Myriad Devils-Chapter 138: Perseverance

Anon rested on his back and stared at the drifting rocks littering the skies. As he replayed, in his mind, the scenes of Seth displaying those basic techniques, he found himself at a loss.

Tch.

He released a soft groan and rose to his feet.

Gripping the spear in his hand tightly, he entered the basic stance before beginning to repeat the basic techniques over and over.

One by one, he continuously rehearsed those basic techniques whilst he constantly thought back to Seth’s movements.

From Seth’s stance to his thrust, and his seamless transition to sweeping the imaginary figure, and then to parrying...

Anon attempted to match not just his movements, but also the seamless transition between each basic technique that Seth had used.

Every time he completed the set of basic techniques, Anon could actively tell that his control over his own movements were becoming more refined, and his transition between techniques was becoming more seamless.

In fact, it was much easier than he thought it would be to achieve.

One hour became two, and two transformed into three. Before he knew it, several hours had passed, and day had turned to night.

At night, the drifting rock that the duo were on was incredibly dark.

The light from the skies that filtered through the spaces between the innumerable number of drifting rocks littering the skies was simply too little.

And yet, in this darkness, there was a trail of faintly glowing dark gold particles that drifted across the drifting rock’s landscape in utter silence.

Anon parried imaginary swords as he seamlessly transitioned from one technique to another.

He sometimes parried, sometimes thrusted, and sometimes swept his imaginary opponents off the ground. At other instances, his spear snapped forward unsuspectingly, whilst other times, he released relentless barrages of jabs with it.

Finally, the tip of his spear would meet with the imaginary sword and then, Anon would spin the spear in a circular motion before thrusting.

Trickling down his face was a singular bead of sweat.

From his chin, it fell to the ground, shimmering under the care of the faint dark gold particles permeating the air.

When it landed on the ground, Anon’s spear came to an abrupt halt in the air.

Sigh...

He released a breath of turbid air.

He was still in the process of thrusting his spear towards the air in front of him, seemingly stuck in time.

And then, cracks began forming on the spear in his hand.

It broke apart before his eyes, fragmenting into small pieces that transformed into mysterious characters which swiftly embedded themselves onto his right palm, and the back of his right hand.

"I’ve achieved the stage of seamlessly transitioning from one basic technique to another. Between Seth’s transitioning, and mines, there is no difference. This is the pinnacle, and there can be no difference between two pinnacles." Anon nodded his head.

For example, the case of Anon and Seth.

If they had both perfected the staff, and there were no flaws in either of their arts, then there was no separation between their art either.

To acquire the edge, these arts could not be of the same craft.

To see the birth of a winner in the same craft, there must be one who is nearer to perfection, hence, neither could reach perfection. The separation between these two may not need to be stark, but it must exist to see an eventual winner.

A difference was of utmost importance, and their was no greater difference than one between two people of differing crafts. Even if they were both people to have reached perfection in these crafts.

"But is this truly a pinnacle?" Anon shook his head.

To achieve perfection, the craft in and of itself also needed to have no imperfections.

Such a set of basic techniques were naturally not like this.

Having achieved the heights that he had, Anon understood this much.

"Only now can I see it properly. To see the core... What Seth meant." He smiled meaningfully, but his face was cloaked in darkness.

Although Anon and Seth may have grown since the last time they had checked their height, there was still a noticeable difference of a head or more between them.

Being taller, with a body that was larger in frame than Seth’s, the movements between Anon and Seth naturally could not be the same.

Although, to the eye, they both seemed to have grasped a high mastery over the basic technique, and though Anon and Seth perfectly replicated each other’s movements, to the point that the distance between each footstep was exactly the same, this, in and of itself, was the problem.

Even if he did not feel anything particularly wrong, the strength of his attacks had not reached their limits.

Simply put, if walking was the basic technique in question, and Seth’s strides were each exactly twelve inches between the other, then Anon’s stride were similarly twelve inches between each other.

But Anon was not only taller, his legs were naturally longer too.

What he derived from such a stride would naturally differ from what Seth derived. While this suited Seth, it did not suit Anon as well.

Even if he had grown accustomed to walking like this, it was possible that a distance of thirteen inches would be more suitable, allowing for him to walk even more efficiently than he already did.

This was the case.

