Chapter 20: The Ultimate Rebel vs. The Ultimate Conqueror
Without wasting another damn second, Spartacus descended like a falling meteor, his massive frame dwarfing the Roman legions like a titan stepping onto an anthill. The ground beneath him shattered and crumbled, a spiderweb of cracks spreading outward from the sheer force of his landing.
Then, he moved.
For a man of his sheer size, his speed was nothing short of monstrous. He charged forward like an unstoppable force, each step sending tremors through the battlefield.
"CRUSH THE OPPRESSORS! KILL THEM ALL!"
His roar wasn't just a battle cry—it was a declaration of pure, unrelenting carnage. The sound rolled through the battlefield like thunder, shaking the very souls of those who heard it. The Roman legions, despite their discipline, trembled as the mad Berserker rushed toward them with unchained fury.
But Khan? He wasn't afraid.
He wasn't some trembling soldier cowering before a rampaging beast—he was a conqueror, a god among men.
As Spartacus bore down on him, Khan let loose his divinity. Power erupted from him like a raging inferno, the air itself distorting around his form. His speed, his reflexes, his strength—all of it skyrocketed in an instant.
This was war.
The wind howled and screamed around them as they clashed head-on, neither of them willing to take a step back. Spartacus swung his colossal greatsword, a brutal arc meant to cleave Khan in half—but Khan's body moved like a phantom, weaving through the clash of steel with effortless precision.
His movements weren't just skill—they were divine. Imperial Privilege surged through his veins, granting him the footwork of the greatest warriors in history.
Then, the battlefield twisted.
"Zafkiel."
A golden clock materialized behind Khan, its gears grinding, its hands ticking with eldritch authority.
His Angel of Time.
A power he had inherited from his other self—Kurumi.
Spartacus' blade came for him again, but this time, time itself bent to Khan's will. The flow of battle slowed in his favor. Spartacus was fast, but now he was crawling.
Sixth Bullet—Time Slow.
Khan sidestepped with inhuman ease, moving like a ghost through the sluggish battlefield. His blade blazed with fury, crackling with divine energy, and in one brutal motion, he slashed Spartacus across the torso.
The impact was savage—a deep, flesh-tearing wound that split through the Berserker's massive body. A fountain of blood erupted, splattering across Khan's face, warm and thick, painting him in crimson.
But Spartacus?
The motherfucker laughed.
He didn't scream, he didn't stagger—he roared in twisted ecstasy.
"PAIN MAKES ME STRONGER!"
His torn flesh knitted back together instantly, muscles bulging, expanding, strengthening. The more he suffered, the stronger he became—his reflexes sharper, his power even greater than before.
And then, his eyes locked onto Khan with pure unhinged madness.
"YOUR END IS HERE, OPPRESSOR!"
Spartacus retaliated, his greatsword cleaving through the air, each swing carrying enough force to split mountains in half. The sheer shockwaves from his strikes ripped through the battlefield, sending debris and bodies flying.
Khan barely lifted a hand.
Twelfth Bullet—Time Acceleration.
The world blurred.
His reaction speed multiplied tenfold, his body flickering like an untouchable phantom. Spartacus' greatsword smashed into the earth, obliterating the ground beneath them—but Khan was already gone.
Now floating above the battlefield, Khan smirked wickedly.
"You may grow faster, stronger, and tougher, Berserker…" His golden eyes glowed with mocking amusement, his voice dripping with raw dominance. "But I am still better than you in every way."
His blade burned hotter, divinity coiling around it like a serpent ready to strike.
"Surrender now, and I'll spare your men."
Then, his smirk widened.
"Refuse—and I will make an example out of you. Let the world see what happens to those who defy the Might of Rome."
For a brief moment, Spartacus hesitated.
But hesitation was not something a Berserker could hold onto. His instincts, his twisted ideals, his very nature—it wouldn't let him back down.
"I WILL CRUSH YOU, OPPRESSOR! I WILL CRUSH YOU!"
And with madness in his eyes, he charged again.
"You're wasting my time, Berserker." Khan yawned, stretching his arms, his tone laced with sheer boredom.
But before Spartacus could say another word, something shot through the air.
"VII—Time Erosion."
A bullet ripped through the battlefield, slamming into Spartacus's chest with brutal precision.
Time itself twisted around him, an unnatural force gnawing at his very existence.
His body, once a beacon of unrelenting regeneration, began to slow, the raw concept of decay sinking into his flesh, eating away at him from the inside.
Spartacus staggered, his muscles tensing against the foreign power, but his defiance burned just as fiercely.
His body should have already healed—but this was different. For the first time, his wounds did not immediately close.
But the Berserker of Rebellion was not one to kneel.
With a primal, guttural scream, he activated his Noble Phantasm.
