Echoes of the Abyssal Blade: Path to Free Will-Chapter 70: Rhydian’s call
After completing all ten steps, Jonan could now withstand the spiritual pressures of higher-grade beings, while that weird being was an enigma for him; he couldn’t understand why Master Vega would send him to the prison for building spiritual resistance.
It is because he knows that there are other ways for similar results, but it doesn’t change anything for him, as he has finally achieved his goal; now all that is left for him, is to break the limit on strength attribute, as he still has some time, till Rhydian calls for him.
After completing all ten steps, Jonan stood alone before the sealed cell, the oppressive force that once threatened to crush him now lay dormant, not affecting him in the slightest, and he was also not eager to be suppressed most of the time. He could feel it, the difference, where his body would once tremble, now it easily endured. Where his bones once groaned, now they bore the weight like pillars of stone. The spiritual pressures of higher-grade beings no longer bent his knees, he could face them, even if he couldn’t defeat them.
But that being that monstrous enigma trapped behind the bars in Cell 692, was still beyond his understanding, he had never seen such a being, it was his first to face such a peculiar creature.
Even after enduring its oppressive aura for weeks, Jonan could never fully grasp its presence, only when he crossed the tenth step could he see it, now, he felt as if the insides of the cell were not visible to him.
It was not only powerful, but also felt like a corrupted being, but also someone with patience.
But it no longer mattered; his body had survived it, his spirit endured, and now, one final task remained.
Jonan stood beneath the pale evening sky in the secluded courtyard of the Starfall estate, the cold winds grazing at his exposed arms, while he was practicing the Moonlit Reverence Battle Art, a technique passed down in the Starfall family, one meant to refine the very marrow of a cultivator’s being, to force their strength beyond.
The scroll lay unrolled before him, ancient ink, faded with age, yet the words still burned with intent.
"One who dances with the silver light must embrace the agony between each breath. Only in breaking will the strength be rebuilt."
And every day, from dawn till dusk, Jonan practiced the art.
It wasn’t simply a matter of striking or running through set forms, the Moonlit Reverence was cruel, archaic even among their battle arts, it required not only precise, flowing motion but the constant compression of muscle and strength within one’s bones, sinew, and muscles while moving, with each repetition, his body would fracture on the inside, and tiny fissures would form in his bone, ruptures in his muscle fiber, and tears would form across his tendons.
And each time, he would restore himself with careful meditation, no pills, no alchemical tonics, only raw willpower and the nourishing energies of his own spirit.
The first step involved twelve cyclical motions, each named after one of the lunar phases. From New Dawn to Devouring Eclipse, each position transitioned into the next through explosive movements; his footwork had to be flawless, shifting weight and stance mid-air while retaining spiritual pressure within his limbs, and a single misstep meant severed tendons or worse.
The courtyard was often stained with his sweat and his ragged breath.
Night after night, his legs would shake, his chest would heave, lungs searing with pain, his bones cracked, his skin split from internal force, and he still carried on.
His hands were calloused, his knuckles were swollen, and his veins were darkened with residual strain, and each of his breaths felt like swallowing molten iron, but he could feel that there was progress, it was slow, and torturous, but he did progress in his training.
By the second week, his strikes could shatter boulders.
By the third, the stone floor cracked beneath his footfalls.
On the twenty-ninth night, Jonan felt it.
During the final phase of the first step, Devouring Eclipse, as his body twisted mid-air and both of his legs came down like twin hammers, something inside him broke, not the tearing pain he’d grown numb to, but a deeper shatter, as if invisible chains wrapped around his body for years finally cracked and fell away.
His flesh vibrated, his bones hummed, and he landed, while his breath was ragged, and he fell to one knee.
A wave of heat surged through his chest, spreading to his limbs, his muscles bulged, not grotesquely but as though they’d cast off previous shackles.
He knew then that He had broken the limit.
His Strength Attribute had transcended the limit, the final limit his body had to break.
He grinned through bloodied lips, the pain meant nothing now, he could feel the difference, his body no longer resisted the Moonlit Reverence’s powerful moves.
And yet...
nothing happened.
No nucleus.
No shimmering core forming in his chest, no coalescence of energy within his dantian as described in the black book, no miraculous sign of ascent.
His chest remained empty.
He knelt there, blinking at the heavens, expecting something, anything.
But nothing came.
A heavy silence settled over the courtyard, broken only by the soft rasp of his breathing.