Anon was taller, and so, had a larger frame, but even more importantly, he also had physical strength which was greater than Seth’s.

Reaching his current stage, although he had mastered it to the point that a simple forward thrust carried the essence of the basic technique, he could tell that he had not made this basic technique suitable to himself, and room for growth beyond this peak that he had arrived at, was possible!

"Knowing these subtle imperfections, and altering them to suit is part of the evolution of my spear. And yet, I get the feeling that this is not all that Seth is referring to?" Anon mused out loud.

This was already hard enough as it was, at least, by himself.

The difficulty of correcting these imperfections would’ve been alleviated greatly if he had an instructor with true mastery level attainments in the craft of the spear.

An instructor who claimed to have attainments beyond even true mastery was rather close to him, but said instructor was struggling with a spirit that had faced injury.

’Besides Seth, there is no other feasible instructor, or human for that matter, in the surrounding hundred, thousand, ten thousand or even hundred thousand mile radius.’ Anon sighed internally.

To his knowledge, besides the Victorious Fighting Army that slowly expanded the territory of the Lasting Lands, there were no other humans daring enough to venture into the the Lasting Lands.

As for which direction led to the Lasting Lands, and where exactly the drifting rock terrain was within the Lost Lands, Anon did not know.

Seth too, probably did not know.

Anon kissed his teeth and cursed under his breath.

Time passed.

There was no other choice. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Whilst Seth recovered, Anon had no choice but to train like a mindless robot. Seth was strong enough to have the luxury of spending time recovering.

And though the azure plums might be capable of shortening this time frame, because time itself was not of high necessity, it made no sense to waste the little azure plums they currently had, to merely shorten the time of Seth’s recovery.

On the other hand, Anon’s injury to his spirit was sever to the point that it caused his cultivation base to plummet. Such an injury, firstly, could not be healed by the azure plums, and secondly, would simply take too long to recover.

Though time was not of high necessity, it also made no sense to wait for Anon’s spirit to fully recover. After all, neither Seth, nor Anon, knew how long it would take.

Though the speed of recovery of the spirit varies from person to person, for Anon’s injuries to naturally heal, it may very well take years, or even decades.

Evidently, Anon needed to find another way to strengthen himself.

He did not plan to wait so long.

If anything, he would become strong enough to forcefully heal his soul.

And such a thing was possible.

In this world, going against the natural order was possible once one had enough power.

In this world, if something was possible, no matter how small the possibility, it was damn possible.

In this world, if something was an impossibility, then that thing was only impossible due to a lack of creativity and imagination.

Once something can be imagined, it can be manifested, becoming a possibility!

Anon continued to train relentlessly with the spear.

If Seth’s movements saw his right foot stride out seven inches forward, Anon would alter his own slightly, stepping out seven and a half, or quarter, or even a smaller change.

Similarly, if Seth’s thrust saw him tilt the spear forty degrees, Anon tilted it to the forty-first degree, the forty-second, or the thirty-ninth, and so on.

It was a long, drawn out process of trial and error.

And over the course of this process, he sometimes increased the power of his technique by a fraction, but on more occasions than not, saw the power plummet significantly!

He sometimes lost his balance and stumbled forward or back, and sometimes, he lost his bearings and fell onto his buttocks, or crashed into the earth face first.

At times, as he transitioned between techniques, the spear might even graze his skin, or his grip might slip from the shaft and result in the spear cutting him...

However, in the many ups and downs, what remained untouched was a ferocious perseverance that was akin to an undying flame in the depths of his eyes.

Persevere so that he may evolve this technique.

Persevere so that he may evolve his strength.

Persevere so that he may arrive at the end of his path!

Persevere so that he may fulfill his deepest desires!

Seconds were nonexistent, and minutes were elusive.

Hours were illusory, and so days became a figment of imagination.

Seth remained seated for a great time.

His pale face was covered by a layer of dust that had been built up, and his tattered clothing revealed his chest which did not expand nor retract, as if he was not breathing.

Akin to a statue, he remained so.

Suddenly, his black hair rustled gently due to the flow of wind, and his eyelashes trembled.

His sclera was not white, but instead darker than the depths of the deepest abyss. Therein, his blood red orbs released a slaughterous aura into the world.

Faint sounds of demonic laughter traversed the winds, echoing into the horizon.