Excerpt 16

  (Page 54, Section 2)

  Compared to the first awakening of the flesh, the second ascent reaches even deeper — extending its touch to the very seat of thought itself. For the brain, too, is forged from living matter, and it is only fitting that it should rise as the body rises. Though much of this primordial evolution bends toward greater mastery over the flesh, it grants more still: the sharpening of the mind, the quickening of the spirit, the swiftness of thought and reflex.

  What use is a knight’s blade if his mind lags behind, dulled and slow, while his body surges ahead with the might of giants?

  When the second breakthrough strikes, the mind breaks free from some of its mortal chains, unlocking wells of potential once thought sealed by the hand of creation itself. Even the sorcerers and high mages, masters of spell and spirit, are said to envy this stage of ascension. Yet how rare it is to tread so far—how few endure the trials. Most, shackled to their tomes and trembling before the specter of pain, turn back before the path's true end.

  Source: Limitbreaking: Ascension of Blade and Mind – Knight-Scholar Yestive

  Excerpt 16 End

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  Exiting System Training Space

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  When Hassan exited the system space, he thought the worst was behind him—that even the gnawing hunger would vanish. Foolish hope.

  Without warning, a familiar surge of electric fire coursed through his veins, and his limbs betrayed him.

  No. Not again!

  First his body stiffened, then it expanded—muscles straining, bones shifting—until the shock reached his brain and darkness swallowed him whole.

  #####

  He awoke to a clawing, raw hunger, like a beast gnashing at his insides. Blinking rapidly, he saw the familiar form of the caregiver crouched nearby, their stance stiff with concern—or perhaps dread. But Hassan had no time to think; instinct drove him to search for food, frantic and half-mad.

  Before he could even move, the caregiver shoved something coarse and hot into his mouth—grass, stewed roots, something heavy and rich.

  He ate without thought, tasting only survival. Somewhere in the blur, Hassan noticed the caregiver's steady rhythm: feeding him with practiced efficiency, without hesitation, as if they had been waiting for this very moment.

  This must happen a lot to the zamongarai children, he reasoned between desperate mouthfuls. Otherwise, there is no way they would prepare so sufficiently.

  The meal stopped, but the hunger raged on—a phantom ache gnawed at him from within. He clenched his fists against the sensation, knowing it was the body’s illusion, not true need. Minutes dragged on. Slowly, painfully, the hollow inside him began to ease, and a warmth spread through his limbs.

  And then—hunger again.

  The caregiver, without a word, resumed feeding him. Again and again the cycle repeated—three more rounds of famished need, food, and aching fullness—until his muscles tightened under his skin, dense and springy like coiled steel.

  Looking down, Hassan barely recognized himself. His frame had thickened, sculpted into sleek lines of power. He looked more than he had ever been, even compared to his old human body. Bigger. Sharper. Stronger. His sheer size had nearly doubled from before.

  A prickling sensation crawled up his neck.

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  He was being watched.

  Slowly, Hassan turned. The caregiver stood near the tent flap their expression shadowed. Sadness flickered across their features—then hardened into something grim and resolute.

  This isn’t good, Hassan thought, throat dry.

  Before he could so much as blink, the caregiver was moving, wrapping him in a heavy cloak of animal pelts and hoisting him up. Hassan didn’t resist. Even if he wanted to, he knew the futility of it.

  The tent flap opened with a rush of icy air, and they stepped into the frozen world outside.

  The cold bit through the seams of the hide as they trudged through the town, past scattered fires and tents sagging under the weight of snow.

  After what felt like five long minutes, the caregiver veered off toward a smaller, humbler tent tucked near the town’s edge—strange patterns of bone, hide, and beadwork swaying at its entrance, rattling softly like distant whispers.

  They stopped. The caregiver called out in a low voice.

  A moment later, an answering voice, rough and cracked, invited them in.

  The interior of the tent was a dense forest of scent. Herbs—hundreds of them—hung in bundles from the poles and littered the floor. Strange roots dried on woven mats. Pungent smoke curled from a low fire at the center, thick and heavy enough to cling to Hassan’s tongue.

  At the heart of it all knelt an elder zamongarai, hunched over a simmering clay pot. Their fur hung in wild, heavy mats, long enough to brush the floor. What little skin showed was lined and sagging, the color of old parchment. Their eyes, though—those eyes shimmered with unsettling hues, like fractured prisms.

