《The Weakest Hero with the Strongest Skill!》
1. The Ultimate Hero Skill!
Judgment Finale!
Long ago, an evil force known as the Ruler of the Stars emerged, casting a tyrannical shadow over the world with unyielding cruelty. Its reign was a relentless force, bending the very fabric of existence under its malicious grip.
In the face of such overwhelming darkness, hope withered away. This world¡ªonce a place of light and promise¡ªwas now suffocated, its spirit broken.
The entity itself defied the very concept of a being, for it was no more than an incomprehensible thing, its presence too vast and insidious to be understood. This darkness did not merely veil the world; it devoured its light, snuffing out the stars that once guided all life. And so, it came to be known as the Ruler of the Stars, for it took not only the stars above but the very essence of hope itself.
This ruler... His greed knew no bounds, surpassing even that of the demon Mammon, whose lust for wealth would seem a mere jest in comparison.
His insatiable desire to possess everything¡ªwealth, sustenance, power, and even lives¡ªwas relentless.
No amount of conquest could ever ease his hunger, no victory could satiate his thirst.
In the end, it was this overwhelming desire that consumed him, clouding his once-sharp judgment and drowning his intellect in a tide of unchecked emotions.
These very emotions¡ªwild and untamed¡ªultimately led him to the creation of our galaxy.
His insatiable desire to possess would, in the end, become his undoing.
Why?
Because of the galaxies¡ªof course. They hold planets.
Planets?
Yes, planets! These celestial bodies cradle countless lives¡ªsouls that burn brightly with the fierce passion of hope.
Life?
Indeed, life! A multitude of births, each one brimming with possibility.
And what do higher birthrates bring?
A hero!
The one who would rise to challenge him, the one destined to bring an end to his tyranny, would emerge faster... sooner than he could ever anticipate.
And so it came to pass.
This hero, along with his steadfast companions, ventured through unimaginable trials¡ªcrossing seas of fire, braving storms of brimstone, and battling the very forces of despair itself. Each step was a struggle, each moment a test of willpower and endurance. But they pressed on, for the end of the Ruler¡¯s tyranny was within their reach.
At last, they stood before him, the dark force that had cast the world into shadow. The hero, resolute and unwavering, raised his hand. In that moment, his skill¡ªJudgment Finale¡ªmanifested. It was a power unlike any other, a final reckoning born of hope, despair, and vengeance intertwined!
With a single touch, the skill surged through the Ruler¡¯s being, and in less than the blink of an eye, the world was rid of its tormentor.
The tyrant¡¯s reign ended not with a roar, but with the silence of a soul erased, leaving only the echoes of his dark legacy behind.
Evil was bested
Let the fallen rest for now
The future holds breath
Judgment Finale?
The air in the forest crackled with tension as Vichtor squared his shoulders, a dark-red dagger gripped tightly in his hand. Before him, the slime¡ªsurprisingly cute yet unnervingly smug¡ªslithered with an air of quiet confidence. Its round, glistening body shimmered under the muted sunlight filtering through the trees. But that infuriating smirk never left its gelatinous face, as if it were aware of Vichtor''s every thought.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
With a snarl, Vichtor lunged forward, his dagger aimed for the soft, squishy center of the creature. But the slime, with an almost exaggerated grace, leapt upward, landing atop Vichtor¡¯s head. The smugness on its face remained unshaken as it balanced precariously, its gelatinous body wobbling just enough to mock his every move.
Before he could react, the slime sprung again, twisting midair to slam its sticky, bulbous head into his back. The force sent Vichtor stumbling, his legs giving way as he crashed to the ground, gasping for air. The slime¡¯s smugness was unchanged. It perched nearby, watching him with what could only be described as quiet amusement.
But Vichtor, burning with a fury deep inside, refused to stay down. Gritting his teeth, he summoned every ounce of strength to push against the dirt and rise, his body shaking but unwilling to yield.
Vichtor¡¯s hand shot up toward the creature, his fingers trembling with barely contained rage. His face was a twisted mask of embarrassment and fury, his dark-red dagger now abandoned in favor of the ultimate move. This was it¡ªthe final attack, the one that would prove to himself, if no one else, that he wasn¡¯t some weakling destined to be crushed by a lowly slime.
The slime paused, its smug grin faltering for the first time. The small creature recoiled slightly, its round form wobbling as if sensing the shift in the air.
