The atmosphere of the Godhand Bazaar's upper floor was eerily silent and distressingly calm despite the activity occurring below.
Forgers hammered away, turning heaps of metal into identifiable shapes. Sweat flew, ashes and brittle impurities falling with rustling sounds.
Alchemists similarly engaged in their professions. The shuffling of scampering feet moving to and fro was accompanied by the noxious gurgles of brewing potions. They were currently unpalatable and perhaps a danger to ingest. However, the failures, successes, and tricks of the trade were meticulously documented under the strict orders of Aspaira and Sorcia.
There was additional clamor from the first and second floors, which couldn't be heard on the highest floor. As Kieran glanced around the large room, he took in the surreal feeling of being back, of the stark differences he felt.
One immediate benefit of the Blackcrim pod he now used was the increased clarity he obtained. Though his stats had not changed, mainly his Perception, Kieran felt incredibly sharp.
That jarring dissonance between body and mind had not vanished, but its effects were incredibly muted. While improved equipment mitigated a significant position of the assimilation issues afflicting all of the players, it fell upon the world's shoulders to correct the rest. Still, Kieran held the new pod in high regard.
Kieran warmed up his body, throwing a few kicks and punches. It felt great, but not excellent enough. His movement was sharp, but a subtle but noticeable delay occurred afterward, akin to a buffering video.
'That's not so good…'
He summoned Crimson Ashrune with a thought. He had to know how far this strange dissonance went. Holding it sideways, Kieran ran two fingers along the length of the jet-black, magnificent blade. It had remained by his side through most of his trials, toils, and tribulations and proceeded unbroken through it.
Mostly.
The unbroken blade was, in fact, broken. But that was ancient damage it suffered. Kieran's power did exacerbate the injuries, but it couldn't be detected on the surface.
'My trusted friend, I've missed you. Did you miss me?'
Kieran traced the crimson runes engraved on the lighter ash or soot-colored portion of his blade with a strange kind of affection. It wasn't the affection you gave a lover, but more of a love you gave a treacly memento of a dead relative or any relationship of substantial value.
Kieran stepped back, exhaled, and then let Crimson Ashrune streak through the air. His slashes followed a path of simple yet fierce grace. His swing produced a grim sense of beauty, like an apex predator stalking its prey with an already bloodied visage.
Every couple of swings, he stepped forward. Sometimes, he would stop and return to where he started again until he could move forward with a chain of unbroken slashes.
Stationary battles rarely happened, so training without forward, backward, or lateral movement was not ideal. Kieran also incorporated circular motion as intoxicating glee bubbled in his mind.
Though he wanted to grow more rigorous with his warm-up, explore the untraveled depths of his current clarity, define its accuracy and acuity, and learn the new barrier, Kieran understood it would be incredibly foolish given his environment.
This was not a place to train.
Thus, Kieran released Crimson Ashrune with a sigh, returning it to where it had come from. At least he gained a decent understanding of what the increasing connection between mind and connection could do.
There was a strange relationship present there.
You'd think an increase in technological support meant less stress on the mind, but that wasn't the case. These new pods were designed to eke out the highest potential stored in a player. It was meant to be a gradual experience, but nothing was gradual about how it felt to Kieran.
Kieran's mind remembered all too vividly. And what his mind remembered, his body translated, turning it into information to be embedded in the fiber of his being. This spectacle was not without drawbacks, though.
The vivid memory ingrained in Kieran's mind meant he had to acclimate faster, and it was a more severe, confounding acclimation. A few glaring inconsistencies weighed on Kieran's mind as he recalled the path of his slashes, taking note of its fluidity, speed, and, most of all, placement.
What he sought was a stark path to death. And some of it was inspired by Adeia's swordsmanship. It was mesmerizingly dangerous and gruesomely beautiful. Even now, Kieran's body remembered the scars and wounds left upon it.
'Just who are you, Adeia… I would have loved to know.'
The likeness between their combat styles told a ruthless and cruel story steeped in rivers of cold blood. Their weapon of choice differed, Adeia's odachi offering superior speed and precision, whereas Kieran's blade provided crushing power and undeniable ferocity.
He would have liked to continue digesting what he took from his clashes with Adeia, but with his return, Kieran was alerted to the pressing matters. It was a peculiar feeling, one Kieran didn't understand too well, but he could sense there was no more time before the Trial of Inheritors.
