Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 653: Weight of Will

Weight of Will

Leon exhaled.

”...Let’s go, buddy,” he murmured.

He tugged the blade free.

Nothing happened. Just silence. Then stillness again.

It wasn’t the knife that held back.

It didn’t hold back. That wasn’t the reason.

Yet strength hadn’t reached Leon’s limbs, so motion stayed out of reach.

Fingers of his clenched the handle hard.

Knuckles whitened.

Flesh tightened along the arm, veins pushing under damp surface. Muscles swelled without warning, each one alive under glowing salt-streaks.

A noise slipped out from hisen, quiet but rough. It wasn’t quite air, not quite warning - more like stone shifting under weight. The moment held it before silence took over again.

The sword shifted.

Barely.

A bit shorter than one full inch.

A low sound came from the stone altar below. It seemed to shudder under its own weight.

A weight pressed down, just slightly, making Leon sink into himself. The air seemed heavier on his back, like something unseen was now part of him.

His knees bent.

Hurt shot through the cords at the back of his thighs. His muscles tightened like frayed ropes pulling too hard.

Yet his grip stayed firm.

”Move,” Leon whispered.

It never meant the blade.

He did it simply because he wanted to.

Filling his lungs bit by bit, he paused. A quiet moment stretched before him.

Pulled again.

This moment, upward lifted the blade.

Not smoothly.

Not cleanly.

Upward it pulled, stiff with resistance, steel whispering over rock like it didn’t want to leave.

Fingers trembling, Leon’s arms quivered hard.

Bulging lines traced along his arms, one after another climbing into the side of his neck. His muscles held tension like ropes pulled tight beneath the skin.

The pressure built until his jaw throbbed from holding tight. He pressed down without meaning to, muscle against bone, ache spreading slow.

Finally -

Out slipped the blade.

Down it came, slamming into his palms - Leon nearly buckled. His arms shook, knees bending like they might give way any second.

Forward he fell, his body tipping like a tree caught in wind.

A loose step sent him slipping on wet rock.

Bones aching, he pushed up from the floor. His body protested every inch higher.

A sudden tilt sent the blade downward, close to striking the stone below.

A sudden twitch fixed what was wrong.

Not elegant.

Not refined.

Ugly.

Raw.

Real.

There he stayed, leaning forward a touch, breath rough, drops of wetness falling from his jaw. The pause hung heavy, air thick between each pull of oxygen, salt tracing paths down his skin.

Something about the knife didn’t sit right.

Not balanced.

Not responsive.

Still just an idea, it waited without shape. Not sharp. Not ready.

Heavy it felt, like carrying stones uphill. The weight stayed long after the task ended.

Footsteps heavy, as if the ground itself pulled at his legs. Weight pressed down, slow and thick, like air turned solid. Each breath came harder, resistance building from below. The soil seemed hungry, reaching up through boots. Pressure mounted, quiet but constant, refusing to let go.

Leon stared at the black metal.

No glow.

No reaction.

No acknowledgment.

Just weight.

”...You’re a pain in the ass,” Leon muttered hoarsely.

Falling through air, the blade held no thought. It simply moved.

Up went Leon’s spine, tall and stiff. Then stillness took hold of him.

Millimeter by millimeter.

His spine protested.

His shoulders trembled.

His arms screamed.

Up he climbed, though every muscle said no.

Just that one thing needed a few slow inhales.

Several heartbeats.

Several quiet curses.

Fully upright at last, streams of sweat traced paths along his body.

Frozen tingling crept through his fingertips. A dull ache settled deep where warmth once lived.

His wrists burned.

Good.

Pain showed his body hadn’t stopped yet.

Suddenly, Leon adjusted how he held it.

Standing, but not taking sides.

A shape never took hold. What began without edges stayed that way.

Just... held it.

A grip like someone learning as he went, fumbling through each motion. The stance of a beginner, uncertain but trying all the same.

Hands both grip the hilt tightly.

Feet shoulder-width apart.

No elegance.

No posture correction.

Just stubborn balance.

The steel rose into his hand. A sharp edge caught the light as he pulled it up.

Slowly, it moved. The pace dragged.

Agonizingly slow.

The blade lifted slow, as though pulled by something unseen beneath the ground.

Leon’s elbows shook.

Shoulders near collapse, like paper under rain.

Wind tore from his mouth, uneven, sharp. Each gasp cracked through the silence like a splintered branch.

The steel climbed until it matched the line of his shoulders.

