From Moving Crates to Killing Gods-Chapter 47: New Record

I stared at their expectant faces and realized I’d dug myself a hole deeper than the canyons outside Argent’s barrier. Move rocks with my mind? Sure, if by "rocks" they understood "my yo-yo" and by "move" they meant "make it jump a few pathetic inches off a table." The gap between their excited visions of massive stone walls and my reality of barely nudging a toy felt wider than the wasteland itself. My newfound confidence, briefly resurrected by Phinyx’s vibes, died like an ant fighting a horde of corruptors.

"Actually..." I tone it down, rubbing the back of my neck, "it’s still a work in progress. Very experimental... tiny pebbles for now." 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Oh." Kira’s excitement dimmed visibly. "Well, that’s still impressive. I can’t move anything with my mind."

Phinyx nodded, his perpetual calm undisturbed. "Small vibes grow into big ones. The flow starts somewhere, man."

I forced a smile. "I’ll show you when I’ve mastered it better. Right now, I should probably focus on these laps."

"Smart move." Kira said, glancing at the vast expanse of the training room. "We should all stick to our assigned tasks."

The conversation shifted away from my exaggerated claims, much to my relief. I promised myself I’d work twice as hard practicing spells. But for now, I had miles to run and muscles to strengthen.

Phinyx stationed himself at regular intervals around the track, ready to boost me with his emotional vibes when exhaustion threatened to drop me. The first twenty laps went smoothly, my improved stats making the initial stretch easier than before. But around lap thirty, familiar pain began creeping into my legs, and my lungs burned with each breath.

"Energetic vibe, purpose vibe, strength vibe." Phinyx chanted as I passed him, his voice gentle but focused.

The wave of energy washed over me. My muscles still ached, but the pain receded just enough to keep moving. It wasn’t the elimination of fatigue, more like a temporary numbing of my body’s distress signals. The effect was growing stronger as Phinyx honed his ability, but I knew my body was still doing the work, still bearing the strain. The vibe just made it possible to push past normal barriers.

"Forty one." I murmured as I completed another circuit. "That’s... something..."

"You’re doing great." Kira called from where she practiced growing thorny vines in complex patterns. "Just eleven more to beat your record."

Eleven more. The number seemed impossible. My legs felt like liquid fire, each step a negotiation with muscles threatening revolt. Even with Phinyx’s support, I wasn’t sure I could make it.

But I thought of the Corruptors beyond the barrier. Of the headless king whose eye I’d switched. Of the children in Argent who might face exile next year if we couldn’t change things. I thought of Silas and Petra, running for the barrier, so close before the darkness took them.

I ran.

Lap fifty blurred into fifty one, into fifty two. My world narrowed to the rhythm of my feet hitting the ground, the count in my head, and the blessed moments when Phinyx’s vibes would wash over me, giving me just enough to continue.

My legs moved like they belonged to someone else, mechanical and distant. But they moved. And when I finally crossed the invisible finish line for the fifty sixth time, I collapsed onto the grass Kira had grown earlier, lungs heaving, vision swimming.

"Fifty six." Phinyx confirmed, kneeling beside me. "New record."

I gave him a weak thumbs up, unable to speak through my tired breaths. Progress was progress, even if it felt like dying.

That evening, I checked my stats while soaking in a bath. The physical torture was paying off, slowly but measurably. My strength and constitution had inched upward, and my agility was growing faster than the rest. But intelligence remained my highest stat, boosted by the mental gymnastics of spell learning.

The next day, I could barely walk. My muscles had stiffened overnight into something resembling dried paste, and each step hurted horribly. Physical training was clearly out of the question.

Perfect day for more spell work.

I limped to the library, settling into the same chair I’d occupied when mastering Pulse. The book waited for me, its ancient binding creaking slightly as I opened it to the next spell.

Aegis.

The page contained another complex pattern, though the arrangement was different from Pulse. Where Pulse had been all about directing force outward in a concentrated burst, Aegis seemed designed to create a barrier, a shield of force that could deflect incoming attacks.

Useful, certainly. Potentially life saving.

And utterly pointless compared to what I really wanted. After all I was the supposed weapon, why would I learn shields?

I flipped to the next spell. Quickstep. The name alone sent a thrill through me. Movement. Speed. The ability to cross distance in an instant. If I could master this, my physical training would take on an entirely new dimension. Instead of just running laps, I could potentially flash across the training room in bursts of magical speed.

And in combat against Corruptors... the possibilities made my heart race.

Unlike Pulse’s single central pattern, Quickstep required three interconnected spheres of visualization. Each sphere contained its own internal geometry, its own rhythm and flow, and all three needed to harmonize perfectly while maintaining their distinct identities.

I stared at the page, already feeling the headache building behind my eyes. This was going to be significantly more difficult than Pulse.

But I’d killed a Corruptor king. I’d survived exile. I could learn a damn spell.

I settled deeper into the chair and began the now-familiar process of building the pattern in my mind, starting with the simplest elements of the first sphere. Hours passed as I constructed, deconstructed, and reconstructed the pattern, each attempt getting me slightly closer to understanding.

By evening, I had a fairly stable visualization of the first sphere, but adding elements to the second caused the whole construct to collapse immediately. My head throbbed with each failed attempt, and by the time I gave up for the night, even the thought of rebuilding the pattern made me wince.

’This is much harder than Pulse...’ I thought, tired and with a headache.