Fear, real fear, crept into its eyes.
The defiance, the arrogance, slowly melted away, replaced by the instinctive recognition of the overwhelming power that Vichtor was about to unleash.
The boy inhaled deeply, the silence of the forest pressing down on him, his chest tightening with each passing second. With a roar, he thrust his hand forward and screamed, "JUDGMENT FINALE!"
And then¡
Nothing...
Judgment Finale
The Unique Hero Skill forged in the Age of Terror, and drowned in the Hopes of the Lost
Ability Description
"No strongest foe of the world is to face me and live to tell the tale!"
Ability Effect
When activated, Judgment Finale simply destroys its target, obliterating the strongest creature¡ªtheir body reduced to ash and their very essence erased from existence.
Drawback
It has no effect on anything that is not considered ''The strongest being'', rendering the ability useless 14,598,073,437 times out of 14,598,073,438 (current world population).
The forest stood still.
The wind didn''t even rustle the leaves. The slime, still uncertain but recovering, tilted its form in confusion, watching Vichtor expectantly. He, with his arm still extended, stared in horror at the empty space before him.
Nothing had happened.
He glanced down at his hand, suddenly aware of how absurd the whole situation had become. His lips parted in disbelief, and then in a sickening moment of realization, he felt the weight of his failure. His ultimate move¡ªthe one that was supposed to annihilate his foe¡ªhad¡ fizzled.
No magic, no power surged through him. His greatest attack was nothing but an empty gesture.
The slime, after a brief moment of stunned silence, rolled back slightly, its face returning to that infuriatingly smug expression. It made a tiny, almost mocking squeak as it bounced in place, its gelatinous body quivering with anticipation, its tiny eyes narrowing with malicious intent. It had watched Vichtor with a knowing gleam, its smirk turning almost smug to the point of arrogance.
The slime had waited long enough, and now it was time for its ultimate move.
The aim was clear: the boy¡¯s legs.
Vichtor¡¯s heart skipped a beat as he noticed the creature¡¯s sudden shift. He tried to react, his legs bracing for impact, but he was too slow, too off-balance.
It was far too late.
In a movement that defied its adorable, squishy form, the slime sprang forward, launching itself with the spring-like force of a rubber ball straight for his knees. It hit him square-on, a sickening thud resounding as Vichtor¡¯s legs buckled beneath him. He staggered, unable to keep his balance, and before he could even process the pain, the slime had already moved¡ªswiftly and without mercy.
Target hit, successfully.
But it wasn''t over yet, no!
Before Vichtor could recover, the slime was behind him, its next move already in motion. He braced himself for more pain, ready for another attack, but what came next was something altogether unexpected¡ªsomething far more cruel.
The slime paused for just a moment, turning its glistening, almost innocent face toward Vichtor. Its tiny, bouncing body stilled for a fraction of a second before it gave the most devastating thing it could offer:
"Pufu!"
A singular, simple chuckle.
It wasn¡¯t loud, nor evil, no, it was just a soft, quiet sound of amusement¡ªa sound that carried with it an unbearable weight.
It was the laugh of something that knew it had won.
Vichtor froze. That laugh, so gentle yet so powerful, ripped through him. It wasn¡¯t the sting of a blade or the burn of magic; it was the silent shattering of his pride, of everything he had believed about himself. It was an emotional attack, one so subtle and devastating that he could do nothing but stand there, crushed by the enormity of his own failure.
The slime didn¡¯t wait for him to recover. With that same smug grin plastered across its face, it rolled back into the forest, its victory sealed.
As it disappeared into the trees, Vichtor sank to his knees, utterly defeated. The silence around him was deafening, and the weight of his failure pressed down on him, suffocating him in its cruel embrace.
The monster had done what no blade or magic could do¡ªit had shattered him, not through force, but through a simple, mocking laugh.
As the creature faded, Vichtor murmured through sobs;
"Seventy-third fall
Cheeky smirk shattered my pride
Triumph is distant"
The weakest adventurer in the kingdom had just been bested by the weakest slime¡
Again!
2. Demonic Elegance
The chamber lay shrouded in shadows, its ancient stone walls bearing the weight of history. Tapestries of scars¡ªetched by time and conflict¡ªwhispered silent tales of forgotten challengers and pacts long since broken, their promises reduced to nothing but ash or dust.