"Cry! Scream! Wail in agony! Rebellion will NEVER perish!"
His flesh tore open, but instead of breaking him, his suffering fed him. Every wound, every shred of pain inflicted upon him became fuel—his very essence bathing in torment and growing stronger.
The battlefield shook as his body expanded, golden energy erupting from him like an untamed inferno.
His sword, no longer just a weapon, now carried the weight of every injury he had endured, every suffering he had overcome—magnified a thousandfold.
With rage-filled eyes, he charged.
Khan's expression darkened. His gaze narrowed.
This fucking cockroach just refused to die.
"You're a real pain in the ass, Spartacus," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "But this is where you end."
Raising his hand, he summoned forth the legion of time itself.
A hundred temporal clones materialized, the air warping as Kurumi's power manifested in full force.
Each clone armed to the teeth, divine-infused weapons gleaming under the blood-soaked sky.
But none of them were him.
No, these were Kurumi's clones—her twisted, psychotic manifestations.
He could have chosen to summon Nero, Kaguya, or even Kurumi herself.
He didn't hesitate.
He chose Kurumi.
A chorus of dark, sultry laughter echoed across the battlefield as the clones grinned with wild, deranged delight.
"Ara, how is it, Berserker-kun?" One of them purred, tilting her head, eyes burning with pure insanity. "Doesn't it feel good? The pain... the suffering... isn't it just so delicious?"
Spartacus barely had time to react before hell descended upon him.
The onslaught was merciless.
Each blade carved into his flesh. Each bullet tore through his body. Each blast of energy shredded his limbs, his insides, his very soul.
He howled, his monstrous strength crumbling under the infinite assault of time and divinity.
His body fought. Endlessly.
But there was no escape.
Khan's form blurred, appearing before him in a flash. His blade sank deep, piercing Spartacus's flesh, the steel driving into his heart.
Spartacus choked on blood.
His breath hitched, his entire form shaking, collapsing beneath the weight of his own mortality.
But still... he smiled.
That same defiant grin, that same unbreakable spark in his dying eyes.
"Truly... glorious battle, Oppressor...! Truly...!" He gasped out, voice gurgling with blood. "But rebellion... never dies. I will return... again... and again... AND AGAIN! I WILL CRUSH YOU!"
With that final declaration, his body disintegrated, turning into golden dust that vanished into the void of history.
Silence.
The battlefield was quiet.
Khan let out a slow breath, dismissing Kurumi's clones as his divine aura faded.
His gaze lowered to the spot where Spartacus had fallen.
Then, he turned his eyes toward Capua.
"Surrender, or you will face the wrath of Rome!"
His voice thundered across the battlefield, shaking the very foundations of the city.
"Khan!"
"Khan!"
"Khan!"
A deafening roar erupted from the Roman legions behind him.
Thousands of voices rose in unison, their battle cry echoing into the night, shaking the resolve of the rebels like a divine decree.
The rebellion had been crushed. Their so-called leader lay broken in the dirt, his defiance amounting to nothing.
Inside, the rebels and slaves trembled. They had witnessed Spartacus's fierce resistance, seen him fight with all his might—yet, in the end, it hadn't mattered.
Because that's all they were.
A bunch of disorganized mobs.
They had no discipline, no structure. Just desperation and fleeting hope.
And now, both were gone.
Slowly, the gates of Capua creaked open. Rome had won.
"We surrender!"
The words rang out like a whimper, like a dying gasp of rebellion. The mighty uprising that had sought to defy the empire—reduced to nothing more than a pathetic plea for mercy.
Khan smirked.
This is the end. The rebellion is crushed. Capua is mine.
But even as he stood victorious, basking in the glory of conquest, he knew this was just the beginning.
Rome's past was crawling back from the grave—long-dead Emperors rising from history, vying for power, for control of his world.
And if that wasn't enough, there were still those pests—Chaldea and Alaya—watching from the shadows, waiting for their chance to interfere.
But all of that could wait.
Right now?
He had earned his victory.
He had conquered, crushed, and taken what was his.
Now, it was time to celebrate.
With wine, women, and a feast worthy of a fucking god.
What would you do if you suddenly found yourself stranded in Japan with no passport, no identity, and absolutely nothing to your name except for your own body?
No money, no phone, no way to prove who you are—just you, lost in a foreign land.
That's exactly what happened to our protagonist, Khan. He was stuck on a worn-out park bench, surrounded by kanji-filled signs and Japanese text that made no damn sense to him.
He couldn't read any of it, and to make matters worse, he couldn't speak a single word of Japanese either.
Every time people passed by, they spoke in rapid, fluent Japanese. He could barely catch a single familiar word, and even if he wanted to do something about his shitty situation, the language barrier was a massive wall in his way.
