In A Fantasy World I Can Absorbs Abilities

Michael scanned the gathered faces slowly. The early summer sun struck the cold gray stone walls of the fortress, spilling into the courtyard. The oppressive midday heat hung in the air, sharpening the tension that gripped the assembly.

Orlando Fortress, steeped in the blood and history of countless battles, stood as a symbol of war and resilience. Beneath its gray walls, climbing roses bloomed brightly, veiling the scars of past conflicts. But today, even their vibrant beauty couldn't pierce the heavy atmosphere.

This place, once home to heroes who had led armies to victory, now hosted retired warriors radiating formidable energy. As their attention fixed on him, Michael shrugged with deliberate nonchalance, a provocative gesture that sent ripples of unease through the crowd.

"Since everyone here has thrived in different times and circumstances, it's impossible to rank you purely by strength," he announced. "The only fair way is to assign positions based on the order of arrival. The earlier you arrived, the closer to the front you'll be placed."

For a moment, silence fell over the crowd. Then, as expected, complaints erupted from all sides. Heated faces flushed red, eyes flashing with irritation. The mingling of their auras created a palpable tension in the air. These were individuals who had gathered here with purpose, and for them, being positioned at the front was more than a matter of honor—it was a chance to grasp the Emperor of Pamir's fabled secret and prove their strength once more.

Long-suppressed ambitions flared within their chests.

A red-haired veteran knight stepped forward, roughly wiping the sweat from his brow as he glared at Michael. "What nonsense is that? If we're unsure who's strongest, we should settle it with a fight."

Others nodded in agreement, their eyes gleaming with pride and confidence in their own abilities.

Just as planned. A faint smirk tugged at the corners of Michael's mouth. These legendary warriors, each from different eras and regions, were brimming with pride and a burning sense of honor. Their collective fervor only heightened the intensity of the moment.

Michael surveyed the crowd leisurely before speaking again. "In that case… do you all agree that the strongest among you should receive the most benefit?"

The gathered warriors turned their piercing gazes toward him. A soft breeze brushed against their faces, carrying with it the scent of the roses from the fortress walls. Weapons that had long rested in their owners' hands came alive once more. Their eyes gleamed with a renewed hunger for competition.

When was the last time they had felt this thrill? Though their backgrounds, weapons, and styles differed, one thing united them: their unwavering belief that they were the strongest.

Inevitably, chaos erupted.

The Clash of Legends

The courtyard became a whirlwind of motion.

"Come on, all of you! I'll take you all on!" bellowed the red-haired knight as he unsheathed his sword. Spurred by his cry, the other warriors drew their weapons, and the courtyard roared with life. The crackling tension shattered as power collided with power, and the battle began.

The red-haired knight, his sword glinting sharply, charged toward a nearby warrior. "Ah, so it's you! The one who boasted that I wasn't even worthy of being your opponent!"

"Hah! You talk too much. I could defeat you with my toes," the warrior sneered.

The knight's sword sliced through the air in a sharp arc. The other man ducked swiftly, rolling to the side to evade the blow.

"Rolling around like a worm, are you?" the knight growled.

"It's called strategic evasion, you brute!" came the retort.

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Enraged, the knight resumed his attack without hesitation. Sparks flew as their blades clashed, their heated battle igniting the air around them.

Nearby, a middle-aged knight armed with a shield and spear faced off against two opponents. He blocked an axe strike with his shield, then deftly thrust his spear through a narrow opening in his adversary's defense. The spearhead grazed the warrior's armor, drawing a painful groan as the man stumbled back.

But the respite was short-lived. The fallen man's twin brother stepped in, slamming his weapon against the shield with enough force to make the knight stagger. Steeling himself against the impact, the knight held his ground, but sweat trickled down his brow as the twin's follow-up attack bore down on him.

Elsewhere, a dual-wielding swordsman moved with lightning speed, exploiting gaps in his opponent's defense. His blades traced shimmering arcs through the air, one narrowly missing the agile warrior who managed to leap over the sword and somersault toward the swordsman's head. The swordsman twisted his body just in time to dodge the attack, lowering himself to target his opponent's legs as they landed. The agile warrior evaded again, but not without the second blade grazing his arm.

Above the courtyard, soldiers atop the fortress walls cheered and gasped at the spectacle. Magicians, forewarned by Michael, worked tirelessly to shield the onlookers with protective spells. Sweat poured from their faces as they cast barrier after barrier, but their eyes gleamed with excitement. Where else could anyone witness such a clash of legends?

On another side of the field, a warrior wielding a massive axe clashed with a heavily armored knight. The axe wielder brought his weapon down in a powerful swing aimed at the knight's head. The knight ducked swiftly, countering with a thrust of his sword. The blade grazed the axe wielder's arm, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on. His shoulders swelled, black fur spreading across his back as he drew upon ancestral strength.

In the center of the courtyard, an elderly white-haired mage raised her staff and sneered. "Think you can beat a mage in a brawl? Let's see you try."

Chanting an incantation in an ancient tongue, she summoned lightning bolts that streaked from the clear sky. The air filled with the crackling sound of electricity and the deafening roar of thunder as the bolts struck the warriors below.

But these were no ordinary fighters—they were legends. They quickly adapted, using shields to deflect the bolts, swords to ground the energy, and magic barriers to block the attacks. Some even endured the strikes head-on, their indomitable wills pushing them forward.