59. A New Realm

“Wow. Even though it’s daytime, I can see stars.”

Sprawled flat on the ground, Jang Miseon babbled nonsense.

Ten seconds. That was how long it had taken her to cross blades with Fafnir and go down.

— Your thinking can’t keep pace with your reflexes.

“Oh. Really?”

— During the spar with my master, you reacted first and only registered the attack afterward.

“That’s right. It felt like something came whipping in, so my body moved before my judgment did.”

— Don’t just swing on instinct. Control it with your will.

Ahhh.

At Fafnir’s advice, Jang Miseon let out an exclamation, as if she’d grasped something.

Remarkable that she doesn’t bristle at having pointers thrown at her.

‘I was amazed at her reaction speed. Fafnir saw something else entirely.’

The Eye of the War God was an S-grade ability that could read and analyze any martial art, any phenomenon, even mana itself. With a single glance, Fafnir had diagnosed Jang Miseon’s problem.

“Hunter Cheon Yujin. What Stellar Rank is that Mythical Beast of yours?”
“4th Rank.”
“Amazing. The Constellation he serves must really love him.”

That Yujin was priest-line had spread through the industry by word of mouth. No one could say which stellar field he belonged to or which Constellation he served, but the fact that he’d received Fafnir as a summoned beast had hardened into accepted truth.

‘As if a backwater goblin can do all that much.’

‘You think that’s something a person can just pull off on command?’

A Constellation and a human, bound as a single fate. Yujin was the sole worshipper and Saint of the Giant of Defiance, and the more standing and accomplishment he built up, the more Kronos, the one who had appointed him Saint, recovered his power.

Originally he had been the divine king who ruled the Titan race. Dethroned by Zeus, he’d been reduced to a Fallen Constellation lingering in the mortal plane; still, if he piled up merit as a Constellation, reclaiming his old prestige was no mere pipe dream.

‘Well, that part’s true.’

‘Building feats isn’t something you can do in a short span.’

He must have mentioned it before. The further one climbed toward a higher plateau, the more one had to construct a mental image of one’s own. How that image took shape differed by class group, but they all shared one thing in common: the difficulty of building it came down to how firm one’s soul was and how much merit one had accumulated.

‘You’d need at least the 7th Rank before you can even start talking about standing.’

Which meant that, for now, Kronos could hardly wield his power properly as a Constellation. In other words, he could quit the nagging and start handing over usable holy spells, fast.

‘I’ve got plenty on my mind, so cut out the grumbling.’

Right now, though, a matter more pressing than holy spells sat in front of him: the sensation he’d felt in that spar a moment ago.

‘I didn’t react consciously.’

The instant Jang Miseon poured acceleration into her charge and closed the gap in a blink, he had caught only that silhouette and thought danger. His body had reacted before his eyes ever confirmed the angle of the blade.

— You feel it?

“Just a little. I don’t really get how it happened.”

— What I’ll tell my master is the opposite.

Fafnir pointed at Jang Miseon, sprawled on the ground.

— Don’t overthink it. Leave it to instinct.

“Instinct, huh.”

— My master always observes a situation coolly and judges. That’s why his body grows sluggish.

“It’s not as if Martial-line Hunters charge straight ahead like wild boars.”

— That’s a bit different.

“It doesn’t quite click for me.”

Fafnir laughed low, hoo-hoo.

— Don’t worry. I’ll make absolutely certain you understand what it feels like to move on instinct.

“Somehow that makes me uneasy, Master Fafnir.”

— Hey, you on the ground.

“Yes, Mythical Beast?”

— Spar with my master, and I’ll take you on as much as you like.

Now hold on a second.

I’m your master — why are you deciding things on your own?

— If you don’t like it, go find some other undead to spar with.

Goddammit.

Yujin fought to keep the curse from spilling out of his throat.

Huff, haah.

Drenched as if he’d showered in his own sweat, Yujin heaved out ragged breaths.

“You, son of a…”
“Cough. You’re not cursing at me, are you?”
“Hooo. Damn it, I’m cursing at my, summoned beast.”

The sun had vanished beyond the horizon. From morning until now, they’d sparred with only the barest of rests.

— You’ve both gotten a little usable.

“Sh*t.”

— I’ll take that as high praise.

Ugh, ugh.

If not for what he had to wring out of Jang Miseon, he’d never have put himself through this either.

‘Get lost. I’m exhausted.’

‘Has a backwater goblin ever trained until he sweated?’

For crying out loud. A god from the very moment of birth, was he?