It was frustrating as hell. He was trapped in a country where nobody understood him, and he didn't understand any of them either.
He only spoke English—just that. Nothing else.
But something was weird. The world around him didn't feel entirely… real. It felt off, almost surreal, as if he had walked straight into an anime or a 2D world.
The differences were obvious—the overly vibrant hair colors, the oddly proportioned bodies, the exaggerated expressions. Everything about the people walking past him screamed "fictional."
Then, on the street, he spotted a familiar face. A massive poster of Hoshino Ai, clear as day.
His stomach twisted a little. That confirmed it. This wasn't just Japan—this was anime Japan.
After aimlessly wandering around for a while, he ended up back at the park. He sat on the same damn bench, pretending like everything was fine, like he had some sort of plan.
But in reality? He didn't know how long he'd last like this. His stomach growled painfully from hunger, and exhaustion was creeping into his bones.
"Hah…" He exhaled tiredly, rubbing his face.
Looks like he was spending the night here. Fucking fantastic.
For now, all he could do was rest.
Maybe tomorrow, he'd figure out a plan—some way to survive.
Just as he was about to close his eyes, a sleek black car rolled up in front of him.
The sight of it alone was enough to put him on edge. This wasn't some random civilian car—it was high-end, expensive, the kind of vehicle that belonged to someone powerful.
The door opened, and stepping out was a maid.
Not just any maid—she was stunning.
A blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and an air of refined elegance.
She was the kind of woman you'd expect to see in a goddamn mansion, not randomly approaching a homeless foreigner in the park.
Then, she spoke.
"@#$%$#$$*£**"
Yeah. No idea what the fuck she just said. He didn't speak Japanese, remember?
The maid furrowed her brows, clearly confused.
"Ahem… Do you speak English?" Khan asked, his voice a little awkward.
The maid's expression shifted slightly, and after a moment, she responded in fluent English.
"Yes… I do. Ahem. That makes things easier. Miss Kaguya wishes to speak with you, boy. For some reason, she does."
Kaguya?
As in… Kaguya Shinomiya?
Khan blinked. He had no idea why the hell someone like her would want to speak with him, or why she'd even bother acknowledging his existence.
She wasn't exactly the type to go out of her way for strangers—especially not some random, broke foreigner in a park.
But right now?
He wasn't in a position to be picky.
Help was help.
He gave the maid a slight nod, swallowing his questions for now.
"Alright," he said, standing up. "Lead the way."
With that, he stepped into the car, the luxurious interior swallowing him up.
And there she was.
Kaguya Shinomiya.
Sitting right across from him in the backseat.
She was exactly like he remembered—long, dark hair, ice-cold expression, an aura of power and elegance.
But the moment their eyes met, something shifted.
Her crimson gaze softened—just a little, barely noticeable—but it was there.
She didn't speak immediately.
Not until the car started moving, with Ai—the maid—taking the wheel and driving them away from the park.
Then, finally, Kaguya broke the silence.
"Khan…" she said, her voice calm yet firm. "I know who you are. I know you're confused. And, to be honest, so am I. But we'll talk once we get home—without any third parties listening in."
He nodded. For some reason, he didn't know why, but he felt that the girl standing before him was incredibly trustworthy—almost as if she were a mirror reflection of himself.
The only person he had ever trusted was himself, and himself alone.
So, he couldn't comprehend where this unfamiliar trust was coming from.
Nor did he understand why he had this strange instinctual feeling toward her.
His heart and instincts always scream at him to trust her as he trusts himself.
However, Kaguya wasn't entirely silent either.
Without hesitation, she reached out and touched his hand, her fingers gripping it tightly.
Then, in an instant—like a sudden epiphany—his mind was flooded with memories that did not belong to him. No, to be precise, they were her memories.
But it wasn't just the memories.
It was everything.
Her skills in life, her knowledge of martial arts, her expertise in business management, her proficiency in archery, her mastery of multiple languages—everything was absorbed into him, becoming a part of him as if they had always been his own.
Now, he didn't have a problem with the language barrier anymore and could understand and speak Japanese fluently, not just limited to "ikkeh ikkeh kimochi" and "yamete kudasai."
And, he finally understood where this deep sense of trust was coming from. She was him, and he was her, existing as one and the same in this moment.
He knew exactly why Kaguya reached out to touch his hand—because they both understood, thanks to all the fanfiction they had read, that this was how power could be obtained and identities could be confirmed at the same time.
After all, reading countless fanfics had its own perks.
"Yes, just like you're thinking, Khan. You are me, and I am you." Kaguya chuckled, a knowing smirk on her lips.
Before he could respond, another voice interrupted them.
"Miss Kaguya, we have arrived," Hayasaka Ai said as she opened the door for them.
