I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 1255: An Absurd Level of Truth

“Missed you too, Nyssira,” Northern said, patting her head with genuine amusement.

Behind her, the room had erupted into motion.

Others crowded into the hallway—Ellis with that familiar intensity in his eyes, Shae with his auburn hair looking stunned, Ayuri Myu rising from a chair inside, Lennister’s eyes widening as he processed Northern’s presence, and even Erik, though Northern still couldn’t quite place where he knew him from.

’Wait. They’re all here? Just students?’

That was… odd. The distribution teams should have assigned at least one experienced Drifter to each group. This felt less like tactical deployment and more like someone had thrown all the academy kids together and hoped for the best.

“How are you here?” Ellis asked, stepping fully into the hallway since the room had grown too crowded. His voice carried equal parts relief and disbelief. “We just got audience with the King—he agreed to help us!”

“Tracked you,” Northern said simply, glancing at the thoroughly confused Admiral behind him. “Nebulous Lord picked up Abyss Tyrant’s trail. Led me straight here.”

Shae stared at him with an expression that mixed relief and disbelief in equal measure. “The situation in Stelia?”

“Handled.” Northern did a quick mental headcount. Everyone except Abyss Tyrant seemed accounted for, no visible injuries, no signs of recent combat. “Everyone okay? No casualties?”

“We’re fine,” Nyssira confirmed quickly, though her grip on his sleeve suggested she still hadn’t fully processed his arrival. “But when you say ’handled’—”

“Kryos is dead. The Koll is contained. Chaos Prince should be… manageable for a while.” Northern kept his tone matter-of-fact, like he was reporting on completed homework rather than continental-scale threats. “The immediate danger is neutralized.”

The hallway went very quiet.

Even the Admiral, who’d been maintaining his professional composure remarkably well, looked like someone had just told him the laws of physics were negotiable.

“The Origin… Kryos is… dead?” Ellis repeated slowly, testing whether the words made sense when spoken aloud.

“Very dead,” Northern confirmed. “Thoroughly, definitively dead. I made sure of it.”

Shae let out a breath he’d apparently been holding since Northern arrived. “How long did it take?”

Northern actually had to think about that. Time had become somewhat fluid during the final confrontation. “Days? Two days, maybe? Could have been more. There was the trip from Drywall, then everything in Stelia itself—call it a day and a half of actual fighting?” He paused. “My memory’s somewhat foggy these days.”

“Two days,” the Admiral said faintly. The words seemed to physically pain him.

“You defeated three threats even Transcendents would struggle against in—” He stopped, recalculating. “In three days total?”

Northern nodded. “Apparently.”

He flashed a grin that absolutely did not match the gravity of what he’d just described.

“Northern, be serious!” Ellis’s voice cracked slightly. “I know you have a knack for doing the impossible, but still—”

Northern turned to him, his expression shifting to something more focused. More real.

“I am being serious. And no, I don’t have any knack for anything.” He let that settle for a moment. “Pack whatever you brought. We’re leaving. I have an airship at the Sky Dock—you probably saw it coming in. Hard to miss.”

“That massive thing with the storm shield?” Ellis’s eyes widened. “That’s yours?”

“Yes. New version I made from the Tower of Trammel materials.” Northern glanced around at all of them. “Where’s Abyss Tyrant?”

Ellis was giving him that look now—the one that said he was worried about more than just physical injuries or tactical situations. The one that asked deeper questions.

“Northern, are you okay?”

He met Ellis’s eyes, understanding what he was actually asking. Whether the person standing in front of them was still the same friend they’d known, or if something fundamental had changed.

“I’m fine. Really.” And he meant it. Whatever he’d gone through, whoever he’d become—he was still himself. “Now, where’s Abyss Tyrant?”

Ellis sighed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

“He’s being held in a different location. Along with the strange monster doctor—the King said they don’t want to just trust they won’t attack. Wanted to take their own security measures.” He paused. “Abyss Tyrant agreed to it.”

’Of course he did.’

The diplomatic approach. Probably the smart play, even if it complicated things now.

“Fair enough. I’d like them back. How do we make that happen?” Northern glanced at the group still standing frozen in various states of shock. “And why are you all still standing around looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost? Time is of the essence, people.”

That finally broke the spell. They began moving—hesitantly at first, then with more purpose—back into the room to gather their belongings.

Just as Northern was about to follow them inside, footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Sharp, quick, urgent.

A man in ornate military dress—more decorated than the Admiral, more formal in bearing—appeared at the top of the stairs, slightly out of breath.