The air was thick with the cloying scent of incense, its sickly-sweet fragrance weaving through the chamber like a haunting whisper. It lingered, oppressive and hostile, a silent warning in the very atmosphere itself¡ªas if the room were bracing for some unspeakable horror to unfold.
In the distance, a shadowed figure melded with the night, waiting to be unveiled. It sat with regal grace upon a throne of polished obsidian and white gold, its surface gleaming faintly in the dim light of flickering flames, casting ripples of crimson across the darkness as if the place itself were alive, watching.
As you draw closer, she reveals herself:
The first thing to notice is the air, searing with intensity¡ªshaped by her will alone, the room radiates heat, as if it were a volcano on the brink of eruption.
Next, her eyes¡ªcontrasted sharply against the oppressive heat¡ªwere as blue and cold as ice, twin stars rising against the vast expanse of the cosmos.
Her face, a vision of unmatched beauty, bore flawless dark skin and plump pink lips, seductive and deadly, like a predator luring its next prey.
A small nose, flushed in slight red, mirrored the vibrant life in her cheeks.
Midnight-dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like liquid silk, glimmering with an otherworldly sheen. She idly twirled a strand around her finger, the motion slow and deliberate, as if the fate of the world had already been sealed¡ªand she was its rightful owner.
From her head, spiraled two onyx horns, their curves hypnotic, as though they had been forged by some divine darkness. Her left horn cradled a flower¡ªan impossibly blue rose, unlike any seen before. Its petals shimmered with an ethereal glow, the kind that only magic-infused soil could nurture. Its fate was sealed, but perfect: to become the Demon King¡¯s accessory¡ªa symbol of a world already bending to her will.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The garment, though elegant, was designed to unsettle; it clung to her form with an unsettling allure, its neckline laced with fine embroidery resembling thorns. Around her neck, a choker pulsed with a strange, eerie rhythm, its strands seeming more like veins than threads of yarn.
She waited¡ªeffortlessly, with unwavering confidence, and an air of complete control;
Lilith Despera, the Demon King!
Her gaze barely lifted toward the challenger, and why should it? Her power had far surpassed his since her ascension!
A sharp, biting echo shattered the silence.
¡°Any last words, SSS-rank adventurer, Morning Star-Alexisz?¡± she asked, her voice sweet yet laced with venom.
Alexisz lay on the ground, drained and breathless, already resigned to his fate. His body trembled with exhaustion, yet he reached into his pocket with a final, shaky resolve.
He withdrew a tiny vial, its contents a deep crimson liquid sealed beneath a golden cap.
The potion was known as ''Last Resort,'' a dark brew crafted by most talented alchemists¡ªa final gamble for those with nothing left to lose. It granted the user every ounce of power they could muster in their entire life, but the cost¡ was their remaining lifespan, traded in a single, desperate gulp!
He downed the liquid in one swift motion, as if it were a shot of alcohol, the effect instant and overwhelming. His body surged to its feet, stiff and unnatural, like an undead risen from the grave¡ªready to face the Demon King once more.
Her face? Blank. It hadn''t changed, a mask of indifference that had remained unbroken since her grand evolution.
Alexisz blitzed at an unnatural speed no human should be capable of, rushing for his enemy with a warrior''s cry!
But something was off..
All this time, Alexisz had watched his own body challenge the Demon King from afar, but how?
A few moments ago, it had happened¡
The instant he surged toward his enemy, the potion¡¯s power bursting through him, he was already decapitated.
In one fluid motion, Lilith¡¯s fingernail elongated unnaturally, becoming sharper than any blade, and with it, she severed his head clean off.
Never leaving her throne.
Never abandoning elegance.
It all happened faster than the man''s unholy speed could ever react.
Alexisz¡¯s awareness dissolved, and an unsettling peace consumed him as he accepted defeat. With his final breath, he uttered a pair of final words as advised earlier:
"Your win... for now."
At last, Lilith properly raised her gaze¡ªnot out of respect, but mused curiosity.
Before her, the adventurer began to crumble, his end as unnatural as his last words. No rot, no lingering flesh¡ªbut ash, scattering against the wind¡ªa forgotten Ilium caught in the heat of the unforgiving desert sun.
She blinked in genuine confusion. Once, twice, then thrice¡ªbefore erupting into laughter.
