Lying there on the ground, I held perfectly still, my gaze fixed on the sky above. The ordeal I had just faced left my body battered; bones were cracked, and some even broken. Miraculously, the injuries seemed less dire than I had feared.
My body was putting on an astonishing display of resilience, healing at an almost unbelievable pace.
I knew it was the result of my unwavering commitment to practicing the fourth move of the supreme combat exercise. Just half an hour's time, I estimated, and most of my injuries would be on the mend.
The condition was simple: continue honing the fourth move, and my body would respond with rapid healing. That was the power of this technique.
I hadn't ceased my training even after vanquishing the formidable bulls. Deep down, I understood that letting go of the practice could mean losing access to the elusive fourth move forever.
So there I was, determinedly pushing forward despite the excruciating pain that still clung to my body.
Summoning all my strength, I somehow managed to prop myself up into a seated position. With careful movements, I retrieved a vial of confusion potion from my pocket. The battle had drained me of most of my magical energy, leaving me perilously low.
The cool liquid slid down my throat, its effects almost immediate, a faint tingle signaling the restoration of my confusion.
As the potion's magic worked its way through me, I summoned the fortitude to rise to my feet. Agony surged through every inch of my body with each step, but compared to the torment endured during my training, this pain was bearable.
One thought resonated strongly in my mind: procuring a healing potion. The last time this opportunity presented itself, I hesitated due to other pressing needs for my limited funds.
But this time, I vowed, things would be different. Before venturing out to confront the challenges of the hunt again, I would ensure that a healing potion was in my possession.
With renewed determination, I accepted the ache in my body and set my sights on the path ahead. The trials I'd faced had shown me the value of preparation and self-care, and I was resolute in my commitment to emerge even stronger from whatever lay ahead.
Though the bleeding had finally ceased, caution prevailed, prompting me to keep the bandages snugly wrapped around my wounds.
Every step was a reminder that pushing too hard could result in torn flesh and renewed bleeding. I couldn't afford to let that happen. It was a delicate balance between my eagerness to move and the need to let my body mend.
Sometimes, as I lay still, I couldn't help but contemplate the intentions of the creator of the Supreme Combat Exercise.
Was the agony it induced intentional, designed to forge a resilience that could withstand any future pain? It was a thought that drifted through my mind, one of many distractions I had to battle as I focused on my healing.
Shaking off such musings, I willed my body to cooperate and started to move, each step a testament to my determination.
The path led me toward the fallen Balf bulls, the devils that had tested me to my limits. The pain they had inflicted, the broken bones and suffering, now seemed a fair price to pay, considering the rewards.
The promise of earnings awaited, a motivation to endure the discomfort. I knew that the proceeds from selling these three beasts would go a long way in making the torment seem bearable. A reminder that every pain had its purpose, every struggle its potential reward.
As I approached the lifeless Balf bulls, I set my mind to the task at hand. Cleaning, preserving, and packing the valuable parts of the creatures demanded my attention.
Not a single piece could be left behind; such was the importance of utilizing every resource these beasts offered.
In another circumstance, in another place, leaving behind bodies might have been a necessity. But not here, not now. Not when every contribution to my well-being mattered.
The memory of those rhinos I had vanquished in this very spot not too long ago lingered in my thoughts. If it had been that battle, under my current condition, I might have been forced to abandon the remains. But not today. The potential gain was too great to forfeit.
A sense of urgency gripped me as I contemplated the next step. Carrying the weight of these massive corpses, despite my body's exhaustion, was a trial in itself. But the burden was one I had to shoulder, a temporary strain for a long-term gain.
And the reward? The meat of the Balf bull, a culinary treasure. Just a couple of days prior, Johnsy and I had relished its exquisite taste, savoring the succulent beef. As I worked to gather and prepare the remains, that memory spurred me forward.
The discomfort, the weariness, it was all part of the journey. With my resolve hardened, I continued to labor, driven by the promise of not only survival but also the taste of success.
