As the night wore on, Marcellus found solace in the rhythm of his footsteps, in the unyielding perseverance that propelled him forward.
The road became his companion, an unwavering witness to his journey. Each passing league brought with it a sense of something he could not describe in words, and so, under the sombre blanket of rain, Marcellus pressed on.
The arduous trek began, two hours into the trek, and already his feet ached, aching with every heartbeat as if they were on the verge of giving up, but Marcel refused to succumb to the torment.
He repeated the mantra, "It'll be worth it," over and over again as if trying to convince himself of the truth in those words.
But the phrase became a cruel reminder, a relentless tumour in his mind that grew with each passing moment.
It gnawed at his resolve, feeding on his doubts and insecurities. Was it truly worth it? To abandon his family.
With each step, the burden became heavier, the doubts louder. The road stretched out before him, seemingly endless, as if mocking his resolve.
The once hopeful chant now echoed with a tinge of desperation. Will it truly be worth it? Can redemption be found at the end of this torturous path?
Exhaustion weighed heavily upon Marcellus's weary body as he trudged through the unforgiving terrain.
The distance to Lutton Marsh seemed insurmountable, and his aching muscles cried out for respite. With each step, his pace grew slower, and his eyelids drooped with the weight of fatigue. He knew he needed to find a place to rest, to regain his strength for the challenges ahead.
As luck would have it, nature offered him a temporary sanctuary—a natural cave nestled amidst the rugged landscape. Its entrance beckoned to him like a solemn refuge, offering shelter from the elements. Marcellus cautiously made his way into the cavern, his senses on high alert for any signs of danger.
Marcellus possessed a heightened wariness when it came to snakes. The mere thought of these slithering creatures unsettled him deeply. In fact, his aversion extended beyond snakes; he harboured a general dislike for any creature that crawled upon its belly.
Inside, the air was warm and dry, a stark contrast to the bellowing winds outside, crawling into the cave muffled the winds. The cave floor was littered with remnants of nature's presence—moss-covered stones and scattered twigs.
With a sigh of relief, Marcellus settled into a secluded corner of the cave.
He allowed his weary body to sink onto the cool ground, finding solace in the temporary respite from his arduous journey.
The silence enveloped him, broken only by the gentle echoes of his own breathing.
He woke up immediately as he fell asleep, A new day was here.
As his breathing steadied, Marcellus's mind wandered back to the Harmonious Nexus Path, he now knew he was not dreaming, The whole fantasy with Aiden actually happened.
He knew that in order to face the challenges ahead, strength was vital. Gathering his focus, he embraced the stillness of the cave and began to practice the ancient breathing technique he had mastered.
Marcellus had gleaned crucial insights into the hierarchy of martial progression within the Church of Combat before his departure.
The path to becoming a Sword Saint, a title revered and aspired to by many, was steeped in rigorous training and discipline. However, it was a path markedly more challenging for those not Anointed by the church.
The journey was delineated into four distinct realms, each representing a significant phase in the development of a warrior's skill and mastery.
The first realm was that of the beginner or third-rate warrior. Beginner practitioners start their journey by learning the foundational aspects of the style, including children who have yet to master Battle Aura; A common training exercise at this rank is the repetition of hundreds of thousands of practice swings, such as the Arm Chop technique, performed hundreds of thousands of times.
Progressing from there, one would reach the realm of the squire, or intermediate/second-rate warrior. In this stage, the practitioners refined their techniques and began to understand deeper aspects of combat, Intermediate practitioners are those who have diligently followed the path of the sword, having devoted a minimum of three years to mastering foundational teachings. They possess the skill to swiftly and adeptly cloak themselves in a Battle Aura, a mark of their growing prowess. This level is representative of the skill set of an average knight.
The third realm was that of the Expert or swordmaster. Here, the warrior has reached a level of proficiency where they can unconsciously use their Battle Aura and have flawless footwork. They can effectively contend with an average sword saint.
The final and most elusive realm was that of the Sword Saint or a similar esteemed designation. Attaining this level was a rarity, often reserved for those who had not just mastered the technical aspects of combat but also transcended them, embodying the true essence of martial prowess.
Knights were known to be fiercely protective of their techniques, going to great lengths to ensure their secrecy. The consequences of such knowledge falling into the wrong hands were dire, often resulting in the pursuit and elimination of anyone who dared to reveal or exploit their sacred techniques.
For Marcellus, the Harmonious Nexus Path is an extraordinary opportunity, a chance to tap into a realm of power and mastery that was normally reserved for the chosen few.
The fact that he had stumbled upon this knowledge, either through fate or sheer luck, filled him with a sense of awe and trepidation.
With deliberate movements, Marcellus engaged in a series of exercises and arm chop he learned during his childhood, his body responding to the practised motions ingrained within his muscle memory.
Named for its striking similarity to the motion of an axe being swung diagonally downward and then lifted upward in the opposite direction, this technique categorization stems from the fact that the movement traces a diagonal arc, which is defined relative to the body's midline. The distinctive nature of this action, mirroring the dual motion of an axe, makes it a recognizable and strategic pattern in combat.
The Chop and Lift has been shown to improve the overall quality of movement in individuals, which is another way of stating that an individual's movement has become more biomechanically efficient and sound in nature.
Hours passed as Marcellus immersed himself in the practice, his body growing stronger with each repetition.
Sweat mingled with the remnants of dirt on his face, cleansing away the weariness that had settled upon him.
He paused for a moment, gazing at his reflection in a small puddle of rainwater that had gathered nearby.
He still felt like he was dreaming no not a dream a nightmare.
The sunlight began to seep into the cave, he knew he couldn't linger in the safety of the cave forever. The road to Lutton Marsh still lay ahead, and he needed to press on.
...
The journey to Lutton Marsh was arduous and unforgiving, but Marcellus pressed on with unwavering determination. As he raced through the rugged terrain, his sandals pounding against the earth, he relied on his sheer willpower to propel him forward as he ran.
The rain-soaked ground beneath him provided little resistance, allowing him to push his limits.
With each stride, Marcellus's body strained against the physical exertion. Beads of sweat mingled with the raindrops that clung to his brow, his muscles burning with the effort. Yet, he knew that this was not only a test of his physical stamina but also a mental one. He pushed himself to the edge, refusing to give in to the exhaustion that threatened to consume him.
In moments of respite, when his lungs gasped for air and his heart pounded within his chest, Marcellus would pause to catch his breath. Drawing upon his fighting spirit, he focused on breathing.
He inhaled deeply, allowing the air to fill his lungs, and then exhaled slowly, releasing the tension in a cadence that had built up within him. With each breath, he felt a renewed sense of energy, readying himself for the next burst of exertion.
In between sprints, Marcellus would engage in fluid martial movements, his body flowing with practised precision. He executed manoeuvres, honing his agility and flexibility.
Although he had achieved pulse harmonisation, mastering the Harmonious nexus path, It would take time before his fighting spirit was at the level of a sword saint's, for now, he could be considered a second-rate warrior in both sword skill and battle aura.
The repetitive cycle of running, breathing, and martial training pushed Marcellus to the brink of exhaustion.
Finally, after relentless perseverance, Marcellus arrived at the outskirts of Lutton Marsh. The journey had taken its toll on his body and mind, but he stood tall. The rain-soaked landscape stretched before him, a foreboding yet enticing gateway to the war front.
Catching his breath, Marcellus paused to reflect on the path he had traversed. he wistfully thought to himself,
I will return here someday between dreams and the break of dawn.