Atticus's Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground novel Chapter 888

Chapter 888 Both

It was not in the human language.

It was not any language that Atticus was familiar with.

But somehow, Atticus knew what the man had said.

Come.

The moment Atticus heard it, control over his body was seized.

His figure shot forward, wind whipping around him as he came to a stop, hovering mid-air in front of the seated man.

The figure's gaze bore into him, unblinking, as if dissecting his very soul. Its eyes were pure gold, radiating a soft, otherworldly light.

Atticus's breath froze. He forced himself to stay calm, but his mind was a storm of thoughts. He couldn't move, no matter how much he tried. He attempted everything, every single one of his powers, yet he couldn't even lift a finger.

'Ozeroth?' he called inwardly.

"Bo—"

Ozeroth's voice was cut off as the figure spoke again, its deep tone rumbling like an ancient mountain shifting.

"This is a trial for you," the figure said slowly. "I suggest you minimize contact with… another."

Atticus's eyes narrowed. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but his thoughts were racing.

Had this man heard him? Or could he… read minds? He truly hoped not.

"No," the man's voice rumbled again, almost amused. "I cannot read minds."

Ozeroth's voice erupted in Atticus's head, seething. 'Another? Another!? How dare he call the great Ozeroth 'another'? I am no mere shadow to be dismissed. The only 'another' here is him!'

'Now is not the time,' Atticus snapped inwardly, his irritation clear.

Ozeroth scoffed. 'Hmph. I just wanted to set things straight. My greatness demands respect…'

Atticus ignored the spirit's ramblings, his sharp gaze fixed on the man before him. There were far more pressing matters to address.

'That doesn't sound convincing.' He mulled over the figure's claims. The fact that this being anticipated his thoughts again made him uneasy.

Atticus hated this sort of situations. He hated feeling helpless in the face of overwhelming power. There was no doubt about his current predicament: his life was in the hands of this entity.

The figure smiled faintly. "You're an interesting one. What is your name?"

Atticus hesitated for a moment before answering, "Atticus."

"Atticus…" The man's voice lingered on the name, as though savoring its weight. "What an ambitious name. As expected from the offspring of the Fallen Star."

Atticus's eyes flickered with confusion. "Fallen Star?"

The figure ignored the question, its tone suddenly shifting. "Do you know where you are?"

Atticus stared silently for a moment before shaking his head.

"This," the figure said, and with a gesture, Atticus's hovering form turned to face the vast hall, "is the Eldest Veil, a sanctuary of memory, crafted by the last of my kind. Its purpose is to inform those deemed worthy of the truths of the past."

"The past?"

The man's gaze sharpened. "Do you wish to know?"

Before Atticus could respond, the invisible force holding him snapped. He flew backward, slamming onto the smooth floor and skidding for meters before regaining control.

The figure's voice thundered. "Then prove that you are worthy."

The air around them exploded.