’…I did improve a bit.’

There had been something to gain, all the same. He’d gotten a faint feel for what Fafnir meant by moving on ‘instinct,’ by surrendering to the flow rather than controlling everything.

‘It’s the exact opposite of magic.’

Necromancy was a form of magic too: a branch of mana, the control of spirit-energy and the power of the negative dimension, twisting the rules and providence of this world to bend the dead to one’s command.

‘Right. Impressive that your head turns that way.’

‘Sure. Backwater goblin, sir.’

The magic line excluded the unconscious. The Martial line, by contrast, demanded the integration of the unconscious and the conscious. To reconcile the two was like drawing a triangle with one hand while drawing a square with the other, both at the same time.

‘Still, isn’t it worth a shot?’

‘Because someone who’s already pulled it off is standing right in front of me.’

Yujin’s gaze drifted to Fafnir. He had begun as a Skeleton Knight and climbed all the way to Death Knight, and he hadn’t stopped there: chasing the very summit of the martial way, he’d surpassed even a Doom Knight to reach the 9th Rank.

‘If you could hit 9th Rank on a trait alone, then what am I?’

Clear Mind? A decent enough trait in its own right, but by the Hunter Association’s standard it fell short of S-grade. The same went for the Mirror Hunters, the Kang siblings who’d built their name as mercenaries.

‘A unique trait may be a measure of talent, but it isn’t absolute.’

There was no need to become a martial master on Fafnir’s level. Just enough to protect himself would do.

— That time you concentrated spirit-energy in your eyes. Do you remember?

“You mean back in the borderlands.”

The time I used the Spirit-Eye as a shortcut to find a spirit vein.

— Loading intent onto mana is the first step toward aura.

“You said it back then, too. That it was just a cheap trick.”

— Hoo-hoo. Is that really so?

Fafnir extended a hand to Yujin, who was still lying down.

“What. I’m worn out.”

— Now’s just right. Your senses have sharpened.

What’s he trying to make me do.

Grumbling inwardly, Yujin took Fafnir’s hand and got up.

— Draw up the spirit-energy like you did before.

“Into my eyes?”

— No. Into the spear you’re holding.

Without much thought, Yujin breathed spirit-energy into the bone spear as told. A whitish energy shimmered along the shaft.

“See. Nothing’s happening.”

In that instant, a monstrous bloodlust surged up off Fafnir, and a fist the size of a pot-lid swallowed Yujin’s entire field of vision.

He didn’t even have time to wonder what the hell Fafnir was doing. A killing intent fierce enough to lift every fine hair on his body, that huge fist looming before his eyes; the senses he’d honed razor-sharp sparring with Jang Miseon moved his body on instinct.

— Vwoom!

His spirit answered the bloodlust. The spirit-energy he’d breathed into the shaft with intent and the Verdian-Style Basic Spearmanship he unfurled on instinct all converged at once, and the moment mind, energy, and body fused as one, the spirit-energy steeping the spear stained pitch-black.

“That’s aura?!”

A scream burst from Jang Miseon’s mouth. Only belatedly did Yujin look straight at the black current coiling around the shaft.

“This is…”

— It’s proof that the flow of mana, the will, and the body have achieved Unison.

“Aura — no. Dark Fighting-Aura, is it?”

— Hoo-hoo-hoo. To be precise, it’s a level that merely imitates it.

Fafnir’s words were exact. Even though Yujin, who hadn’t yet reached the 4th Rank, had achieved the unity of mind, energy, and body, he couldn’t raise a proper Dark Fighting-Aura. What he’d managed fell short of even a third of the real thing.

“Hold on. The spirit-energy drain on this is enormous.”

Yujin was aghast. In the blink of an eye, nearly half his spirit-power reserves had drained away, the toll for coveting a plateau he hadn’t yet earned the right to stand on.

— Still, you’ve got a bit of a feel for it now, haven’t you?

“Damnably grateful.”

Even as he spat the curse, the corners of his mouth twitched up.

Good lord. Dark Fighting-Aura. Aura, no less.

‘I couldn’t do it again if you told me to, but this is something.’

Just glimpsing the possibility was enough.

Right as Yujin drew the spirit-energy back out of the bone spear.

“Fellow partner. Is the spar over now?”

A grating, high-pitched timbre drifted into his ear.

“It sounds like you’re telling me to keep going.”
“Not at all. Surely you don’t think I’d enjoy watching you roll around on the ground, partner.”

This alchemist, honestly. Saying that with a hand clapped over his mouth wasn’t going to convince anybody.