"The fuck¡¯s that supposed to mean?" she exclaimed, her alluring voice lilting with a mischievous charm, each chuckle dripping with amusement.
"Power at what cost?
Souls are but a cheap price for
My youth and beauty!"
3. Cherry Blossoms
Other than his shattered pride and bruised spirit, Vichtor remained mostly unscathed.
With a weary sigh, he lifted his backpack, the weight of his bag¡ªand his journey¡ªfelt heavier than usual.
His gaze shifted to the dagger that rested on the ground beside him, an old companion that had seen many battles.
The dark-red blade stirred, trembling violently, before spinning once¡ªits razor-sharp point, now, aiming for Vichtor''s head.
It didn¡¯t stop with a mere reposition¡ªas if it had an engine¡ªit continued to prepare its launch.
Then, in a blur of motion, the knife shot forward with terrifying speed, a flash of silver hurtling towards him.
But it did not strike.
No, the blade halted mere inches from his nose, suspended in the thick, suffocating air.
For a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath as the knife hovered before him, as though awaiting permission.
With an exhale, he reached out in one swift, practiced motion, grasping the handle and tossing it carelessly into his empty bag.
It was Vichtor¡¯s silent call that brought the blade back in his possession.
After he equipped the backpack, he began his usual walk-of-shame back home. With his head bowed in quiet resignation, he trudged through the so-called "wild and untamed" forest¡ªthough in truth, it was little more than a forgotten path of parched earth. The once-proud grass that lined its edges had withered into brittle, sun-scorched strands, crumbling underfoot like ancient parchment.
The air hung heavy with the scent of dry soil and defeat, while above, the merciless sun reigned unchallenged¡ªfor now.
"The dusk is settling
Hues of violet, green and gold
Mother is waiting"
Castle Renova, the undying heart of the Kingdom that mainly lodged the human race¡ªnot just Vichtor¡ªstood as an awe-inspiring monument to power, splendor, and history.
A bastion of royalty¡ªan enduring symbol of power and grandeur. Its towering walls, sculpted from white gold and veined with streaks of sapphire tears, shimmered under the sun, reflecting a brilliance that seemed almost celestial. These formidable barriers, both beautiful and unyielding, stood as a silent testament to the kingdom¡¯s enduring might.
The main gates, carved from obsidian jade, loomed like the threshold to an ancient legend. Two gargoyles flanked their sides, grim sentinels with hollow eyes that seemed to watch all who dared approach.
They were once living nightmares, monstrous entities whose existence defied nature itself. Long ago, they had terrorized these lands, their obsidian claws raking through the lands, their fanged maws thirsting for destruction.
The air itself had trembled beneath the weight of their unholy presence, while most of warriors spoke their names only in hushed whispers. Yet their reign of terror met an abrupt and fitting end!
It was Aetherion¡ªa wandering golem of enigmatic origins¡ªwho delivered their final reckoning. With powers beyond mortal comprehension, he subdued the beasts and bound them in their coffins of eternal stone. Now, their petrified forms loomed at Renova¡¯s gates, frozen in grotesque agony, their twisted figures serving as both a warning and a monument to the kingdom¡¯s triumph over the darkness.
Each gargoyle was accompanied by a sentinel clad in pristine silver armor, its surface enchanted by the combined mastery of mages and alchemists. The metal gleamed with an almost ethereal radiance, runes faintly pulsing along the engraved plates, reinforcing both the soldier¡¯s resilience and the sheer authority they commanded.
These two warriors stood as the unwavering gatekeepers, their presence as imposing as the petrified horrors at their sides!The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
A total of eight elite guards maintained a constant vigil, ensuring that no force¡ªmortal or otherwise¡ªwould breach the palace gates unnoticed. With only two entrances carved into its formidable walls.
Duty was divided with unwavering precision¡ªfour guardians standing watch beneath the sun¡¯s golden gaze, while four others took their post beneath the cold embrace of the moon.
Together, they formed an unyielding line of defense!
Should the vigilant guards permit passage, one would step onto an immaculately designed pathway of polished stone bricks, each piece laid with purpose, guiding visitors toward the castle¡¯s heart. But Renova was more than just its regal keep; it was a kingdom within a kingdom. Rising on either side of the grand avenue stood an array of structures¡ªmanor houses, barracks, libraries, and halls of governance¡ªall forming a vibrant tableau of wealth and history.
