Re:Awakening with Ultimate Power as a Cosmic God
Chapter 57: Ch 57: The Chosen Ones - Part 4

Chapter 57: Ch 57: The Chosen Ones - Part 4

Despite their instincts warning them otherwise, the temple’s soldiers and trainees couldn’t stop themselves. The moment Nova insulted them, something snapped.

Their pride, carefully molded through years of discipline and worship, burned with fury at the outsider’s audacity.

The bulky man, who had first challenged Nova, picked up his sword again and pointed it at him.

"You’re going to regret that."

He snarled.

Nova didn’t respond. He simply watched, holding the wooden sword lightly in his hand, not even shifting his stance.

He had already evaluated the man’s strength. There wasn’t enough aether in him to make this a challenge.

But he also knew something else—these people wouldn’t stop unless they were humiliated.

So, he waited.

The man charged again, roaring louder than before.

This time, Nova didn’t counter. He ducked, let the man’s sword whistle through empty air, and brought the blunt edge of his weapon up into the trainee’s ribs.

A thud echoed as the man dropped to his knees, clutching his side and coughing.

But even that wasn’t enough.

Another stepped forward—a wiry woman with quick feet. She didn’t shout or charge, but her glare spoke volumes. She raised her weapon and swung for Nova’s side in a sharp arc.

Nova parried.

Once.

Twice.

On the third blow, he twisted her wrist and disarmed her, sending her stumbling back. She caught herself, but her face flushed with a mix of pain and shame.

And then came another.

Then two more.

In a matter of minutes, Nova was surrounded. It wasn’t formal combat now—it was a desperate attempt to overwhelm him.

A punch came from behind. A blade tried to slash his leg. A kick aimed for his shoulder.

He moved through it all.

Fluid. Calm.

Wood clashed with wood, and every time it did, someone went down. Nova was careful—no broken bones, no permanent injuries—but the weight of humiliation fell on each of them.

One by one.

Until none were left standing.

The courtyard fell silent.

Nova stood alone, breathing steady, his wooden sword still intact. Around him, the others groaned, held bruises, or refused to meet his gaze.

He pointed the sword at the last few trainees who hadn’t jumped in.

"Well? Anyone else want to embarrass themselves?"

He asked, voice low.

No one answered.

The last of the group stepped back, shaking their heads.

Some helped the others stand. Others whispered to each other, muttering curses under their breath, but none dared look Nova in the eye anymore.

The fight had drained whatever confidence they had. What remained was resentment—and something colder: fear.

Nova tossed the wooden sword to the side. It clattered against the stone.

"This is what happens when you challenge people without thinking," he said, brushing off his sleeves.

The tension in the air refused to leave, but no one approached him again. They understood now that the outsider wasn’t someone they could intimidate or shame.

Whatever anger they felt—whatever loyalty to their "god"—it meant nothing against raw, undeniable power.

Nova turned his back on them and began to walk toward the exit of the training grounds, calm as ever.

Behind him, someone whispered.

"Who is he...?"

But no one answered.

Because they didn’t know.

And now, they weren’t sure they wanted to.

______

Malrik returned to the training ground carrying a large crate of basic medical supplies in one arm and a bundle of gauze and herbs tucked under the other.

He’d moved quickly, not just out of duty but because of a strange, persistent feeling that something had gone wrong.

When he stepped through the archway into the courtyard, the first thing he noticed was how many more people were lying on the ground compared to when he’d left.

Bodies groaned and shifted on the cracked stone floor, while several others were still circling one man—Nova—clearly preparing to engage again.

Some held bruised arms, others limped, and all of them looked like they’d taken quite the beating.

Malrik paused.

Nova wasn’t even using a proper weapon—just a wooden practice sword.

And yet, he looked completely unbothered, his breathing steady and his expression unreadable. Malrik exhaled, relieved.

Still, irritation bubbled beneath his skin. He strode forward.

"What in the stars’ name are you all doing?"

He demanded, loud enough for everyone to hear.

The soldiers who hadn’t yet jumped into the fight froze mid-motion. A few looked around, hoping someone else would answer.

No one spoke.

Malrik narrowed his eyes, dropping the supplies by the shaded corner of the yard.

"Well?"

"We were, uh...Just sparring, Captain."

One trainee began awkwardly.

"Practicing."

Another chimed in, nodding vigorously. NovelFire)

Malrik stared at them, unimpressed.

"Sparring? With someone who hasn’t even been assigned a division? Using numbers against a guest? That’s your definition of practice?"

He folded his arms and looked around, waiting.

"Funny. Because it looks to me like a one-sided beatdown."

A few of the soldiers winced at that. One young man looked like he wanted to say something in his defense, but thought better of it and dropped his gaze.

Malrik turned his attention to Nova, as if hoping for an explanation. But Nova merely shrugged, wooden sword still loosely in hand.

"All your soldiers suck. You need to train them more."

Nova said simply.

The statement landed like a slap.

Several of the trainees visibly bristled. One muttered something under his breath, and another clenched his jaw, face red with either anger or shame.

But none of them dared respond directly. Not after what had just happened. They’d lost—cleanly, quickly, and thoroughly. Arguing now would only make them look worse.

Malrik pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed.

"Back to your drills. And if I see anyone else jumping someone unprovoked again, you’ll be running laps around the palace till your legs fall off."

He ordered, gesturing toward the open space.

The group scattered like dust in the wind. Some limped, some sulked, but all of them retreated with heavy pride and battered egos.

When they were finally gone, Malrik turned to Nova and gave him a sheepish smile.

"Apologies. Again. I’m starting to lose count of how many times I’ve had to say that."

He said.

Nova lowered the wooden sword and leaned it against a nearby rack.

"You were right. They’re scared. Not just of me—of everything. They’ve been training with rituals and fear instead of actual combat. They’re brittle."

He said.

Malrik’s smile faded.

"Yeah. I know."

He bent down and opened the medical kit, beginning to sort the herbs and bandages. "It’s not like it used to be.

Aether is harder to train with now. Resources are scarce. And most of the new blood believes more in blessings than in effort."

Nova didn’t comment on that. He watched the way Malrik’s hands moved—practiced, precise—and then looked back at the makeshift battlefield around them.

"They won’t survive when the real war starts."

Malrik paused, eyes lifting.

"You think there’s going to be a war?"

"There’s always a war. Some people just haven’t realized it yet."

Nova said.

That earned a dry laugh from the captain.

"Spoken like someone who’s already fought one."

Nova didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Malrik tied a bundle of gauze shut and stood.

"Well, if nothing else, you’ve taught them a lesson today. And I owe you for not breaking any bones."

He said, brushing off his hands.

Nova smirked faintly.

"That wasn’t a promise."

"Still appreciated. Come on. You can rest here for a bit before the next chaos begins. If you’re sticking around Callex, you’re going to need all the patience you’ve got."

Malrik gestured to a bench near the wall. NovelFire

Nova followed without a word.

And above them, in the shadow of the holy temple, the air still held the weight of conflict—not just from the training yard, but something far older, and far deeper.

Something waiting.