Sultan's new adversaries were far more difficult to detect.
Silent, patient, and would never let an opportunity slip under their wicked fangs, they were natural predators and the complete opposite of the noisy, buzzing insects.
That was one of the reasons Sultan had begun massacring the bees.
Well… and maybe because he really hated them.
Putting his feelings aside, Sultan wasn't needlessly hunting those insects down.
For one, he needed their stingers, which would, in some way, make moving forward much easier.
Second, they were the perfect training dummies.
Sultan recognized that denying the obvious and holding on to beliefs that had clearly been broken was the epitome of foolishness and close-mindedness.
He was, evidently, referring to the unnatural traits that he currently possessed.
Sultan had clung to the possibility that it was some kind of game or a trick of the mind. Refusing to fathom the idea that people were capable of possessing such mythical powers.
It frightened him.
Yet, it was just a fool's errand. The change in himself was indisputable. He just needed a trigger to put it all into perspective.
And this trigger came in the form of stumbling into a trap made by the wire-spewing spiders.
As he was trudging along, trying not to drift away from the marked area on his map, the floor suddenly came to life beneath him, and he found his feet sinking into a tightening knot of webs.
The wire-like threads looped around his ankles, and the more he tried to free himself using his hands, the deeper they dug into his skin, painfully resisting any attempt to release him.
When he attempted to sever them using his knife, the cursed webs proved unnaturally tough.
The strings were stronger than steel, and with each try, they threatened to cut his leg or break the blade of his knife before showing even the slightest hint of giving in.
That had lit a flame of anger in him. His mood had been a volcano on the verge of erupting from having to start over in his search for an exit, and this was the spark that ignited his fury.
So, by instinct more than intention, he willed his blade to become sharper and cut through the abhorred webs.
And it did.
Sultan felt the web around his legs give way before him, as if its material had switched from steel to cotton.
Later, when he reflected on his actions in that moment, he realized that what he had done was twofold.
On one hand, undoubtedly, the knife had quite literally come alive in his hand.
Sultan vividly remembered the feeling of annoyance and indignation when he couldn't cut the webs, the childish joy and glee when they eventually separated under him, never to be connected again. It felt like a part of him yet autonomous at the same time. As though one of his feet had gained consciousness and started chatting with him about the comfort of walking on grass and the pain of stepping on rocks.
And as if that wasn't insane enough.
In addition to this, Sultan believed that he had indeed made the blade sharper just by commanding it. Focusing more, he realized that he had been unconsciously doing so ever since he picked up the knife back in the chamber.
It was like breathing to him. Air entered and left his lungs whether he concentrated on the process or not. Yet, whenever he needed to take in a large amount of air or huff it out forcefully, he would have to intentionally do so.
In the same manner, Sultan could sharpen a blade just by holding it in his hand. Yet, if he wanted to increase its acuteness even further, he would have to put in the effort to do so.
And here came the questions: What were the limits of this ability? Would the blade always be as sharp as he needed it to be, or was there some kind of capacity? Did this affect his body in any way? Was there a cost to using his traits, or could he freely utilize them without any repercussions?
Good then that he had a countless number of test subjects to experiment on.
Sultan weaved in and out of the tight corridors like a quick, taciturn reaper of lives. Laying in ambush for the buzzing creatures, he struck only when one or two unfortunate ones isolated themselves from the rest.
A good amount of time passed like this.
Sultan only stopped after hunting A good number of insects and a reasonable understanding of what he could and couldn't do began to form in his mind.
First and foremost, it seemed that overusing his powers wasn't without its side effects. It was a predictable one, though.
Not long after playing with it, Sultan started to experience an irrational condition of fatigue. It was the kind of weakness one might expect to come from famished days and many sleepless nights.
The more he forced the blade to sharpen beyond its natural state, the harder the wave of fatigue hit him—and the longer he needed to recover from it.
This was the sole impact on his body that Sultan could detect from applying his sharpening trait.
Well… that, in addition to the weird, intoxicating sensation he got whenever he cut something alive.
And this was another thing he had learned: the addicting feeling wouldn't come unless he sliced a living creature. He verified that by capturing one of the bees, killing it by crushing its head, and getting no reaction.
Finally, he couldn't sharpen any edge endlessly. After a certain threshold, his focus would diminish, and continuing to force the process would lead him to lose consciousness.
'Maybe I can increase this by training.'
He reasoned that if he treated his sharpening power like a muscle, perhaps he could build more endurance over time—provided he used it long enough.
All these thoughts played in Sultan's mind as he ran on autopilot back to his lair.
Yes, he had a lair now.
Sultan had spent enough time in this section of the tunnels to have formed a great deal of familiarity with its nuances and topography, not even needing to glance at his map as he traveled.
Finally, he reached the cramped camp he had made for himself and got to work.
Sultan had a party to prepare for. The place was quite uneventful for his taste. He needed to invite some chaos into the danse.