"Wasn’t it supposed to happen now?"
"Does it take time to happen?"
Multitude of such thoughts pressed his mind, but nothing came.
The Black Book spoke of a nucleus forming the moment one broke all four limits in a human body, which are Dexterity, Physique, Strength, and Intelligence, and it was another way for him to ascend through the path of power.
He clenched his fists in frustration; there was no warmth, nor was there any radiant pulse, all he could feel was emptiness.
He forced himself to his feet and staggered to his quarters.
That night, sleep was impossible; his expectation gnawed at him, worse than any wound. He tried to practice the Moonlit Reverence again till his muscles threatened to peel from his bones.
But nothing happened.
By dawn, he started feeling desperate, and he went to the library.
He found the black book.
The same one he had stolen glances at before, its title was faded, but the contents were burned into his memory.
"When one transcends the four mortal limits, the universe shall birth within them a nucleus. A cradle for higher power. The foundation for one’s path beyond mortality."
He read it again.
Then again.
Scouring each word, each character, seeking a hidden clause, a caveat, a condition he might have missed.
There was none.
The universe was supposed to do it.
And it hadn’t.
He slammed the book shut, his hand trembling.
Why? Why wasn’t he enough? Was he flawed from birth?
Doubt coiled around his throat like a noose.
He returned to the courtyard, retraced his steps, repeated the breaking strikes of Devouring Eclipse until blood pooled at his feet.
Still, nothing.
Days passed. Each a repeat of the last.
The world outside continued its silent rotations.
And Jonan, once proud and unyielding, became a ghost.
Listless.
Wandering the family grounds. Staring at the void where his promise of power should have been.
He would wake before dawn, silently slip into the old library, pull the black book from its shelf, and read those same lines by dim candlelight, hoping the words would change.
They never did.
At night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Listening to the pulse of his own heart. Imagining a second beat, a second pulse of power that would never come.
He began to talk to himself. Whisper questions to the darkness. Begging for answers no one could give.
His hands grew rougher, his eyes hollow.
By the third week, he could feel that he had gone mad.
Then one morning, a shadow fell over him.
A presence he recognized even in his haze.
Rhydian.
The man radiated calm menace, a predator disguised in mortal flesh.
"You’ve grown agitated, boy," Rhydian said, his voice low and steady.
Jonan didn’t answer.
Rhydian crouched beside him, studying the empty gaze.
"Hmm, still at the Weapon Seeker stage."
With a bitter smile, Jonan said, "I don’t possess the weapon affinity to break through the send stage."
"Good," Rhydian murmured.
Jonan blinked.
"What?"
Rhydian rose, dusting imaginary dirt from his sleeves.
"The path you chase is flawed, the universe’s gift, it is something of a folklore, you didn’t think that others in the family would not know about breaking the four limits of the human body, and the nucleus forming from within."
Jonan’s throat tightened, and he thought, "Yes, if he could find it in the library, others must have known about it, despite that black book being sealed."
"So there is no other way then," he whispered.
Rhydian’s gaze softened, just a fraction.
"You don’t think that his holiness’s plans stop here."
He turned.
"Come, you are summoned, a mission awaits."
Jonan hesitated, the void inside him yawned wider.
But his legs moved.
He followed.
And though no nucleus beat in his chest, his spirit stirred.
Perhaps, this too was a beginning.
Jonan’s gaze lingered on the cracked stone beneath his feet. His voice, when it came, was raw.
"I don’t understand," he murmured. "I did everything. Broke my body. Broke my limits. Fought death in that cursed city... and when the moment came—nothing."
Rhydian said nothing for a while. The older man crouched, picking up a loose shard of stone, rolling it between his fingers. The silence stretched, heavy but not hostile.
"You think it’s owed to you," Rhydian finally said, tone devoid of mockery but sharp all the same. "That because you suffered, the world is bound to reward you."
Jonan flinched. The words stung because they were true.
"I don’t want charity," he muttered, jaw tightening. "I just... I needed to know I wasn’t wasting myself chasing nothing."
Rhydian’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk. "You are chasing nothing. And that’s exactly what you should be chasing."
Jonan looked up, frowning. "What does that even mean?"
"The nucleus, the spiritual heart... all of it. Those are anchors, boy. Foundations laid by men. You think power lies in what the heavens grant you? You think it’s strength when your path’s carved for you before you even take a step?"
