While Vir didn’t have to worry about mental attacks, Cirayus had drilled into him the irreparable harm he’d incur by sustaining even a single Warrior Chakra-laden attack. Recently, a worryingly increasing number of enemies they encountered possessed them.
Vir glanced up to the battle in the sky. Thus far, they hadn’t encountered a Wyrm who’d unlocked the Warrior Chakra—Vir suspected the more ancient, more powerful Wyrms lurking even deeper in the Ash would. Or perhaps exclusively within the Mahādi Realm. If they did come across one, there was little hope of survival, even with their Automaton. Even with Cirayus, who fought exclusively against chakra-wielding enemies these days.
Vir had gotten the fight he’d asked for, what now seemed like ages ago. He’d fought Cirayus. He’d lost, and it wasn’t a loss he could even be proud of. It wasn’t a close battle, where Cirayus had pulled through by the skin of his teeth. No, it was only when Vir lost consciousness, not even thirty seconds into the fight, that he realized Cirayus had never shown his full strength. Not until that day.
Balar 700 was a lie, borne of the Human Realm’s deficiencies, and of Cirayus’ desire to hide his true strength. The demon was easily in the multiple thousands with his chakras, his half dozen tattoos, and his incomprehensible battle experience.
Days later, they’d fought again, and again Vir had lost. He should’ve known then that it’d become a trend. Not a week went by without them dueling, and each time the outcome was the same.
Vir never stood a chance. Cirayus continually switched his tactics and styles, so Vir felt like he was fighting a brand new opponent each week. He hadn’t even known this many styles existed, yet Cirayus had mastered them all.
The demon insisted there was no secret to it. Just that every few years, he’d spend a few months learning a new style. When repeated across centuries, Cirayus was the inevitable result.
He had no weak spots. No deficiencies. His form was perfect, and while Vir beat him in raw speed, it didn’t matter. The demon had a sixth sense built up from the thousands of battles he’d fought. He’d seen every trick in the book, and even without the Third Eye Chakra, he predicted Vir’s movements perfectly, as if guided by an invisible ability.
It was infuriating. And yet, despite that, Vir improved. He improved something far more precious than merely combat prowess—he improved his adaptability. Vir had now experienced such a vast array of fighting styles, he doubted there were many demons alive who could surprise him. Let alone best him.
His technique had been refined and honed to the absolute limit—every minute error beaten out of him. Perfected. His battlefield Awareness, experience, and survivability had multiplied. Not only on account of the thousands of Ash Beasts he’d defeated, but from Cirayus’ tutelage and their innumerable duels.
It didn’t stop there. Vir was now equally as proficient with talwars, spears, and even greatswords as he was with his katar. While he’d trained in all before, he’d only had basic familiarity. Now, he’d grown so adept that it had become difficult to discern which weapon was best suited for certain enemies—Vir wiped the floor with them with equal ease, regardless of the tool in his hands.
Furthermore, the moment he’d mastered a weapon, Cirayus made him switch hands and fight left-handed until he’d mastered that, too.
It was why they’d begun counting the kills per minute. It mattered little against individual Ash Beasts, but against mobs, certain weapons fared better. The greater reach of the greatsword and spear allowed them to shine in crowd control situations, while Vir’s katar still reigned when inflicting lethal pinpoint stabs targeting prana centers.
Even so, more than Vir’s strength gains, it was his skill at exploiting his enemies’ weaknesses that had grown the most. His prana capacity, while greater than before, hadn’t undergone nearly as much progress as it initially did in the Mahādi Realm. A year ago, he’d boasted a prana capacity a hundred times that when he’d entered the realm. Now, it was half again as much.
A hundred fifty times his initial capacity—which was by no means small—was nothing to scoff at. He could now power all of his Talents at least a handful of times, and several of the more efficient ones—like his Prana Darts, claws, and basic mobility Talents—dozens of times.
Even in the Voidlands, Vir was confident he could get through any single battle with his current reserves. A feat he suspected few could boast. And with Prana Current more efficient than it had ever been, he didn’t need much ambient prana at all. That would give him an edge, even in the prana-deficient Demon Realm.
It wasn’t all smooth sailing, however. What irked him the most was his progress—or lack thereof—with chakras. It was the one dimension where nothing hindered his progress other than his own mind, and after one year, he’d remained firmly stuck. Beating his head against an invisible wall. It wasn’t that he couldn’t use it, just that his ability to call on the chakra to stabilize his mind was rudimentary at best.
Worse—Cirayus was just as puzzled. The giant had never seen anyone struggle this much with their Foundation Chakra—said to be the easiest of them all to open. Even with Cirayus aiding and accelerating his progress, they’d met with no luck.
Finally, they’d both concluded that Vir must be unique somehow. That there was some key they were missing.
It was a bitter end to his time in the Ash, now nearly over.
Over the past year, they’d followed the guidance Artifact. Deeper and deeper into the Ashen Realm. For the longest time, Vir wondered just how the realm could be so vast until he learned the startling truth. The realm was repeating itself.
Not that they saw the same locations they’d previously passed. Not exactly. But mountain ranges they’d crossed would reappear with slight differences. Their arrangements to forests and streams would be identical, allowing Vir and Cirayus to easily locate food and water wherever they went.
The realm was broken in ways that were difficult to understand. It twisted all the rules Vir understood about reality.
Sensing movement in his peripheral vision, Vir swung his greatsword in an arc, deflecting a projectile behind him. The way the blade clanged and deflected told him what type of enemy it was even before Prana Vision showed him.
Phantomblade.
Long ago, he’d been forced to attack their underbellies. No longer. All Phantomblades had soft necks and vulnerable heads. Just that most enemies wouldn’t dare get close enough for it to matter.
Vir wasn’t most enemies.
He lightly pushed back on his toes, Blinking blindly backward with Haste active. The Phantomblade let loose a torrent of its obsidian scales, but Vir expected as much.
By synergizing Haste with Prana Current and pushing it to its limit, he leveraged the steps he’d practiced tens of thousands of times, moving the slightest amount to dodge each projectile, while predicting the trajectories of those yet to fire.
Vir didn’t duck, bob, or weave. Those were the movements of amateurs. He simply walked, moving the barest amount to dodge each spike with barely an inch to spare. Micro Leap aided his motions, jerking him imperceptibly in one direction after another, and soon, Vir was at the Ash Beast.
Placing a hand on its head, he pulled, sucking the prana out of it, absorbing it into his own body.
Then, using its very own life energy, he surged it back into the beast. Its brain, unable to bear the concentrated deluge of prana, burst. The beast collapsed, dead.