My Charity System made me too OP

The arena was silent. Not because the audience was absent—but because of the sheer tension that hung in the air. Rank 2 wasn't a fight. It was a reckoning.

Leon stepped onto the obsidian stage, armored only in layered cloth reinforced with mana threads, his breathing calm and measured. His muscles ached faintly from the previous battle, but his mind was sharp. His Shell Reverb had reached 93% mastery. The Shell Pulse Core Fragment embedded in his palm pulsed softly, syncing with the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Then the earth split.

Out from a rift of blackened stone emerged a being wrapped in soot-colored armor, its shell rippling with hardened scars of molten glass and crystallized mana. Its name—Rhaz-Vorr, the Titanbane. A war hero of the Ants, now turned into their executioner for challengers bold enough to reach the penultimate rank.

Rhaz-Vorr didn't speak. It simply slammed one of its twin hammers onto the ground.

The arena shifted.

Black sand rose from the obsidian, swirling into a storm around them. The barrier locked. There would be no interruption. No mercy.

Leon gripped his staff loosely, feet braced, Shell Reverb already active.

Rhaz-Vorr moved first.

Like a living avalanche, it shot forward. The ground beneath its feet cracked with each stomp. Leon side-stepped, but the hammer came around—not with brute force, but with practiced, calculated movement. The head of it caught Leon's staff mid-spin and sent him skidding across the arena wall.

Leon exhaled, adjusted, and launched forward again. He ducked a hammer swing and slammed his palm into Rhaz-Vorr's side, releasing Shell Reverb's stored impact from the last hit.

A shockwave blew dust across the field—but Rhaz-Vorr barely moved.

It grabbed Leon by the wrist and hurled him through the air like a ragdoll. Leon bounced twice before coming to a stop near the edge of the platform.

[Shell Reverb Kinetic Absorption: Partial - 40% Force Recycle Triggered.]

Leon rolled back onto his feet, pain shooting through his shoulder. But he was smiling now. "So... you're not just muscle."

Rhaz-Vorr pounded both hammers together, and the air ignited in sparks. It activated something—a latent body art that caused its joints to swell and glow with inner flame.

Leon charged in again, staff dancing, footwork tighter this time. The rhythm of battle settled into his bones. He used every Shell Pulse layer he had—Absolute Return to reverse momentum, Echo of Origin to predict angles, and Karmic Loop to delay the recoil.

They exchanged blows that dented the arena floor. Leon was grazed along the ribs, his skin bruising under the impact. Rhaz-Vorr took a direct strike to the leg and stumbled for the first time. The audience erupted in a thousand trills and screeches.

But Rhaz-Vorr adapted.

The next wave of its assault abandoned the two-hammer style. It dropped one and pulled out a chained weight that it spun overhead like a meteor.

Leon narrowly dodged the first pass—but the second wrapped around his left arm, and Rhaz-Vorr yanked.

He went flying—again.

Leon's back hit the edge of the barrier, ribs fracturing. His vision blurred, but he forced it clear. He clenched his jaw and raised his hand.

Origin Magic sparked.

Gold, Aether, and Destruction converged. His staff transformed—its surface glowing with abyssal glyphs as the leech-king's gift activated. Abyss Mana spread along his arms, stabilizing his wounds.

"Time to stop holding back," Leon muttered.

This time, when he launched forward, he didn't aim to trade blows—he aimed to break rhythm.

He teleported short distances using Void Blink, catching Rhaz-Vorr off-guard and landing a blow to the midsection.

Rhaz-Vorr retaliated with a hammer uppercut—Leon took it on purpose and then used Shell Reverb: Absolute Return to triple the force back into Rhaz's exposed chin.

Crack.

A piece of Rhaz-Vorr's helmet chipped off.

They were both panting now. One final clash.

Leon raised his staff. The air bent around him. Five golden spears formed behind his back, swirling with destruction, light, and blood magic.

Rhaz-Vorr spun its hammer and charged.

The spears fired.

Boom.

An explosion of mana blinded the arena.

When the dust cleared, both figures were on one knee—bloodied, exhausted, unmoving for a full ten seconds.

Then, Rhaz-Vorr's hammer fell from its grasp.

Leon, barely standing, used his staff to prop himself up.

"Victory: Challenger Leon," the voice called.

Leon didn't celebrate. He simply collapsed on his back and laughed hoarsely.

"That was too close…"

He'd won.

Barely.

But that was enough.

Leon lay flat on the obsidian floor, chest heaving, sweat and blood mixing at his brow. Above him, the arena's runes slowly dimmed, the combat barrier fading like a breath exhaled after a long scream.

He didn't move for a full minute.

Not because he couldn't—but because he needed to feel every muscle, every tendon, every burn and bruise. He needed to memorize what that level of battle cost.

Rhaz-Vorr, though defeated, had not died. The Obsidian Ant medics were already attending to the fallen champion, lifting his massive frame off the field with a reverence only earned by titans. Even in defeat, he was respected.

Leon finally rolled onto his side and forced himself up. His left shoulder cracked in protest, and he grit his teeth through it.

From the edges of the platform, his team rushed in—Roselia reaching him first.

"Don't move!" she snapped, voice tight with worry. "Your ribs—your shoulder—it's all—"

"I know," Leon said with a weak grin, wiping blood from his mouth. "But I'm alive."

Naval arrived next, nodding approvingly. "Barely. You took that last hit on purpose?"

"Had to," Leon muttered. "Shell Reverb alone wasn't enough. I needed the pain… to echo."

Milim landed beside them, her usual energy toned down by concern. "You've never been pushed like that before."

"I have," Leon replied, his voice quiet. "But not by someone who made me feel like my body was made of glass."

Roman, standing in the back, watched in silence. His undead aura flared just slightly, a kind of silent prayer or recognition for the opponent who had nearly ended Leon.

A rumble echoed from the entrance of the arena.

Another elder ant walked forward—not one they had seen before. This one was taller, wrapped in ritual armor that bore jagged silver markings—like lightning scars frozen into the metal.

He stepped to Leon and knelt—not out of submission, but ritual respect.

"You've passed the Titanbane," the elder said, voice gravelly. "Only one more remains."

Leon nodded weakly. "Rank One."

The elder held up a crystalline orb etched with a dozen burning runes.

"This is your invitation. The final test isn't just a battle. It's a judgment."

Roselia furrowed her brow. "Judgment?"

The elder looked at her. "To stand as Rank One, you must face one who has never lost… but also, you must choose what kind of power you wish to represent for our people. Flesh, mind, or spirit."

Leon took the orb. It burned hot in his hand, but he didn't let go.

"I'll answer that… when I get there."

The elder nodded. "Then rest. Heal. Eat. You've climbed farther than any outsider in our recorded history. Don't stumble now because of pride."

With that, the elder turned and walked away.

Leon looked at his team. "We've got one more. Just one."

Naval smiled. "Then let's finish what we started."

Roselia looped her arm around Leon's waist, steadying him. "After you sleep for sixteen hours and drink a lake's worth of healing potion."

Leon chuckled, wincing. "Fair."