From Ruin to Reign Leander's Unbreakable Will novel Chapter 377

There had been a time when Leander was broken. His power gone. His spirit hollow. His future dark.

He had wandered aimlessly for months until, one afternoon, he stumbled upon a monk beneath a pine tree at the foot of Mount Martial. The old man's every move was slow and deliberate. His steps curved in rhythm, each one flowing into the next like the endless change of seasons. It was the Great Balance.

That moment had changed everything. Leander began to understand the push and pull of all things—the cycle of heaven and earth, the stillness within movement, the strength hidden in calm. From that understanding, he created the "Devourer's Ninefold Path."

It was different from Great Balance, rougher and far more dangerous, but without that moment under the pine tree, he never would have learned the way of harmony. He never would've gotten this far in life.

Because of that, he had always respected Mount Martial deeply. And seeing Homer now, using that same technique, only strengthened his hesitation. He didn't want to hurt him.

However, Homer's glare hardened.

"You? Connected to Mount Martial? What a joke!" He laughed coldly. "Our teachings are about control and balance. You radiate chaos and violence. You could never come from Mount Martial!"

Before Leander could speak, Homer lunged forward. His arm swung like lightning.

"Crumbleforce!"

The strike tore through the air. His sleeves stretched long, glowing as waves of energy layered upon one another. The force twisted the sky itself, pressing the air inward until it formed a dent in space. The blow came straight for Leander's chest.

This was one of the mightier attacks in Great Balance, and inner strength was its focus. It could be controlled freely. It carried enough strength to tear the ground apart.

Leander's lips curved in a cold smile. "Very well."

He clenched his fist, his knuckles cracking, and struck.

Homer's move was flawless, elegant, filled with purpose. Even the bystanders who knew nothing about martial arts felt the beauty of it.

Leander's punch, by contrast, looked simple—so simple it seemed dull. But when it connected, the world shifted. It felt as though a mountain had moved. Not Leander, of course. He was not something that could be moved.

Leander didn't waver. His body stood firm in the air, like an unshakable force that nothing on earth could move.

A roar tore through the heavens. The sound rolled down like thunder, shaking every wall and pillar of Durham Abbey. Even the towering Nine Dragon Pagoda swayed under the shock, its bells clanging wildly as dust drifted from its roof.

Homer's triple punch ripped through the sky in waves of blinding light. It was fierce, raw, and wild, but his power scattered before it reached its mark. Leander's counterpunch was sharp and exact, like a steel spike driven deep into the earth. The impact cut through Homer's energy and split it apart as if tearing through cloth.

A violent force exploded outward. Homer's body jolted. A grunt burst from his throat as the pressure slammed him backward across the air. He barely steadied himself after sliding thirty feet.

What kind of monster is this kid? His thoughts raced. His pupils contracted in disbelief.

Homer had long served as the Riverstone family's protector. For decades, he had kept to himself, only acting when the family's survival was at stake. The outside world had long stopped mattering to him.

He hadn't followed the rise of new names or new legends. He didn't know who Leander was, only that this young man's strength defied every law of martial cultivation.

The air rippled.

Leander moved again. His body vanished and reappeared in a blur. In one step, he stood right before Homer, close enough that the wind around them howled like a storm.

He raised his fist, calm and precise. "Tailcatch!"

Homer's arm swept out wide, his left hand turning in a spiral. The air bent around him, forming an unseen vortex. His whole body flowed with energy, each motion smooth and sure. He tried to catch and dissolve the force coming toward him.

But when his palms met Leander's strike, everything changed. A sudden surge erupted, bursting through his defense like a tidal wave. His technique shattered before it could even form, and the blast crashed into his chest.

A choking sound echoed. Blood burst from Homer's mouth, scattering into the air as his body hurled backward again, spinning through the sky.

His eyes widened in shock. "Impossible!"

His most trusted technique—Tailcatch—had failed him. It was the cornerstone of Mount Martial's Great Balance, known for its perfect control, its power to neutralize any attack. Yet here it had broken like glass. His strength dissolved, leaving nothing to stand on.

Leander's face stayed unreadable. His eyes held no pity, no pride, only the cold certainty of someone who already knew the outcome.

His "Devourer's Ninefold Path" had been inspired by the very art Homer now used. Leander had studied its every strength, but he also knew every flaw hidden within. He understood it better than those who had practiced it their entire lives.

He attacked again. Then again. Nine strikes followed, each louder and heavier than the last. The sky cracked with sound.

Every punch sent Homer flying farther back, his robes tearing to ribbons. The wind around him burned like fire. His breath grew ragged. His arms trembled from the strain.

His breath came out in short, broken gasps. His eyes were wide and hollow. I am ranked eleventh in the International Combat Units, he thought numbly. How can I fall to someone like him?

Blood gushed from his pores. His body swelled, then burst apart, scattering into a mist of red that rained down from the clouds.

Leander's expression barely changed. "Burning Stage Transcendent Realm?" he muttered to himself. He shook his head with faint disappointment.

He floated down through the drifting dust and landed quietly in front of the temple. Luna and Janey stood frozen in place, their minds unable to catch up with what they had just seen.

Leander turned toward Quincy, his voice sharp and calm.

"You've got guts," he said. "Bringing people here to come after me."

He tilted his head slightly. "Do you even know who I am?"

Quincy's face was pale. His eyes darted from Leander to the shattered sky. His lips trembled.

"Jeff Ashcroft?"

He had never seen the man before, but everyone in the elite families knew that name—the one who had single-handedly wiped out eleven Transcendent Realm fighters in the Southern Ocean. That name was no longer human. It was legend. It was fear.

Leander's mouth curved into a thin, humorless smile. "Then, you know," he said, "what it costs to cross me."

He flicked his sleeve. A violent gust of air swept through the courtyard.

Quincy's feet left the ground. His scream was cut short as his body was thrown into the sky, tumbling helplessly before vanishing over the edge of Westvale Peak.

The wind went still.

Luna and Janey didn't move. Their hearts pounded, but their minds were blank. The world around them had gone quiet, like the calm after a storm.

Leander turned to Lydia and grinned. His tone softened. "So, Mom," he said with a spark in his eyes, "where were we in the story? I was actually enjoying it."

The tenderness in his voice clashed with the devastation around him. It felt unreal, almost surreal.

The next morning, the news swept across Highcliffe like fire. Both Riverstone brothers had been thrown from Westvale Peak. Their bodies were shattered. Their pride was gone. And the whole city trembled.