44 44. Laws of Sharpness (II)
That swordsman went from not even scratching the dragon-turtle's hide to beheading the thing.
That jump… it wasn't the jump from Minor to Major. Whatever that man comprehended was at least a Tier above.
The higher you went, the bigger the jumps got, Zane guessed. How fun would it be to play with a Law like that?
For now, though…
Minor Law of Razor Edge. It governed the physical quality of sharpness—what made something sharp. The fine points of the world. When he gathered those Laws on his finger, held it up to the light, he knew it was sharper than any knife he'd ever owned.
There's no way to know for sure without testing it. He walked outside and squinted up at the sky. Still daylight, mid-afternoon if he had to guess. He made for the nearest tree and ran a finger along its trunk.
It cut clean through the bark, no splintering, no crackling. Just a pure, simple severing. He hardly applied any force—he just touched, and the bark gave way.
Fascinating. He got out his axe and touched that to the tree now. No Laws, no fire—just set the raw edge of the blade to it. Nothing happened. When he pressed even slightly, the bark gave way easily, crackling and splintering. But it wasn't like his finger.
When he touched the bark with his finger, it crumbled like there was nothing there—just air. And the bark didn't flex, didn't crack, like the cut was so clean the wood didn't know it'd been cut.
He tried putting his finger on the bark again, and it sank right in. He got a few inches in before the tree started to resist. When he pulled the finger back, it was sticky with sap.
He frowned at it. Then he tried coating the edge of his axe with that Razor Edge Law, and set that against the tree.
He swung it through and back again. It was eerie. He didn't even register he'd touched something. There was no evidence the tree had been cut at all until he prodded it and the whole thing wobbled, came tumbling over, and thudded into the ground, limb-like branches flailing.
So that was interesting, but it was just a tree. He was realizing he was well past the point where doing things to trees gave him much useful information.
Instead, he took out his axe head and just dropped it. He put a thin layer of Razor's Edge on it and let it fall.
It hit the ground and sank through. And kept going and going and going… it must have dropped six or seven feet into the ground before it came to a halt.
He tried it again with no Law, and it only got a few inches in. Half its head still stuck out of the dirt. He nodded. Neat.
Still, he got the feeling he could only really appreciate it once he used it in battle.
He looked around. Obviously, there were no Monsters nearby. All the F- and E- ranks dungeons for hundreds of miles around have been cleared long ago. Even if you found Monsters there, it would be like cutting a tree.
He supposed he'd just have to wait.
It was still daylight, and he still felt that warm Law Fruit feeling bubbling in his mind. There was maybe half of it left?
He went back into his cavern, sat down, and tried meditating again. With luck, he could squeeze another Law out of this.
He settled down. It was easier this time to dissolve, to let himself fall into memory…
It turned out to be the same one, repeated. Maybe it was the only one stored in this Cavern of Insight.
This time, it was easier to distinguish between himself and the swordsman. He was still limited to what the swordsman saw and heard and felt, but he could focus elsewhere in the scene. While the swordsman scoured the raging waters, Zane noticed the man's clothes, caught glimpses of a crest embroidered at the wrists. A lot like what that old man he'd seen in the Heart of the Volcano. But the swordsman's crest was a cloud.
Did it mean different Factions?
The dragon-turtle was as breathtaking as the first time Zane saw it. It felt like staring down a mountain face. How could a single sword strike cut through that thing's neck? Whatever power that swordsman had gained, it flew way over Zane's head.
The swordsman dashed into the cliffs again. Outside was a swirling stormy world, but inside it was exactly the same as what Zane saw. How did this cave get lifted from there to here? Was it the same cave, or was it a copy?
The swordsman was kneeling and moping again. "Is this truly how it ends?" whispered the man. "To think! The Sage of the Crimson Edge, chosen genius of ten thousand years—cornered, and assassinated, by an unruly local hegemon! Of a D-ranked Planet, no less!"
He spat out the word D-ranked. So he was from some better planet, then.
Who exactly was this? Again, Zane had no sense of scale—'genius of 10,000 years' meant very little to him. He got the strange sense he was looking at someone important. Eh.
The man got to his sword work. Line after line came up on the walls, but this time Zane filtered the sensations. The mountains focused on the sharpness of the point, but that wasn't all he felt. There was also the way his fingers moved, smoothly, cleanly in one stroke. It didn't start at the fingertip. It flowed from the arm, down the hips, starting from the feet, rising up the body. In a way, the finger made the slash; in another way, the arm did; in another way, the whole body did. They were all instruments of each other, flowing seamlessly in beautiful clean lines. As though guided on some unseen path, a path of Law.
If this man added a sword, that sword would be just another instrument. It was no different than the fingertip, nor the elbow, in principle.
Zane focused on how it flowed back and forth, smooth, one unbroken arc…
And when the man went out to face that dragon-turtle again, Zane put all his attention on how that slash carved up the skin. Like a crescent moon, so perfectly smooth… There was a sense of precision there, of exactness, of perfect geometries…
The scene faded.
𝕃𝕒𝕨 ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕙𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕!
𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕠𝕣 𝕃𝕒𝕨 𝕠𝕗 ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕊𝕝𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘
Odd how there was no bracket next to this one signaling its Elemental Law—did it not belong to any particular one?
He breathed out. He felt weary, yet his head was also perfectly clear. The Law Fruit had run its course, and he felt empty. He tried closing his eyes and dissolving into a third trance, but this time it felt sluggish, like he was trying to claw his way in. He couldn't let go. You can't make yourself dream. He could tell he was done for the day—without special circumstances like treasures, his comprehension was much too slow. If he wanted more, he figured he'd have to see about getting more Law treasures.
He stood and traced a few experimental arcs, curious… When he applied the Law of Precision Striking, he could make his finger move like he was tracing a stencil. It poured all his force exactly where it needed to go. Quick, efficient, clean strokes.
And it wasn't just physical mastery. He sensed the universe had a part to play. Had he made the same move without this Law, his body might move perfectly, but depending on the material, the texture, the hardness, the cut might come out awkward and strange.
As he came up to the craggy cave wall and scratched out a line, it went perfectly smooth, no bumps.
Again—neat stuff. More testing needed… Later. In battle, sometime.
He stood and made for the cave entrance. Moonlight spilled over the mouth, pooling on the craggy floor.
It was about time he made his way home.
***
When he got back, he found the base camp was overrun with tents. There were so many they sprawled into neighboring Safe Zones—it was starting to look like a proper army. They sat in their own little circles, one for each division, eating dinner around their own little fires. For tonight, Reina had forked out the essence stones. She gave everyone a real feast—people munched on huge legs of beef and racks of mutton, all soaked through with essence. They laughed, told stories; as Zane passed he gathered most were sharing how they'd all gotten here. A few sang old pop songs.
There was a warmth in their faces now, a joy Zane hardly seen on any of them even just this morning. But they'd gone from homeless and shattered and alone to part of some massive movement, a movement they could see sprawling out across the hills with their own eyes. They had a community now. They had hope.
As Zane passed, a few eagle-eyed folk pointed him out and raised toasts to him, cheered him. He nodded. He still wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Bow? Smile and wave? It wasn't really him.
Reina met him as soon as he got to the town square. "We have a bit of a problem," she said.
***
The problem sat on the outskirts of the main square.
𝔼𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟 𝕃𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕜𝕖𝕣
𝔼𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝟝𝟠
𝔽𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: 𝔻𝕒𝕨𝕟 𝔾𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕕
ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤: 𝔹𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝔹𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕜𝕖𝕣
He must have been in his late 30s, a bearded, rough-looking man. He wasn't as tall as Zane but he was wider, thicker, built like a grizzly bear, and he was draped in a cloak that could've been bear fur too.
And behind him were hundreds of men and women sat around their own little fires, all in furs like him. Their Levels were surprisingly high—in the 30s and 40s, about as strong as the Luminous Faction's strongest. Barring Zane, of course.
They looked to him with a mixture of hope and wariness.
Ethan Lineker seemed neither aggressive nor scared as Zane walked up. Just pensive.
"Reina tells me you want to join," said Zane. "But she says you have a condition."
"That's right," rasped Ethan. He stood, and looked at Zane with calm gray eyes. "The name's Ethan. I lead the Dawn Guard. You're the one they call Savage Sage."
Zane nodded.
"Well," said Ethan. "First, I should thank you. We were camped out in the Upper Cascades when that Legion General hit us. Drove us all the way down to Mt. Rainier. We used to be four hundred strong. By then they'd whittled us to under two hundred. Probably would've finished us if they weren't diverted. To kill you, actually."
Zane shrugged. "Sure."
"I hear they bit off more than they could chew," Ethan continued. He crossed his burly arms. "They say you're the real deal. Now—don't get me wrong. I don't mean disrespect. But…" He jerked his head at his Faction. "I'm not trusting my folks to you off just that. You understand. I'll need to see it for myself."
"What, then?"
"A duel," he said simply. "Friendly duel. First to 25%. You and me. You win, I'll swear full allegiance to you, no question. All my fighters, all my people, are yours."
Zane thought about it. He supposed it was reasonable. "Alright. Tomorrow, at dawn?"
"At dawn," said Ethan. They shook firmly on it.
***
Later that night, Reina dropped by his tent as he sat there, meditating on his new Laws.
Time passed oddly quickly whenever he did. He could slip into a flow state and not drag himself out for hours. But he blinked, got up, and opened the door for her when she knocked.
"Everyone knows by now," she said. "Most of our new sub-Factions have never seen you fight. They're curious… you'll have an audience."
It didn't matter to him.
"I'll win," he said.
"I know you will," said Reina instantly. "I believe in you, you know that. But some of them… they're settling, but…"
Reina looked out over the rolling Highland hills dotted with little fires, stretching into the Emerald Forest and beyond. "Some of them are still nervous, deep-down. They're scared, Zane. They need to see how strong you are. It's like Ethan said, they need to see it to believe. They need a show of force."
"Hmm."
He'd been thinking of it as a fun chance to practice his new Laws. He could hardly do that if he wiped the man out of the arena…
But maybe there was a way to do both.