  The old zamongarai dropped one final herb into the pot before straightening, their gaze sharp and knowing.

  A few clipped words passed between the caregiver and the elder. Hassan stood silent, cold sweat gathering at his temples. His mind raced—another soul reading? But this place didn’t feel the same. It felt... older. Wilder. Witch-doctor, some part of him thought. Healer.

  The old zamongarai finally turned their gaze to him, pupils narrowing. Disbelief flickered across their face, a look Hassan didn’t like at all. A low, urgent exchange followed, growing louder by the second.

  Then the elder raised a hand and began to chant.

  A ripple of unseen force burst from their palm, striking Hassan squarely in the chest. He gasped as a foreign energy slithered into him, tendrils branching out from the point of impact. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but a strange invasive pressure, as if invisible fingers were searching, grasping, pulling through his muscles, his blood, his bones.

  The energy swept through him methodically, probing every corner of his body—then, all at once, it surged upward toward his brain.

  Panic flared. Get out! Hassan thought, desperate. Who knows what it’ll find! He tried to will it away, to force it out, but there was nothing he could do. His body betrayed him.

  The presence reached his brain and paused, hovering there like a predator choosing its prey. It drifted slowly, examining, sifting through the depths of his mind.

  Then—like a snare snapping shut—it seized something within him.

  Whatever it wanted, it had found.

  With agonizing slowness, the energy began to withdraw, threading its way back the way it had come. Hassan shivered as he felt it pull free from his skull, then his chest—until finally, the beam of light left his body entirely and returned to the old zamongarai’s outstretched palm.

  When the beam returned to the old zamongarai's hand, it wasn’t the pure green it had been before. Now it shimmered with red and blue as well.

  Hassan sagged, feeling an alarming hollowness—both in body and mind. His limbs trembled. His thoughts slowed. Only stubborn will kept him standing.

  The old zamongarai peered into the glowing mass cradled in their palm. Minutes crawled by. The light faded.

  A tremor ran through the elder’s body, their mouth falling open. Disbelief—then wild, jubilant ecstasy. The elder’s voice cracked, high and raw, as their entire frame shook with emotion, tears cutting clean tracks through the grime of their face.

  What in the world is happening...

  The caregiver looked just as disturbed, frozen in place. Slowly, carefully, they lifted Hassan, clutching him and the hide close. They edged toward the exit.

  But the old zamongarai barked a sharp command, stopping them mid-step. Hassan caught only one word amid the torrent of foreign speech: good.

  Another exchange followed. Then, with a surprising gentleness, the old zamongarai approached. They crushed Hassan against their wiry chest, the smell of bitter herbs clinging to their fur, murmuring something in a voice thick with emotion.

  Relief swept over him, a tide too strong to resist. No more soul readings. No more pain.

  Darkness claimed him once again.

  #####

  Hassan woke to the dull pounding of a headache and the faint, familiar scent of the caregiver’s tent surrounding him.

  He lay still for a moment, piecing together fragments of memory. The strange tent. The elder. The light.

  Whatever had happened, he was alive. He was safe.

  For now.

  A flicker of excitement stirred through the lingering exhaustion. He hadn’t yet checked his panel.

  Time to see what changed.

  #####

  Name: None

  Race: Zamongarai

  Age: 86 days

  Tier: 0

  Attributes:

  Physique: 4.06 → 6.73

  Mind: 12.88 → 13.75

  Soul: 12.26 → 13.01

  Talents:

  Human Intelligence (Rank 3: 41% → 45%) – Expand

  Human Soul (Rank 3: 34% → 38%) – Expand

  Zamongarai’s Physique (Rank 1: 99% → Rank 2: 5%) – Expand

  Zamongarai’s Sense (Rank 2: 87% → 92%) – Expand

  Zamongarai’s Soul (Rank 1: 99% → Rank 2: 1%) – Expand

  Vessel Control (Rank Unknown) – Expand

  Skills: Physique Manual (Basic: 30% → 33%), Mind Manual (Basic: 42% → 43%), Soul Manual (Basic: 38% → 40%), Tracking Manual (Basic: 18% → 21%)

  System Training Space – Time remaining until reset: 7 hours, 41 minutes, 54 seconds – Current Mode: Tutorial

  #####