The Assassin's Seven Principles of Manipulation

Chapter 368: Chapter 363 — Origin Arts

An Origin art, unlike an ordinary rune art, interacted directly with the WorldPulse itself. No element was involved, nor were elemental runes used. Instead, the art took form through the pure WorldPulse.

As simple as it sounded, though, creating one was about as difficult as it got. An ascendant’s only connection to the WorldPulse was through their elemental runes, almost like knowing only one distinct language through which they could communicate with it.

Creating an Origin art was akin to abandoning that language entirely and learning to speak a far more universal one.

It required such a deep connection with the WorldPulse that only those at Dominion rank could ever hope to create one, and even then, it usually took decades of effort and dedication. For everyone else, the only option was to inherit one created by an earlier generation.

Naturally, this made Origin arts fiercely scarce, with even the strongest houses possessing only a handful. It only further proved just how valuable the art in Zephyrion’s hands was.

Shutting his eyes, Zephyrion connected with the scroll, flinching slightly as the information streamed into his mind. Along with it, the name came naturally to him.

’Thousandpulse.’

It was a sensory art. Once activated, it allowed the user to extend their perception through the WorldPulse itself, sensing movements, fluctuations and disturbances across a vast area.

In a way, it was a far more powerful, active version of the innate perception Zephyrion already possessed due to his resonance. With Thousandpulse, even the faintest disturbance in the surrounding WorldPulse would no longer escape his notice.

’This is useful.’

Fortunately, while creating an Origin art from scratch was next to impossible, learning one that had already been created was far easier. It took Zephyrion only a few minutes to grasp the art, and the moment he did, he activated it.

In an instant, the space within five hundred meters of him unfolded across his perception like a vast canvas. Every disturbance, every subtle fluctuation in the WorldPulse appeared within his awareness with startling clarity.

Zephyrion smiled.

’Yeah. I’m keeping this one.’

...

As the days passed, Zephyrion gradually settled into his routine within the bastion. Wake up early for morning runs. Master Ferran military drills. Patrol the surrounding area alongside the other soldiers. Accompany the commander on brief outings to investigate whatever incidents occurred around the region. To Zephyrion, it was all royally boring.

Well, there were also the rather pathetic attempts at pissing him off, which usually involved his towels, clothes, or even food mysteriously disappearing.

But Zephyrion had little trouble figuring out where they came from. After all, it had long since become obvious who most of the apprentices answered to.

There were still several who tried to get close to him, some with intentions so blatantly fake they were almost insulting, while others seemed genuinely interested in befriending him.

Zephyrion wanted nothing to do with either. He was quite done with letting people get close. He’d already discovered the weakness that came with attachment, and what he’d gone through because of it wasn’t something he ever wanted to experience again.

Still, he thought about his people every day.

Waking up alone to a cold bed had never felt so painful. There was no one to pick the dirt from his hair, no one to nag him for training too hard or too long. No one whose smile could brighten up his otherwise gloomy days.

There was no Lumi.

Though it had taken him several days, he’d eventually admitted to himself that he missed her. Every day, he found himself wondering what she was doing. Was she learning well? Living her best life... happy? He’d never wanted to see her smile so badly in his life.

Ingrid, too, sometimes crept into his thoughts, though those moments usually ended with countless sighs and his already gloomy mood somehow becoming even worse. He wished he’d never lied to her, that they’d never fought. He wished she’d come out that night so they could’ve settled everything.

More than anything, he wished she’d never left.

Before coming here, he’d had the chance to visit Calderalth and see her, a chance Demorian had practically begged him to take, but of course, he’d refused.

It was better this way, he told himself. Fewer distractions. He could think, focus. But with each passing day, thoughts of his sister only grew more frequent, and with them came the regret and pain.

Attachment was truly dangerous.

As expected, his elixirs ended up being delayed for several more weeks. Throughout that time, he continued reforging his body every week, first targeting his nervous system, then his internal organs, and finally, on the last week, his skin and flesh.

The changes were almost too vast to describe. Zephyrion felt like an entirely different being walking the earth, and his body certainly reflected it.

His skin had become elastic yet unbelievably durable. He’d tried slicing his arm with a kitchen knife, only for the blade to shred against his skin instead.

Even his mind and cognitive abilities had improved. His thoughts moved faster, his senses felt sharper, and his hand-eye coordination had shot through the roof. Every movement felt more efficient, more streamlined, while his reflexes had become almost godly.

Then there was his recovery rate, which had gone completely off the charts. He’d once stabbed himself through the gut just to test it and watched, fascinated, as his exposed metallic intestine began knitting itself back together, followed shortly after by his muscles and skin.

He’d been awed.

All in all, he felt incredible. And now, with his skin and flesh reforged, the process was finally complete. His entire body had been reforged, which meant there was nothing stopping him from advancing to mark two!

’I best do it now. Tomorrow will be busy.’

Zephyrion settled cross-legged in the middle of his room. Tomorrow marked the end of the one-month hazing period the commander had imposed on him, and he was finally going to be welcomed into the fold in front of all the apprentices.

After one long month, he could finally start going on missions.

Just as he shut his eyes, though, Zephyrion heard footsteps approaching from outside his room. They drew closer before stopping directly in front of his door, and a moment later, something slid through the gap beneath it.

Zephyrion frowned.

A letter.

He cautiously rose and picked it up, turning it over in his hand. However, the moment he saw the name written neatly across it in clean calligraphy, the caution disappeared, replaced by a small smile.

’Lumi.’