BUILDING MY OWN EMPIRE - My Journey from Nothing to Overwhelming Power-Chapter 86 – The Price

Suddenly—

just before his body struck the ground—

Logan stopped.

He froze midair for a brief moment, as if an unseen force had yanked him back from the fall at the very last instant.

Then—

he vomited blood violently.

Hot bursts spilled from his mouth, scattering through the air as his chest rose and fell wildly.

But—

even so...

he snorted.

A rough sound... carrying something strange.

Excitement.

His body was collapsing.

His breathing was broken.

His eyes were barely open.

Yet—

he was still fighting.

Slowly—

he began to descend.

This time, he didn’t fall.

He lowered himself...

under control.

Until his feet touched the ground.

The moment he steadied himself—

he drew a deep breath.

Long.

As if trying to steal whatever air remained in the world.

Then—

he raised his hand.

From his palm—

a new wave of mist erupted.

Denser.

Heavier.

Darker.

It surged upward—

toward the Third-Rank Master.

It reached him.

And the instant it touched—

the pressure increased.

The energy surrounding the Master—

the layer formed from his accumulation—

began...

to weaken.

The mist was not just energy.

It was something that seeped.

Pierced.

Consumed.

With every passing moment—

it devoured more.

Below—

Logan paid the price.

His body began to fail him.

His muscles trembled.

His vision blurred.

His knees buckled—

and he dropped onto them.

But—

he did not collapse.

Not completely.

He remained upright on his knees.

Head lowered.

Breathing heavy.

Yet—

he still controlled it.

Still guided the mist.

Still pushed it...

upward.

Toward his target.

At that moment—

the battle was no longer offense and defense.

It became—

something simpler.

And far harsher.

Endurance.

On one side—

a Master pushing his accumulation.

Straining.

Consuming himself...

to prevent his body from eroding.

On the other—

a fighter...

whose body was collapsing.

Under a power he was never meant to bear.

And yet—

he endured.

Moments passed...

slow.

Heavy.

Painful.

And with each second—

Logan weakened further.

His body bent.

His shoulders dropped.

His head nearly touched the ground.

But—

the mist...

did not stop.

It grew fiercer.

As if his will alone—

was what kept it alive.

Logan was not...

a Master.

Not an elite.

Not even close to the top.

A subordinate.

Just a simple subordinate.

But—

in that moment...

his resolve...

surpassed the sky.

Even—

within the mist—

the Third-Rank Master snorted.

Anger.

Irritation.

But—

there was something else.

"What is this madness...?"

he muttered.

His voice no longer mocking.

"He’s... walking himself to death..."

He paused.

"...what kind of loyalty is this?"

He bit his lip.

The pressure increased.

He pushed more accumulation.

More.

More.

Sweat began to drip from his forehead.

One drop... then another.

And the sensation—

returned.

That irritating feeling.

An itch.

A numbness.

Creeping slowly...

inside his body.

The struggle intensified.

There were no more bursts.

No refined techniques.

No rapid movements.

Only—

endurance.

In the sky, within the dense mist—

the Third-Rank Master stood like a statue slowly being eaten away.

The energy coating his body began to erode.

Layer by layer.

The collapse was not sudden...

but slow.

Cruel.

Inevitable.

And in every moment—

he felt it.

His accumulation... decreasing.

Not all at once.

But as if something was chewing it from within.

Cutting.

Consuming.

Without pause.

He clenched his teeth.

Pushed more accumulation.

But—

everything he poured in...

was taken.

Everything he built...

collapsed.

"Damn it..."

The word escaped him like a frustrated breath.

Below—

Logan was in a far worse state.

His body was broken.

His knees barely holding him.

His head lowered.

His eyes closed.

Yet—

the mist...

still flowed.

Still surged.

Still pressed.

As if his body no longer mattered...

as if only his will remained.

More moments passed.

Seconds...

that felt like minutes.

Then—

something changed.

In the sky—

the Master’s body trembled.

This time—

clearly.

"No..."

he whispered.

He felt it.

Directly.

His accumulation was slipping.

Faster.

It was no longer slow erosion.

It was—

decline.

At that moment—

his hand moved.

Quickly.

He pulled something from his pocket.

A small pouch.

Opened it.

Inside—

green pills.

Small.

Faintly glowing with energy.

He stared at them for a moment.

Silent.

As if weighing the decision.

Then—

he took three.

At once.

Placed them in his mouth.

Swallowed.

The next instant—

energy flowed into him.

Calm...

but clear.

Five percent... per pill.

Fifteen percent... restored.

His accumulation rose slightly.

His body steadied.

He inhaled deeply.

But—

the pouch...

was still full.

And yet—

he took no more.

He stopped.

Because he knew.

He knew well.

Accumulation pills... were a double-edged blade.

They restore what is lost.

Yes.

But—

they compress the density.

Weaken it.

Make the energy lighter.

Less weight.

Less... value.

For Masters—

it is not just quantity.

But—

weight.

The weight of energy.

That defines the difference.

Between one Master... and another.

It determines—

who dominates.

And who is crushed.

That is why—

many Masters...

refuse such pills.

Even in their darkest moments.

Because they know—

losing accumulation...

makes them weaker.

But—

losing its weight...

makes them...

prey.

For thousands of years—

Masters searched.

Tried.

Experimented.

Millions of methods.

Millions of properties.

Few succeeded.

Like these pills.

And even fewer...

achieved more.