“You said you don’t care about other people struggling, so why’d you come out?”
“Because the Arahan Guild dropped off a whole heap of scrap iron.”

The delivery had come faster than expected. He’d probably nursed a bit of a grudge over the clearing business, but on something like this he never held back.

“If you’ve got a low-grade potion, hand one over.”
“It won’t do anything for bruises or shock soaked into the bone, though.”
“I’ll use it in a different way.”

Yujin hauled himself up with effort and snatched the potion. His arms and legs ached, and a cold, prickling sensation crawled through his abdomen; left alone, it would settle into a chronic ailment.

— Pop!

As he tipped the low-grade potion down his throat, condensed vitality flowed into his body. Yujin laid a hand over his chest and concentrated his holy power.

He stripped away the restorative energy that had just reached his stomach and banked it in his dantian, the very thing he’d done over and over while building the Black Obelisk.

— Saaa-ak!

He converted the stockpiled life force back into recuperative power once more and breathed it through his whole body.

“Wha— hold on. You drank a low-grade potion, so why are the bruises vanishing?”
“I told you there’s a method.”

Breathing came a great deal easier now. While he was at it, Yujin turned Life Drain on Jang Miseon, sprawled out beside him.

“What you just used. That was a low-grade healing spell, right?”
“Probably.”
“It seems to work even better than the guild support team’s Sis.”

— Tat!

Kicking off the ground, Jang Miseon sprang up and whirled her arms around. Fafnir had pounded her like meat for the mincing, yet she barely felt any pain.

“Want to clear a gate together sometime later?”
“No thanks. Off you go.”
“We should spar.”
“No time to play. Work’s come in.”

The Lump of Iron Steeped in Obsession, sent over by the Arahan Guild. To a blacksmith or an alchemist it was nothing more than a useless heap of scrap.

‘To me it’s as precious as blood-stone.’

Heh-heh-heh. Yujin grinned as he looked at Shin Junseok.

“Wh-what is it. You’re giving me a bad feeling.”
“Lend me a hand for a bit.”
“What kind of job are you trying to rope me into now.”
“The scrap Arahan delivered. You’re curious what I’ll use it for, aren’t you.”

Shin Junseok’s pupils wavered left and right.

“If you don’t want to, don’t.”
“It’s not that I don’t, but… still, kind of…”
“I’m going.”

The moment Yujin took a step without a shred of hesitation, Shin Junseok came scrambling after him.

— He left.

“He did.”

— What’ll you do now?

“If you don’t mind, go one more round with me.”

— Well, my master never said not to.

Fafnir laughed merrily.

A mountain of scrap iron rose in one corner of the workshop, the spoils of a gate clear the Arahan Guild had hauled over.

“Twenty tons. That’ll last years.”
“Aside from giving off a faint chill, there was nothing special about it, though.”
“So you had time to analyze it before calling me?”

Ahem.

After snickering at Shin Junseok’s throat-clearing, Yujin picked up a piece of scrap.

“You ever heard of spirit-iron?”
“It’s the mineral you need to craft an ego-artifact.”
“The stage before that is this scrap right here.”

Spirit-iron: iron with a ghost soaked into it, exactly as the name said, a mineral a soul had taken for its own home. Its defining trait was that it bonded readily even when a different soul was breathed into it.

“Spirit-iron is insanely expensive!”
“I told you. It’s the stage before spirit-iron.”

Only the resentment a departed spirit exhaled had soaked into it; the Lump of Iron Steeped in Obsession didn’t yet measure up to a vessel capable of holding a soul.

“If it had been aged longer, maybe.”
“Then age it now, why don’t you.”
“Can’t. It only happens on a battlefield where at least several thousand have died.”

The only places spirit-iron ever turned up were the historic sites of ferocious old battles, or gates. Recreating that condition artificially was absurdly finicky.

“The efficiency on that is unbelievably, unbelievably bad. Let’s just call it impossible.”
“And here I got my hopes up.”
“You make plenty cloning money with potions already.”
“I’m saying it because I need more things to research.”
“This scrap can’t be used in alchemy, so drop the interest.”

Shin Junseok gazed at the Lump of Iron Steeped in Obsession with eyes full of longing.

Back in his Grand Alchemist days, Junseok had looked into this very thing himself, and given it up. No matter how greedy he got now, he’d only end up hurting himself.

‘He’s not the sort to listen even if I warn him off.’

Yujin let out a soft snort, then gripped a piece of scrap in his hand.