“Admiral! The troops are assembled!” The official’s voice carried the clipped urgency of someone delivering critical orders. “His Majesty has given the command—we’re ready for immediate departure to Stelia!” His eyes swept the hallway, landing on Northern and the students with barely concealed impatience. “The fleet is prepared to mobilize. We can have five thousand soldiers in the air within the hour—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Northern interrupted calmly.

The official’s attention snapped to him like a whip crack, irritation flickering across his features at being interrupted by what appeared to be a teenager.

“And who might you be?”

“The person who already resolved the situation you’re mobilizing for.” Northern kept his voice level, conversational even. “The threats in Stelia have been neutralized. There’s no need for troop deployment.”

The official stared at him for a long moment.

Then he laughed—sharp, dismissive, carrying just enough edge to make his opinion of Northern’s claim abundantly clear.

“Is this some kind of joke?” He looked at the Admiral, appeal in his eyes. “Sir, we don’t have time for this. His Majesty expects immediate action—”

“He’s serious,” the Admiral said quietly. “He claims to have defeated the Chaos Prince, an Origin, and a Tyrant.” A pause. “In three days.”

“Claims?” The official’s laughter took on a harder quality. “That’s absurd. Even if such a thing were possible—” He looked at Northern again, really looked this time, and some of his certainty wavered. But not enough. Not nearly enough. “This is clearly some attempt to delay our response. His Majesty needs to be informed of this… obstruction immediately.”

“I’m not obstructing anything,” Northern said with the patience of someone explaining basic addition to a particularly stubborn child. “I’m telling you there’s nothing left to respond to. The crisis is over.”

“Then you won’t mind explaining that to His Majesty personally.” It wasn’t a question. The official’s tone had shifted to something harder, more authoritative. “Admiral, bring him. The King will want to hear these… claims directly.”

The Admiral looked at Northern apologetically. “I’m afraid he’s right. Given what you’re saying—what it would mean if true—His Majesty needs to hear this from you directly.”

Northern sighed.

’So much for a quick extraction.’

“Fine,” he said. “But my friends are coming with me. I’m not leaving them here while I go explain basic facts to your king.”

The official bristled visibly. “You will show proper respect when addressing—”

“I just saved your continent from annihilation,” Northern said, his voice dropping into something colder. Harder. “I think I’ve earned the right to bring my friends to a conversation.” He paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make his point. “Unless you’d prefer I leave right now and you can send your five thousand soldiers to confirm that there’s nothing left to fight. Your choice.”

The official’s mouth opened. Closed. He looked at the Admiral, clearly hoping for backup.

The Admiral nodded slowly. “His Majesty will want to meet them anyway. They’re the ones who brought the original warning.”

“Fine,” the official said through teeth that seemed wired shut. “Follow me. All of you.”

They moved as a group—Northern, his friends, the Admiral, and the irritated official leading the way with stiff-backed resentment. The path took them deeper into the mountain fortress, through corridors that became progressively more ornate with each turn.

Functional stone gave way to polished marble that caught and reflected light in subtle patterns. Simple lighting crystals were replaced by elegant chandeliers that somehow burned without smoke or visible essence waste, their light warm and steady.

The students whispered among themselves behind Northern, processing everything he’d told them, trying to reconcile the friend they knew with someone who’d just casually announced he’d killed an Origin in three days.

They climbed a grand staircase—easily wide enough for twenty people to walk abreast—and emerged into a massive hallway lined with banners in deep blue and pristine white. Guards stood at attention every ten feet, each one armed with quality weapons, each one alert despite the monotony of their posts.

The official led them toward enormous double doors at the end of the hall, carved with intricate scenes of mountains and storms and what looked like historical battles rendered in remarkable detail.

“Wait here,” the official commanded, then slipped through the doors alone, leaving them in the hallway with uncomfortable guards and mounting tension.

They stood in awkward silence for perhaps thirty seconds before the doors opened again and the official gestured them inside with barely concealed impatience.

“His Majesty will see you now.”

The throne room was vast—easily three stories tall, with windows cut directly into the mountain itself to let in shafts of natural light that painted everything in shades of gold and white. The throne sat on a raised dais at the far end, positioned perfectly to dominate the space, and Northern’s analytical mind immediately catalogued the strategic positioning, the sight lines, the way the entire room was designed to make visitors feel appropriately small and awed.

But his attention wasn’t on the architecture.

It wasn’t on the throne or the guards lining the walls or even the assembled nobles watching their entrance with curiosity.

It was on the girl standing beside the throne, wearing formal robes that marked her as royalty, her posture straight and official and nothing like the person he’d met before.

’Roma…?’