Awakening of the Mind Sovereign
Chapter 52: The Sovereign’s Paradox - 1

Chapter 52: The Sovereign’s Paradox - 1

-------------AFTER 7 YEARS--------------

The Game of Rulers wasn’t just a tournament.

It was a war.

A battlefield where only the strongest, the most cunning, and the most relentless could claim the ultimate prize the right to rule energy itself.

For centuries, the tournament had been a proving ground for the elites of Greater Earth. Warriors, mages, and supernatural beings from every corner of the world received invitations to test their might against the best.

But this year, something was different.

The tournament committee had compiled a blacklist—a list of fighters deemed too dangerous, too unpredictable to be allowed entry.

And at the very top of that list was a single name.

Echo, Lord of the Dead.

The name struck fear into the hearts of warriors, not just because of what he had done—but because of what he had become.

When he first entered the scene, he was nothing more than a promising fighter—a prodigy who wielded death like a tool, shaping it into devastating techniques.

But then

He disappeared.

Not because he was defeated. Not because he ran away.

But because he was said to have crossed the boundaries of Unified Energy.

Something no mortal was ever supposed to do.

And now

He was back.

In a dimly lit chamber beneath the city, five figures sat around a floating energy sigil—a crimson seal engraved with ancient runes.

Each of them was a ruler in their own right. Some governed kingdoms, others ruled underground empires, but here, in this room

They were nothing more than pawns in a far greater game.

A man with golden eyes and a scar across his chin leaned forward.

"So it’s true? He’s alive?"

The woman beside him, her face hidden behind a steel mask, nodded.

"We confirmed it yesterday. The energy fluctuations don’t lie."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Then, an old man with raven-black robes exhaled slowly.

"If Echo has returned... then we’re already too late."

No one spoke.

Because they all knew what that meant.

The Game of Rulers was no longer just about winning.

It was about survival.

Far from the city, deep within the ruins of an abandoned fortress, a lone figure stood beneath the flickering moonlight.

His cloak billowed in the wind, and his silver-white hair shimmered like the blade of a freshly sharpened sword.

Echo.

He gazed at the invitation in his hand—a simple black card engraved with golden letters.

"You are invited to the Game of Rulers."

He ran his fingers over the edge of the card, feeling the energy pulsating from it.

They wanted him to fight.

They wanted to see if he was still the same Echo they once knew.

A smirk crossed his lips.

They had no idea.

He wasn’t the same.

Not even close.

The news of Echo’s return spread like wildfire.

In every kingdom, every city, every underground fighting den—whispers of the Lord of the Dead filled the air.

Some called him a monster.

Some called him a legend.

And some—

Some simply called him the inevitable.

One thing was certain—this year’s tournament would be unlike any other.

Because Echo wasn’t here to compete.

He was here to take everything.

A Sudden Attack

Just as Echo turned to leave the ruins, his instincts screamed at him.

A presence.

No multiple.

Before he could react, the sky exploded with light.

Dozens of figures descended from the cliffs, their energy signatures flaring like blazing torches.

Assassins.

Mercenaries.

Killers sent to erase him before the tournament even began.

Echo sighed.

"So this is how it is."

The leader of the group, a tall man with a flaming spear, pointed his weapon at him.

"Echo, you’re a threat. We’ve been given orders to put you down."

Echo chuckled.

"You think you’re the first to try?"

The man lunged forward, his spear igniting the air itself—

But in the blink of an eye, Echo was gone.

Reappearing behind him.

A whisper escaped Echo’s lips.

"Too slow."

A blade of pure darkness extended from his hand—

And in a single swift motion—

The leader’s head fell to the ground.

The others hesitated.

Terror filled their eyes.

Echo stepped forward, the shadows swirling around him like living creatures.

"I’ll give you one chance," he said, his voice cold.

"Run."

And for the first time

The assassins obeyed.

As the corpses of those who refused to run vanished into the wind, Echo gazed up at the sky.

The Game of Rulers was approaching.

But he wasn’t entering as a competitor.

He was entering as a king.

----

The first battlefield of the Game of Rulers was a vast coliseum, carved from obsidian stone and reinforced by ancient energy runes. Above, the sky was painted with streaks of crimson and gold, as if the very heavens recognized the gravity of this event.

The air vibrated with power.

Warriors from every corner of Greater Earth had assembled each one a legend in their own right.

Some wielded mana energy, conjuring raging firestorms that twisted and roared like dragons. Others harnessed force energy

The ground trembled. The atmosphere burned with intensity.

And then

A shadow fell over the arena.

The temperature dropped abruptly, sending a chill through the bones of even the mightiest fighters. The firestorms flickered. The earth-tremors ceased.

Something no, someone had arrived.

Echo stepped into the arena.

The Arrival of the Lord of the Dead

He walked calmly, his gaze cold and unreadable.

No weapon. No armor.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t summon an aura of power.

Yet everyone felt it.

A pressure unlike anything they had ever experienced before.

It wasn’t the raw brutality of a berserker.

It wasn’t the refined discipline of a master swordsman.

It was something far worse.

It was the feeling of Death itself watching them.

The warriors of the battlefield, seasoned killers who had slain thousands, felt their hearts race. Some instinctively clenched their weapons. Others struggled to suppress the shiver running down their spines.

But then one of them scoffed.

A towering man, his muscles like forged iron, stepped forward. His arms were wrapped in enchanted chains, crackling with lightning energy. He sneered, his voice thick with arrogance.

"What’s this? Did they bring a ghost to fight us?"

The crowd chuckled.

And then

His head disappeared.

Gone.

No sound. No flash of movement.

One moment he was alive. The next—he wasn’t.

A thick silence choked the arena.

All eyes darted toward Eiko, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

No one had seen him move.

No one had felt an energy surge.

And yet, a warrior known for his speed and power had been erased from existence.

The ground where he stood was still warm. His blood had not even touched the dirt.

It was as if reality itself had skipped a frame.

A chill ran through the assembled fighters.

This wasn’t just another competitor.

This was a monster.