But remained controlled.

By major sects.

Higher ranks.

As for him—

the Snow-Haired one—

he knew all of this.

Strengths.

Weaknesses.

Every detail.

And yet—

he was forced.

He exhaled slowly.

Then—

raised his energy again.

The layer around his body—

tightened.

Became denser.

Stronger.

He pushed his accumulation.

With everything he had.

And in the next instant—

a counterforce surged.

Pressure—

against Logan.

Below—

Logan’s body shook violently.

Then—

he vomited blood again.

A stronger surge.

More violent.

His body bent.

His knees trembled.

His eyes...

still closed.

As if he fought—

without seeing.

Without feeling.

Only...

continuing.

Barely—

he remained standing.

Pain surged through Logan’s body like a merciless storm... yet he clenched his teeth until they nearly shattered.

He staggered... nearly fell...

but refused.

Slowly, painfully, he forced himself upright again.

His body was no longer a fighter’s... but a map of suffering.

Wounds tore across his skin as if something invisible was slicing him from inside and out at once...

Long gashes... deep tears... thin lines bleeding slowly...

as though he had passed through a storm of blades and never fully emerged.

The blood no longer flowed...

it poured heavily, mixed with something darker... thicker... unnatural.

Above—

the Third-Rank Master watched.

His breathing no longer steady...

sweat gathered on his brow, trailing down his face...

his eyes narrowed further.

He was not afraid...

but what he saw...

was not comfortable.

"This... isn’t normal..."

he muttered inwardly.

Even as his opponent fell apart before him...

a faint... cold sensation...

crept into his chest.

Suddenly—

the mist began to change.

It no longer came from the air...

but from the wounds themselves.

From inside Logan’s body.

Dark gray threads... nearly black... seeped from the tears, as if his body could no longer contain what was within.

They emerged slowly... then faster...

gathered...

accumulated...

until a mass formed.

Not like before.

Bigger.

Heavier.

Deeper.

A mist that did not move...

but existed.

It wrapped around Logan... surrounded him... clung to him as though it were an extension of his eroding soul.

At that moment—

the Third-Rank Master raised his hand quickly.

Pulled out the pills again.

His eyes locked onto the mist...

He waited.

But—

nothing happened.

It did not surge.

Did not attack.

It remained there...

silent.

Breathing... slowly.

Below—

Logan’s body began to change.

A strange color crept into his skin... somewhere between gray and black...

Then—

his fingers.

One by one...

began to transform.

The skin cracked...

hardened...

then became like rotting wood, decayed from within... fragile... yet unbroken.

"Has he... lost control?" the Master whispered, doubt clear in his voice.

The decay did not stop.

It spread.

From fingers... to palm...

then up the arm...

A faint sound escaped Logan’s mouth.

A groan...

weak... broken...

yet not surrender.

It was... the last thread of awareness.

Then—

he smiled.

A distorted... shattered smile... yet real.

And in the next moment—

the mist moved.

Slowly.

Then faster.

It surged upward... toward the Master.

It reached him.

Wrapped around him.

Everything stilled.

The Master waited for the same sensation—

the itch...

the numbness...

the erosion of accumulation—

but...

nothing.

"What...?"

Then—

his hand.

His right hand.

Froze.

Then...

decayed.

This time it was not a general sensation...

but precise... direct... focused.

The flesh darkened...

blackened...

cracked...

A foul stench rose suddenly, as if the body itself was rotting alive.

He tried to move his fingers...

they did not respond.

"Damn you—"

he snarled, sending his energy into his hand.

His accumulation wrapped around it... pressed... tried to halt the spread.

But—

nothing changed.

The decay continued.

Slow.

Steady.

Like a law that could not be denied.

Below—

Logan no longer looked alive.

His body darkened... parts of him closer to a corpse...

his skin had lost all vitality...

yet—

he stood.

Or... something within him stood.

It was not the body moving...

but will.

Resolve.

Hatred.

Decision.

Above—

the decay reached the Master’s entire hand.

Then began to climb.

To the wrist.

To the forearm.

"No—"

He grabbed the pouch.

Took three pills at once.

Swallowed.

In an instant—

his accumulation surged again.

Rose.

Strengthened.

But—

the decay did not stop.

It continued.

As if what was happening... had nothing to do with accumulation.

As if the rules... had changed.

"Impossible..."

He poured all his energy into his arm.

Focused it.

Compressed it.

Roared internally.

But—

nothing.

The decay climbed.

Approached the elbow.

Then—

stopped.

A moment.

Half a second.

A decision.

He raised his left hand.

Looked at his decaying arm.

Then—

Slash!

A scream tore from him—

"AAAAH!!"

He cut it off.

His arm... fell.

Severed completely.

It tumbled through the air... then dropped toward the ground.

At that same moment—

the decay stopped.

Instantly.

Completely.

Silence returned.

The mist... began to fade.

Below—

Logan closed his eyes.

Slowly.

As if everything within him... had ended.

The mass that emerged from him...

receded.

Lowered.

Faded.

Vanished... as if it had never existed.

His body—

no longer moved.

He fell.

Without sound.

Without resistance.

Without life.

Logan died.

...

In the sky—

the Third-Rank Master stood.

One arm.

A sweat-drenched body.

Heavy breaths.

He looked down...

at the blackened corpse.

And a heavy silence filled the space between sky and earth.

It was not the silence of victory...

but the silence of something...

that had nearly ended very differently.