Above them all, countless spires and towers float toward the heavens, each one an ambitious tribute to the kingdom¡¯s aspirations. Yet, for all their might and majesty, they fell woefully short of piercing the sky. Though they failed to reach the divine, they exuded an undeniable aura of chivalry¡ªproud and unyielding, like the knights who swore their oaths beneath these shadows.
But today, the palace itself was not the center of attention, nor was its King¡ªa man whose piercing blue eyes and flowing white hair effortlessly mirrored the very gems that adorned his grand citadel. No, not this time.
Instead, all eyes were drawn to what lay beyond the grand window¡ªa sight that could steal the breath of even the most seasoned nobles.
The Garden.
I will spare you the vivid imagery of flower beds overflowing with color, weaving a fragrant tapestry around the ancient, elegant fountains that were often visited by winged creatures¡ªmajestic and mischievous alike¡ªimagery of eternal grace captured under the warm embrace of the setting sun.
And instead, I will draw your gaze to the garden¡¯s greatest treasure, standing proudly at its very heart¡ªa cherry tree.
Its beauty was unmatched, a living masterpiece that captivated all who beheld it. The cherry tree was the pride of the palace, a symbol of serenity amidst the chaos of his reign. Whenever the weight of the crown grew too heavy and stress knocked at the royal door, his majesty would retreat to this sanctuary, breathing fresh air in its calming presence.
Unfortunately, this time, the serenity of the garden was shattered.
The culprit? The cherry tree itself. Its once-stable trunk trembled violently, its branches thrashing wildly as though struck by the force of an overgrown ram. Yet there was no enemy in sight, no battle cry to herald an assault, and not even the faintest breath of wind to explain the chaos. No, it was not an intruder or nature¡¯s wrath that caused the disturbance. It was something far more profound.
It was Renewal¡
A hidden ability, a spell so deeply entwined with the fabric of his being that it was known only to its user, the King of Prospera, and another King this adventurer had once befriended¡ªbound by a shared history.
This ability, ancient and untamable, activated of its own accord.
No entity; witches, alchemists, the King himself or even its own user, could summon, control, or quell its force.
The tree trembled once more, its branches quivering as its flowers fell in a slow, deliberate dance¡ªeach one drifting through the air with an eerie sense of purpose.
As the petals floated and twirled, they began to gather in the air, shifting with a strange, orchestrated grace. One by one, they locked into place, forming the outlines of something more¡ªa figure, ethereal and faint.
Eventually, the petals settled, and the form became undeniable¡ªa man.
Tall and imposing, he towered with the presence of one who commanded respect without speaking a word. His frame was sculpted, muscles honed through years of rigorous training, each vein a testament to his relentless pursuit of strength. He had molded his body with care, striving to resemble the heroes who filled the pages of ancient scripts¡ªthose the youngsters look up to.
Despite his youthful appearance, his gray hair betrayed him¡ªa silent marker of time¡¯s passage.
His amber eyes would burn with the fiery passion of life itself, a blazing intensity that once pierced through the very fabric of existence¡
A beautiful scene, yes.
But there lingered a chilling sense of dread, for this figure was no mere apparition or dream.
No¡
It was Alexisz himself.
He stood motionless, his amber eyes only half-open, awaiting the process¡¯ completion. A profound sense of powerlessness consumed him, the weight of his existence pressing down on his very being. He was a creature of rebirth, yet in this moment, he felt the loss of something vital.
Renewal was his hidden weapon, an ability taht was barely triggered twice since it had first awakened.
The first time, it had surged through him when he was struck down in the streets of Tokyo. A fatal blow, a knife to his heart, yet instead of succumbing to death, it brought him to this world.
The second time, however, was a moment of hesitation, a mistake he would not speak of. It was his own fault¡ªhis carelessness in battle.
Both deaths were denied by this very tree that revived him now.
But now?
This time...
It was the overwhelming, crushing force of a power far beyond anything he had faced before that brought him to this garden.
"Summer blooms again
Flowers of life sprout anew
Resuscitation..."
His body, now fully reconstructed, began moving with a singular focus.
He strode forward with purpose, each step steady and determined as he made his way toward the royal chamber.
There was no time to lose.
The King had to be informed at once.
The balance of the world had just been shattered!