My Charity System made me too OP

The ground beneath Leon shifted, forming a circular platform. Across the room, the first opponent emerged—a lithe figure clad in obsidian armor with glowing streaks of amber running through its exoskeleton. Its name materialized above it in shimmering letters:

Rank 69: Emberblade Korath.

Korath drew twin obsidian blades that ignited into flames, each motion fluid and precise. He pointed one blade toward Leon.

"Step forward, and let the trial begin."

Leon cracked his knuckles, his eyes narrowing. "Alright. Let's see what you've got."

The platform shifted again, separating the two combatants from the rest of the chamber as runes along the edges flared to life, forming a containment barrier. The air rippled with heat and tension.

Korath, known as Emberblade, was not just a rank-holder—he was a legend among the Obsidian Ants. His dual-blade style was forged in volcanic crucibles, each weapon attuned to the inner heat of his shell. Fire licked the edges of his arms as he crouched low, his obsidian-black eyes locked on Leon.

The moment the runes activated and the barrier sealed them in, the atmosphere compressed.

Korath struck first—a blur of molten fury.

His twin blades sang as they carved flaming crescents through the air. The sheer heat distorted Leon's vision. A lesser fighter would have been skewered instantly, but Leon, calm within chaos, twisted out of the first arc using Shell Reverb's learned memory from his last fight.

Still, the second strike clipped his left bicep—searing pain tore through muscle.

Leon didn't flinch.

He let the pain sink in, not resisting it, but channeling the energy into his core. Shell Reverb pulsed—and the memory of Korath's velocity, angle, and impact registered in Leon's nervous system like numbers on a battle-readout.

Korath came again, this time spinning, slashing high and low with brutal synchronization.

Leon stepped inside the arc.

Not away. Inside.

His hand met Korath's wrist—absorbing the force—and redirected it with a snap twist. Korath stumbled sideways. Leon's elbow crashed into his sternum.

Boom.

The chamber rang with the force of it.

But Korath flipped backward, landed on his feet, and immediately retaliated—his blades now glowing crimson as he activated his inner combustion technique. Steam burst from the cracks in his exoskeleton. Heat waves rolled out like tides.

"Impressive," Korath rasped. "But you haven't seen my furnace yet."

He vanished.

Appeared behind Leon.

Leon bent low at the last second. Blades clashed against each other as he summoned the stored kinetic force from earlier—a blazing counterpunch that burst with redirected energy, cracking Korath's shoulder carapace and sending him flying across the chamber.

But Korath didn't stop.

He rolled midair, landed, and skidded on his claws before lunging again. This time, he began a rotational assault—a dance of blade-flicks and inferno flares. His attacks had no pattern, no rhythm—only instinctual destruction.

Leon was cornered. Three strikes grazed him, sparks and blood dancing with each cut.

Then his eyes flared red.

He wasn't moving randomly anymore—he was syncing. Shell Reverb thrummed like a second heartbeat.

He ducked under one blade, slid into the next, let it cut his ribs slightly, then caught the final downward slash with his bare hands—skin burning but holding firm.

The energy built.

Every blow Korath had landed, every strike Leon had allowed—he turned them into a single focal point.

"Shell Reverb: Echo Burst."

He drove his knee into Korath's stomach with all the collected trauma.

A flash of red exploded outward.

Korath's shell cracked. His weapons dropped. He was flung back like a missile, slamming into the arena wall.

Smoke curled off his armor. His limbs twitched.

Slowly, Korath raised his hand and dropped his blades.

"I yield," he said, voice gravel and pride.

The runes dimmed. The barrier dissolved.

"Victory: Challenger Leon. Proceed to the next rank."

Leon stood, breathing hard. Cuts and scorch marks decorated his skin, but his eyes burned steady.

Roselia clapped, smirking. "You're learning to bleed with style."

Leon chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. "One down. Nine more to go."

The Obsidian arena floor rippled again, absorbing the traces of scorched shell and scattered flame. As Korath was respectfully escorted away by ant attendants, a new shift in the chamber began—massive plates of stone sliding open behind the arena wall, revealing a dark tunnel that led deeper underground.

A familiar, echoing chime resonated through the chamber.

"Challenger Leon: Next opponent is preparing. Rank 59—designated Gatekeeper of Ten Fists."

Naval leaned against the railing from the observation terrace, her glass-toned armor shimmering faintly. "This next one's different," she said, eyes narrowing. "Gatekeepers are specialists—trained not just in strength, but technique and psychological warfare."

Leon nodded, stretching his shoulder as Shell Reverb pulsed lightly beneath his skin, still echoing the kinetic data of his clash with Korath.

A minute passed. Then another.

From the tunnel, the sound of footfalls.

Heavy. Measured. Purposeful.

A figure stepped forth—twice as wide as Kragg, shorter than Korath, but every inch of his exoskeleton glistened with obsidian polish. He wore no weapons. No armor. His fists were bare—wrapped in dark silk cords bound with prayer-glyphs. His eyes were closed.

The announcer's voice boomed:

"Rank 59: Ember-Sage Tur'Zhan, Gatekeeper of Ten Fists."

Tur'Zhan stopped just short of the platform's center. His voice was calm. Gravel mixed with wisdom.

"You are not like the others, Leon. You wield memory, not might. Let us see if that's enough to pass through the Gate."

The runes flared.

The barrier sealed.

BEGIN.

Tur'Zhan didn't move like a brawler.

He flowed.

One foot slid forward—just a whisper of motion—and in an instant, he was in Leon's face, palm-striking his chest with pinpoint precision.

Leon was blasted backward ten feet—but he twisted midair and landed low, already syncing with the force.

Shell Reverb surged.

[Impact stored: 11%.]

Leon shot forward with a sweeping punch—but Tur'Zhan redirected it, barely moving, using two fingers to divert the strike and throw Leon off balance. He then launched a series of rapid palm blows—center mass, chin, gut, knee. Pressure point strikes.

Leon's nerves lit up.

But instead of backing off—he smiled.

"You're feeding me everything I need."

Echo Burst—Counter!

Leon used the stored impacts from the palm strikes, feeding them directly into a spinning elbow aimed at Tur'Zhan's shoulder. The hit landed, cracking the plating and sending the Gatekeeper sliding back.

Tur'Zhan exhaled slowly, eyes opening for the first time. They glowed with crimson light.

"You adapt well."

He raised one fist—and the air vibrated.

Leon's instincts screamed.

Then it hit.

Ten Fists Style: Third Motion—Blazing Quarry.