He had been away from Zenith Online for multiple days. Double that had passed in this world. The Myths had undoubtedly finished their selection process. With that, Kieran approached the center of the room and sat down.
He withdrew an ancient stone from his inventory, the strokes of brilliance offering a heavy feeling. With this stone in hand, Kieran felt fortified and grounded. The sensation was pleasant, and he could get used to it, perhaps even lost in it.
However, that feeling was only a byproduct.
'If that was just the residual effect, how robust is the Imprint buried inside?'
Kieran had to know.
Though he was not Hekaina or even Agatha when it came to wielding the mystical powers of Eni's runes, Kieran possessed the means to decrypt the Imprint. He took the first step shortly after receiving the bizarre stone.
Its brittle exterior did not betray the hardness or heft of the thing. He imagined this was what a boulder felt like. Thankfully, he possessed the Imprint of Might, awarding him the herculean strength necessary to handle an enigmatic item like this stone.
After some odd minutes, Kieran calmed his mind, entering a state of flow or something similar. The prismatic blue sparks of Eni's mystical energy ignited the air around his arms. His invocation period had lessened, but it was still not battle ready.
A vast chasm existed between where he was now and where he needed to be to attain that state.
His current speed called for a distraction. Something would have to wrest focus away from him and give Kieran the opening and time to channel energy from inside his bonded Mystic Gate.
'Or maybe, I'm just rusty and untalented too. I may not have practiced in several days, but this power did not come naturally either.'
Kieran called out to the dormant Archaic Verity Compendium throughout the channeling process. This True Relic was genuinely bizarre and inexplicable. It was one of the reasons Kieran questioned the purpose of Zenith Online and searched for answers to what it was.
Whenever he logged out from the game, the Compendium would fall into an obscure state of dormancy, but he could still "feel" its presence somehow. Drawing upon it was impossible, but that inexplicable link remained.
Kieran had been occupied with other crucial matters, which stopped him from exploring the nature of that link, but the remnants of it reminded him of the Compendium's presence.
Was a True Relic capable of transcending worlds? Or maybe the name True Relic was an aphorism for something currently beyond Kieran's understanding.
The deeper he delved into his thought, the more Kieran wished to speak with Eni or encounter the Hecate. They would undoubtedly have the answers. The former more than the latter, considering his title as the Endless of Mysteries.
'Book, you there?'
Kieran called out to the Compendium and received an indecipherable answer. It had an Ego; Kieran knew that much. However, the Ego within had not entirely recognized him as its Master, and so it acted like a petulant child with unfathomable amounts of wisdom tucked away.
'You are contradiction personified. You are supposed the consummation of knowledge, the accumulation of wisdom, but you're petty.'
Something like an acerbic grouse filtered through Kieran's mind, washing it in a scathing but transient heat. With that heat came a surge of mystical essence, supercharging Kieran's flow into the cipher.
The rings formed perfectly, and in the center, the stone vibrated. Countless mystical oscillations bombarded the stone from various angles. While inundated, the outer, brittle layer washed away as if submersed in an ultrasonic bath.
It was a gradual process, neither slow nor fast. Compared to the Imprint of Might, which was handled by the breathtaking Hekaina, it was a snail's pace.
A learning snail's pace—educational and insightful.
The disparate pieces of the runic outline he ended up with had to be rearranged. Luckily, Kieran's eyes saw the paths he needed to follow to restore the disparate abomination to its former, resplendent glory.
As the mystic lines were repaired, shimmering light, suffocating significance, and fortified weight took hold of Kieran. The floor groaned and creaked, and his ciphers fluctuated.
The Imprint of Might did not bear the same significance as this Imprint of Tenacity. Or maybe it did, but their manifested presences were very different.
Kieran was momentarily taken aback as the Compendium regurgitated large amounts of mystical essence to help stabilize his faltering Supreme Cipher. For such an unfathomable technique, he sure was unskilled with it.
Insatiable desire welled inside Kieran's mind. The more he experienced the Imprint's presence, the more he wanted it. Nothing would stop him from fusing with it. It would undoubtedly become the second Imprint to mar his body.
That incessant desire was redoubled by the sensation he felt after restoring the faulty lines. The Imprint became a rekindled silvery flame of brilliance!
Then… it started to fight back.
'You damned thankless Imprint! I restored you. Why aren't you grateful?'
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