My backpack, bulging at the seams, dwarfed my own stature. A fleeting doubt crossed my mind – could I even hoist this burden? Thankfully, the backpack was designed with practicality in mind, equipped with wheels that would be my savior on the journey back.
The journey ahead required more than just physical strength; it demanded resourcefulness.
A determined "skee…" escaped my lips as I strained against the uneven terrain, my energy channeled into propelling the cumbersome luggage.
Each pull demanded my all, the wheels resisting the path's irregularities. Yet, my persistence overcame the resistance, and the wheels began to inch forward.
The sinking sun urged me to hasten my steps. Nightfall heralded a shift in the balance of danger. The once familiar landscape became a breeding ground for ominous creatures, unpredictable in their nature and threat level. There was no room for complacency.
Amid the effort and the encroaching darkness, memories surged forth. Just days prior, a conversation with my parents resonated in my thoughts.
A routine food delivery had triggered a phone call from my mother, her voice carrying a mixture of concern and reprimand. It was a quintessentially motherly reaction – to fret over my perceived extravagance in sending them sustenance.
Our conversation flowed, and within minutes, the truth was uncovered: my parents' belief that no one but me could have orchestrated the delivery.
The absence of close relatives had stirred their suspicion. The truth diffused the tension, but I was met with an earnest lecture on financial prudence.
Eventually, my secret found voice – a prestigious organization had welcomed me into its fold, accompanied by a substantial salary.
This revelation muted my mother's concerns. Amid the conversation, a longing took center stage – her desire for me to return home.
She tenderly advised that, should the opportunity arise, I should seize the chance to be with them. A promise exchanged, a future visit guaranteed.
Emotions stirred within me as the call continued. My mother's voice quivered, the strength of her emotions undeniable. Tears swelled in my eyes as I listened, a witness to her affection and longing.
Homesickness gnawed at me, and I found myself yearning for the familiar warmth of our house and the embrace of my loved ones.
The conversation persisted, extending into another hour. When at last my mother signaled the end, she extracted from me a vow – a commitment to call home every week. That promise was sealed, the lifeline connecting me to the lives I cherished.
As the wheels of my burdened backpack rolled on, my heart carried the weight of my family's love, a driving force amidst the trials of my journey.
Johnsy's swift and precise movements brought down the level 2 Personal devil that had dared to cross our path. My words of praise flowed easily, acknowledging her expertise in dispatching the threat.
While I possessed the capability to defeat such creatures with a single powerful sword strike, my attention was firmly fixed on a different endeavor – the weighty load of my backpack.
The journey was punctuated by encounters with numerous low-level devils, their presence barely causing a ripple of concern thanks to Johnsy's adept spellcasting. With a mere flicker of her focus, she would extinguish their threat in a burst of fire.
Surveying the aftermath of our battles, a realization struck me – a significant flaw in our approach. The golden fire that both Johnsy and I wielded held no sway against the might of professional-mark devils.
It served as a mere enhancement to my sword, offering a slight edge, while Johnsy's flames merely provoked annoyance.
Our predicament left us with a choice: harness the potential of skills, albeit in a limited capacity, or hone our fire abilities. The former required a financial investment that was beyond my means; the latter, though arduous, held promise.
The focus of our training lay in intensifying the concentration of our flames. Our current abilities were akin to novice summers, shaping fire into balls for offense. But the truth was stark: we needed to transcend this basic manipulation.
To transform a palm-sized fire into something as lethal as a fist-sized or even thumb-sized flame required more than just skill – it demanded dedication that spanned months, possibly years.
To achieve such mastery was a formidable challenge, one that extended beyond skill alone. Powerful psychic abilities were indispensable, channeling the force needed to compress the fire's energy.
But alongside this strength was the requirement of unwavering determination, a refusal to falter in the face of setbacks and slow progress.
As the wheels of my heavily laden backpack rolled on, I was acutely aware of the parallel between our training and my current journey. Both demanded perseverance, both held the promise of potent results.
With each step, my resolve grew stronger, fueled by the knowledge that the path to mastering our flames was fraught with difficulties but held the potential to change the tide of our battles.