!

The runes on Kragg's armor flickered. One shoulder cracked. But the ant didn't fall—he roared, mandibles wide.

The crowd erupted.

Leon's breathing quickened. Sweat ran down his back. He flexed his fists.

Shell Pulse – Tier I: Mastery Increased to 41%.

Kragg stepped back—but it was bait.

Suddenly, he stomped the arena floor, channeling the latent energy of the arena itself. A tremor rolled outward. Leon stumbled—but corrected fast.

Too late.

Kragg was already above him.

A leaping tackle.

"Shit—"

Leon braced.

Boom!

The two collided mid-air, and the shockwave lifted sand, debris, and even startled audience members off their seats. Leon hit the ground hard, Kragg atop him, pinning him with pure mass.

One punch—two—three—

Leon barely blocked them, arms rattling with the force of each blow. Blood dripped from his lip.

Then—

He smiled.

"Now."

Shell Pulse surged within him like a second heartbeat. He didn't redirect this time—he amplified. Every drop of energy Kragg was feeding into him became fuel.

He twisted.

One arm hooked around Kragg's lower elbow joint.

He snapped it.

Kragg reeled back, shrieking—a rare sound from a warrior so stoic.

Leon kicked off his chest, flipped backward, and landed on all fours like a beast.

Shell Pulse – Tier I: Mastery Increased to 52%.

Kragg came again. One arm useless now, he fought with wild abandon. Less technique, more rage. That made him dangerous—and predictable.

Leon used it.

He baited a charge, stepped aside at the last moment, and swept Kragg's leg—but the ant twisted mid-fall and caught Leon with a backhand that sent him tumbling.

Leon coughed, vision blurry. Blood in his mouth.

Kragg stood above him, his one good arm raised for the final blow.

"End it," the announcer whispered from above, sensing climax.

Leon closed his eyes.

He felt it. Every bruise. Every fracture.

And then—the rhythm.

Shell Pulse… Tier I: MAXED.

His eyes opened, glowing faintly.

The world slowed.

He saw every line of tension in Kragg's shoulder, every micro-adjustment in his legs.

He moved.

Not fast.

But perfectly.

Leon rose into Kragg's strike—met it with his forehead—and released every ounce of Shell Pulse he had mastered.

A shockwave exploded.

Kragg's body flew backward, crashing into the wall so hard the glyphs around it flickered.

Silence.

Then—

"Victory: Challenger Leon! Rank 70 Defeated!"

Leon stood swaying, bruised, battered—but triumphant. The crowd roared. Even the Ants who had placed bets against him now trilled in respect.

He raised a fist—not in arrogance, but acknowledgment.

Kragg, being treated by healers, looked to him. No anger. Only a solemn nod.

Respect among warriors.

After the duel, Leon was escorted from the arena floor into the Champion's Rest, a basalt-carved hall lined with obsidian flame lanterns. The Ants here walked with reverence, offering deep nods—not just for his strength, but for the honor he displayed.

Kragg, now bandaged in resin salves, approached with a ceremonial chalice.

"You fight not with rage, but with rhythm," he said in his deep, clicking voice. "You've earned more than rank, outsider. You've earned the right to undergo the Shellfire Baptism."

Leon blinked. "What's that?"

Kragg's mandibles twitched in what seemed like a smile. "A rite reserved only for those who master the first layer of Shell Pulse in battle. It will let your body adapt... even further."

Behind him, Roselia and the others entered. Milim grinned, bruised but proud.

"You never do anything halfway, huh?" she chuckled.

Leon shrugged, wiping blood from his chin. "Guess I really wanted to punch an ant."

Naval smirked. "You're lucky that ant didn't turn your ribs into gravel."

Later that evening, Leon was led into a subterranean chamber below the Obsidian Capital. The walls glowed dimly, alive with ancient symbols etched into the volcanic stone.

In the center, a large pit of obsidian flames burned—not hot, but resonating, like music tuned to bone and sinew.

Kragg and three other elder warriors stood by, humming in low-frequency tones that reverberated in Leon's chest.

"The Shellfire isn't true flame," Kragg explained. "It's the echo of our ancestors' muscle memory, encoded in flameform. Bathe in it. Endure. If you do—your body will learn to remember force."

Leon didn't hesitate.

He stepped into the fire.