Beneath the weight, it mirrored dragging rubble skyward.

Leon stared forward.

”Alright,” he whispered.

Then he swung.

Not a technique.

A single hit, but without a title attached.

Not a stance.

A single drop of the blade. Not up - down. Sharp motion. Quick break in the air. One cut only. Nothing more.

The sword fell.

Not fast.

Not clean.

A sudden drop followed, much like when a tall structure gives way.

Faster than he expected, the thing surged ahead, almost slipping from Leon’s grip.

Down went his arms, pulled by the blade.

Forward went his upper body.

Fingers slipping, he held on by almost nothing.

Floor cracked beneath the weight of the blade’s fall.

BOOM.

A heavy thud rippled across the open space. The ground shivered underfoot without warning.

Not explosive.

Not flashy.

Just heavy.

Stone cracked.

Crack lines spread like roots through glass.

Fingers lost feeling first. Then the rest of his arms turned cold and distant.

Fingers first felt the shake, then it climbed to arms, pushed into upper bones. Joints hummed as the tremor moved higher, steady through muscle and frame.

Almost lost his grip on the sword handle.

Nearly.

But didn’t.

Breathing hard, Leon stayed hunched forward, his blade stuck just slightly into the rock below. The rise and fall of his torso showed effort, each breath heavy after what came before. His stance firm, yet strained, he kept the steel fixed where it landed. Not fully buried, the sword rested in a crack between stones. Every inhale sharp, every exhale slow - he remained without moving away.

His vision swam.

Spots of dark flickered along the rim.

His legs shook.

Just a slight tremor.

Not violent.

Faint shudders creep through limbs when exhaustion begins to take hold.

The blade came loose when Leon pulled it out.

It took effort.

Upward he pulled, bit by slow bit, carving a faint line across the rock’s face.

Floor got wet from sweat falling. Sweat dropped down, hit the ground.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The knife lifted once more into the air.

Arms screaming.

Shoulders burning.

Back tightening.

Slouched throughout, never shifting position once.

Still used the old way. Technique stayed unchanged.

Mistakes happened fast, yet fixes came quicker. Speed stayed steady through every error caught.

A second swing followed without pause.

A heavy drop again, dragging lower. Downward motion repeats, rougher than before. Falls cut deep once more.

BOOM.

Stone cracked deeper.

His knees buckled.

Leon staggered.

Foot on the left moved backward.

He nearly lost his balance, just for an instant.

Leon snarled.

”Not yet.”

Foot down, he stood firm.

Forced himself upright.

Lifted the sword.

Swing.

BOOM.

Lift.

Swing.

BOOM.

Ugly shapes twisted through every move.

More strained.

Less controlled.

Fingers clenched as air scraped through his throat.

Fine drops clung where the heat pulled moisture from his scalp, threads of wet tracing down past his brow. A slow trickle edged toward his lashes, blurring sight just enough.

It stayed where it fell.

Last thing anyone expected - it stayed put.

Moving through each motion without pause, he continued to swing.

His forearms began to feel swollen.

As if something hot stirred inside them.

Each lift of the blade weighed more than the last. Heavy came back worse every try. What once seemed light now dragged like stone. The effort grew without warning. Muscle remembered what mind tried to forget. Again he raised it - harder still.

It wasn’t the blade that shifted. Instead, something else moved first.

Because Leon was changing.

Microtears forming.

Muscle fibers screaming.

Bones compressing.

Fingers pull tight, reaching further than feels right.

Shaking took hold of his legs, stronger than before.

A shiver climbed slowly along the back of his legs.

His thighs burned.

His hips ached.

Footsteps uneven, Leon sensed the ground slipping beneath him.

Off-balance tugged at him with each motion of the swing.

Folded by each blow, he nearly broke at the waist.

Footsteps kept moving forward without pause.

Only then did the grip start failing, fingers sliding across damp leather.

His wrists aching, close to breaking. Yet still he held on.

Still, his breath came in jagged pieces.

Swing.

BOOM.

Lift.

Swing.

BOOM.

A dent appeared in the rock ahead of his feet. It barely dipped into the surface.

Fragments scattered around his feet.

Far away, his arms seemed to Leon. He could not quite reach them, though he tried.

As if his own once-felt connection had quietly slipped away.

Fog muffled his voice as if the words had to fight their way forward.

Good.

Footsteps drew near the edge of what could be held. A line appeared where staying became slipping.

Fists clenched tight, Leon pressed his jaw shut hard.

”It falls short,” he said under his breath.