Mad Hatter's Guide to Clearing The Game
Chapter 124: Ch122. Without

Chapter 124: Ch122. Without

Pain exploded through Miles’ body like a tidal wave, his breath stolen from his lungs as he crashed across the metallic floor. His vision blurred, flickering between the shifting chamber walls and the looming silhouette of the Master, standing over him like a specter of inevitability.

He barely had time to register the attack. One moment, the Master was speaking, his mask barely tilting, and the next...

A force beyond anything Miles had felt tore through him.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, dragging his scythe across the floor as he stood. His limbs screamed in protest, but he pushed the pain aside, eyes locking onto the Master.

The Master had not moved from where he stood, his long coat swaying faintly in the unseen currents of power that crackled through the room. The chamber itself was shifting again, the raised platform widening, walls stretching into a vast battlefield of steel and flickering neon. The masked figures had vanished into the shadows, their presence no longer needed. This was between them now.

Miles exhaled sharply, as though hesitation left his body with each breath, leaving no place for doubt. He surged forward, scythe whistling through the air in a deadly arc. The Master did not dodge. Instead, his arm flicked up, and Miles’ scythe met an invisible force that made the clangor of steel echo through the arena.

Miles’ weapon slammed against the unseen force, and it stopped cold as if he had struck a wall. Before he could react, the Master shifted his palm outward, and a ripple of energy exploded from his body, sending Miles hurtling back once more. He twisted midair, landing in a crouch, boots skidding against the floor.

The Master regarded him, tilting his head slightly.

"You fight with instinct," he said, his voice calm like a morning breeze. "Relying on reflexes, strength, and borrowed skill. But that alone is far from enough."

Miles gritted his teeth. The old man was not wrong. He had been reacting but not fighting.

’Think, Miles. Think!’

His mind raced through everything he had learned in the Horizon. Kurt’s teachings, the way he moved, the way he analyzed, the way he struck only when necessary. The powerful Revenants in The Maw, the shifting unpredictability of battle. the whispers, the way they had taught him to hold on to himself even in the chaos.

His grip on the scythe tightened as he recalled everything he went through without the help of the system to guide him or aid him.

’The... System...?’ Miles’ eyes widened ever so slightly

Miles did not have the aid of the system ever since he arrived in the Horizon, having to rely solely on his instincts to find a way to feel and tap into some of his powers, even though he had not tapped into all of it.

’But I know how...’ Miles frowned, putting everything he had into looking inward, at the same time as he faced the Master of Luna sea.

The Master moved faster than before, closing the distance in an instant. But this time, for a fraction of a second, Miles felt it before it happened.

A shift in the air, the faintest ripple in the air around him.

It was his [Perception] stat, along with one of his skills, [Focus], that he had not actually used until now but had been subconsciously honing for a very long time.

He moved.

The world slowed. Not by much. Just the blink of an eye, but it was enough.

He ducked under the Master’s strike, twisting his scythe upward in an instinctive counter. The blade grazed against the Master’s coat, a shallow, glancing cut, but it was the first strike he had landed. He felt the shift, the scythe responding to him, the faint hum of something deeper within its metal.

He glanced at the golden crystal embedded in the back of the scythe’s blade, and for a moment, before he had to move again, Miles noticed that the clock inside the sphere was ticking.

The Master stepped back, regarding him with something new in his eyes. Not amusement. Not irritation.

Curiosity.

Miles exhaled. He could do this.

The more he fought in the Horizon, the stronger he got. His time had not stopped when he got there, no.

It had only become veiled by the inability of the system to influence reality there.

Something stirred within Miles, and little by little, he began to understand, even if he had no words to describe the realization that was dawning on him – yet.

The Master did not give him time to revel in his small victory, raising a hand. The chamber around them twisted again, and shadows stretched and bent unnaturally, the air growing thick with a presence Miles could now feel, crawling against his skin.

The battlefield was no longer static. It was alive, responding to the Master’s will.

Miles did not hesitate. He surged forward, letting instinct guide him.

But this time, it had nothing to do with just reacting.

It was conscious, he was reading the fight. Every movement of the Master, every ripple in the space around him. He swung his scythe, but this time, he thought about the flow itself.

[Focus].

And something else, moving a fraction of a second ahead.

The hand that indicated the seconds in the clock embedded in the scythe’s crystal moved forward just one second, but Miles knew it was enough.

The scythe shimmered, and then it seemed to slow down. But immediately after, it looked like it was speeding up at the last moment, cutting through the afterimage of where the Master had been

Where he would be.

The Master barely avoided it, his coat catching the edge of the blade. His eyes flickered, the first sign of surprise breaking through his otherwise unshaken demeanor.

But Miles was not done.

[Doppelganger].

His second shadow rose from the floor and enveloped him, becoming a midnight-black long coat that billowed as he moved, its dark fabric rippling like the shadow it had shaped itself from.

It clung to his frame, seemingly tailored for both style and practicality. The high collar framed his face, lending him a new air of mystery, while the silver-lined seams ran along the edges like veins of light in the darkness.

Straps and buckles adorned the coat’s front, fastening it securely over his chest while allowing for swift movement. The long coattails flared behind him, dancing as if under a swift breeze, reinforcing the image of a warrior always in motion.

A faint, almost ethereal glow traced the edges of the coat, reacting to the energy that surged around him. It was now a mantle of defiance, a cloak of skill, the armor of a warrior standing against the impossible.

His vambraces pulsed, and then they shifted.

The armor expanded, no longer just wrapping around his arms but flowing outward, encasing his [Doppelganger] instead of himself. And after a moment, the midnight-black coat that was the [Doppelganger] was now covered by a pair of silver pauldrons that did not only cover Miles’ shoulders.

No.

Miles felt it as soon as his vambraces changed shape. They seemed to only cover his shoulders, but its protection extended to his entire body.

He immediately felt it, the connection between them, the doubling of his presence, the way his movements felt now twice as strong, twice as fast, twice as resilient.

Miles charged, and every blow carried now the weight of two. The Master met their assault, but for the first time, he struggled.

Miles pressed the attack, using everything he had learned. Kurt’s feints, the gathering of momentum, the studying of the Revenants, the fast-forward skill that the [Harbinger’s Scythe] now possessed, his Doppelganger’s armor-wrapped form, the doubling of his strength.

The Master deflected, evaded, and countered, but it was no longer effortless.

Miles was keeping up.

The Master’s movements became sharper, more precise. He extended his hand, and the battlefield itself responded. Shadows lashed out, the air cracked with force. But Miles had already seen it, a second before it happened.

He twisted mid-air, avoiding the strike that would have ended the fight.

He landed, his scythe humming, and for the first time since the battle began, the Master stilled.

Then, beneath his cracked porcelain mask, he smiled.

"You are beginning to understand."

Miles did not reply.

He did not need to. Because he was not done yet.

He raised his scythe, and the battlefield trembled. Time wavered around its edge, the echoes of possibility forming in his mind.

Miles charged, and the Master met him.