Kaguya, still holding onto Khan's arm intimately, turned toward Ai and spoke in a commanding tone. "Now, leave us, Ai. I want to speak with Khan alone. In private."
Her stern and serious tone was enough to make Ai hesitate. She had wanted to say something, but under Kaguya's sharp gaze, she swallowed her words and bowed instead.
"If that is what you wish, Miss. I will take my leave."
With that, she exited, leaving the two of them alone.
Neither Kaguya nor Khan spoke a single word as they walked toward her private chamber.
A tense silence lingered between them, but when they finally arrived, Kaguya suddenly let out a playful chuckle.
The cold, formal mask she had been wearing disappeared in an instant.
"It must be hard for you, huh? Myself?" she said, tilting her head with amusement. "I don't know why you managed to cross over with your body intact, while I was reborn as Kaguya. But I have a theory—our soul must have split after the car accident. You retained your original body, while I was reincarnated into this one."
She stepped closer, her crimson eyes gleaming with something… mischievous.
"Anyway, I know you always liked Kaguya," she whispered, her voice dripping with temptation. "So, tell me… don't you want to do ecchi things with me? This is your own body, after all. Moreover, we were both virgins for twenty years in our past life. I think it's about time we found out how it feels."
Her words hit him like a truck.
His throat went dry, and he gulped, his mind running wild with thoughts he probably shouldn't be entertaining.
It was a very tempting offer.
Extremely tempting.
But then—
Grrrrooooowllll!
His stomach suddenly let out a loud, embarrassing protest, snapping him back to reality.
Kaguya blinked at him before laughing softly, covering her mouth in amusement.
"Ah… It was inconsiderate of me, indeed," she admitted. "Fine, I'll prepare a feast for you. Eat as much as you want, Khan."
With that, she reached into her bag, pulled out her phone, and started typing something.
After a moment, she looked back up at him.
"Done. Ai will arrive shortly and bring you some meals."
"Okay... Thank you, Kaguya," he said awkwardly. Even though he knew she was his soul—his very self—it still felt strange to process all of this.
"You are me, and I am you. So, there's no need for formality between us," Kaguya replied, gripping his hand tightly. "Don't you feel that you want to get closer to me? And, in doing so, you want to get closer to yourself?"
Her touch was warm, comforting—something he'd never experienced before.
Was this what she meant?
She pouted when he remained silent, staring at her as if struggling to grasp the meaning behind her words.
"It seems the unequal relationship between us is making you awkward... even when you're dealing with yourself, Khan." Kaguya sighed, a mixture of amusement and exasperation in her tone.
Then, without hesitation, she leaned in. Their lips met. A shiver ran down his spine as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer.
Her tongue slipped past his lips, tangling with his as they kissed with a passion that was both restless and consuming.
His body moved on instinct—his hand finding its way to her back, gripping her possessively. His dominant urges took over, and before he realized it, he had thrown her onto the bed, pinning her beneath him.
Kaguya's face flushed a deep crimson, her ruby-red eyes gazing up at him with a mix of desire and dazed anticipation.
"Khan... I..."
Just as they were on the verge of breaking past the final barrier—
KNOCK KNOCK.
The abrupt sound at the door jolted them both, pulling away from each other in an instant, hurriedly straightening their clothes and composing themselves.
"Miss Kaguya, the meal you ordered has arrived."
Kaguya's expression darkened, clearly displeased at the interruption.
"Come in, Ai," she replied in a cold, detached tone.
As the maid entered, she immediately noticed the unusual tension in the air.
Miss Kaguya looked visibly irritated, though Ai had no clue why.
Sensing danger, she quickly placed the food down and hurriedly left, not daring to linger.
Once the door shut, Kaguya turned to Khan, her expression softening. "Alright, Khan. You must be hungry. Let's eat."
Her voice, once commanding, was now gentle—almost tender. He nodded.
His body, still tense from what had almost happened, now focused on another primal need. He was hungry, and he wanted to get this over with.
And so, that was how his first day in this world had gone. Not only had he encountered another version of himself, but he had also come dangerously close to indulging in self-cest.
But life moved on.
And in the end, had he truly lost anything?
No. Because she was beautiful, and she was perfect. She was him, his soul, his existence itself.
This wasn't about lusting after oneself—it was about self-discovery, about the philosophy of life itself.
Only by loving oneself could life be truly meaningful.
No one knew you better than you did. And so, the best companion in life had never been anyone else—it had always been yourself.
This was the understanding he had gained. This was his self-enlightenment.
As he finished his meal, he looked up. Kaguya was staring at him, her crimson eyes unwavering.
And in that moment, they both understood.
Without hesitation, they leaned in once more, their lips pressing together in perfect unison.
There was no need for words.
Only unity.
Only self-embrace.
Because from the very beginning, they were always one.