"Hmm... I will be in a trance now... how many days will pass, I wonder... heh."
The sun had fully risen, casting long shadows across the desolate landscape where Cale stood motionless.
His dark silhouette cut a sharp contrast against the vast, ink-washed mountains surrounding him. But those mountains weren't truly painted in ink—it was his perception reshaping reality, his sword intent sprawling outward in all directions like an artist's brush stroke across reality itself.
A heavy, suffocating pressure radiated from his very being, so intense that the entire painted world seemed to tremble in response. The air itself grew thick with anticipation, as if the universe was holding its breath.
He gazed out at the endless peaks,
"By the memories, there are the basic sword moves which create everything."
With a sudden burst of immense power, he moved.
"Thrust."
