Echoes of the Abyssal Blade: Path to Free Will-Chapter 66: Fifth Step

Returning to his quarters, Jonan was in a reverie, he was still in a trance after learning of his breakthrough in the Physique attribute.

It is now that everything started to connect for him, his sudden increase in healing, and he could feel that his body had gotten far more tougher than before.

Although it will be harder for him to breakthrough the attribute limit in strength, that is still manageable for now, unlike other geniuses of the noble families who, even after breaking all the other limits, remain standing in front of the intelligence attribute.

Because, unlike other physical attributes, Intelligence is the only attribute that they don’t have a way to break, many have tried various unconventional methods too, unfortunately, they all failed.

Already having his limit in Intelligence broken has made it easy for Jonan to go forward with the other physical attributes.

While it will be harder now for him to breakthrough the strength attribute limit, he is not worried, because he knows that he will eventually pass this hurdle too.

After gathering his thoughts and returning to his room, he lay down on the bed, now his next goal is to pass through all ten steps, and before coming back here, he could feel that the fifth step was more crushing in nature.

Jonan knew that he had to prepare for the fifth and the subsequent steps later on, despite his breakthrough in physique attribute, he had to adapt more in the first four steps, only when he was sure, would he proceed with the fifth step.

The next day, dawn broke without ceremony, and Jonan was already awake when the first pale light touched the edges of his chamber, he cleaned himself and dressed in silence, and his movements were efficient and sharp.

For now, the prison awaited him.

He passed by the guards with barely a glance, as his presence was now a daily occurrence among them, no one stopped him, or asked him where he went or why,

Within the underground halls, the air was cold and unmoving. No light save for the dim flicker of torches guttering along the stone walls.

He didn’t hesitate, the heavy doors groaned open, and the air turned thick, oppressive, sharp as broken glass.

Reaching the cell 692, he didn’t stop but kept going on, and crossed the threshold without faltering, he didn’t test the steps, nor did he measure his readiness like before.

He simply stepped into it, the first four levels slammed against his body, a pressure he’d come to wear like a second skin, every muscle of his was tensed under its weight, but he no longer trembled, he was no longer staggering.

He worked through the day, moving between those steps, pressing himself, refining his control, every inch was earned through repetition, enduring the heaviness grinding against his bones, he spent hours locking his joints into stances beneath the pressure, holding them until his limbs screamed.

On the fourth day of this, without breaking stride, Jonan advanced to the fifth step, and everything changed.

The moment his foot crossed the invisible threshold, it was as if the entire weight of the earth fell on his shoulders; the spiritual pressure didn’t simply press down, it drove through him, a force that ignored skin, flesh, and bone to seize hold of his organs, his blood, his very marrow.

His knees started to give out, and hot, metallic taste filled his mouth.

A thick splash of blood hit the floor before him, dark and heavy, his vision swam, his chest felt as though it would implode, his spine threatened to snap under the crushing force, and his heartbeat slowed to a crawl.

He could not retreat, with his worrisome state, he could only persist in this suffering.

He collapsed to one knee, his head was bowed, his body screamed for relief, but he forced his will to lash tighter around his battered flesh, through clenched teeth, Jonan shifted his body into a seated position, his spine was straight despite the agony, his muscles twitched violently, rebelling against every command.

He closed his eyes and drew his consciousness inward, clearing his thoughts, with no worries, and focusing only on resisting this heavy intangible weight.

His breathing was shallow and ragged; every inhale was a struggle for him, and every exhale was a momentary relief.

The pressure on his body felt like cold spears that were driving into his gut, threading between his ribs, his fingers were numb within minutes, and still, he sat there, the blood he vomited beneath him started to turn sticky as it cooled on the stone, and he could feel his consciousness slipping.

Hours passed, or days, time was twisted in his perception, and in those half-lucid stretches, Jonan was drifting through darkness; he wasn’t unconscious, not truly, there was a strange awareness in his mind, with his blood still flowing non-stop.

When he could barely feel the sensation return, he realized he could breathe again, but his movements were slight and infrequent.

The weight had not lifted, no, it still pressed down on him like a mountain, but his body had begun to recognize the shape of it, the pattern of the strain, and has barely adapted to it.

Instead of simply being crushed, his muscles had learned to tense against the force, to distribute it differently, a thousand micro-adjustments happening without conscious thought.

It wasn’t much, but it was movement; the spiritual pressure wasn’t invincible. His body, through sheer brutality and defiance, was adjusting.

It took three more days before he could rise.

Even then, it was no dignified ascent; his legs were shaking, and his head spun, but he stood, a few precious seconds at a time, before he was collapsing and starting all over.

And when he could hold himself upright, he began the next stage of his training, which he wanted to continue from sometime.

To practice the battle art, Moonlit Reverence.

He hadn’t trained the battle art since his injuries, and never under pressure like this, but it was time for him to start and master this battle art; this battle art is a strength-type battle art, which would help Jonan immensely in breaking through his strength attribute limit.

He positioned himself at the heart of the fifth step and began practicing the battle art.

The opening stance alone almost toppled him; the shift in his weight sent agony through his hips, his arms ached as they extended, and the crushing force made his muscles lag behind his mind’s commands.

He bit down hard on his cheek until the taste of blood brought him out of his pain.

His first attempt was a disaster in itself.

Movements, which were intended to be fluid and precise, came out jagged, halting, barely coherent; his balance faltered from time to time, and he even fell twice.

Jonan slammed down with his hand, and tried getting up again, nd again, and again.

For hours, he repeated the first step in the battle art, a weaving, low-slung step combined with a sharp upward strike, every motion forced his muscles to stretch and contract against the crushing weight, sweat and blood coated his skin, but he did not stop. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

By the third day, the whole step took shape.

The low steps stopped faltering, the sharp upward motions ceased to send pain screaming down his arm, his breath, while still labored, began to find a rhythm.

Each day, he pushed further.

Adding the second form, then the third, then the full step.

By the seventh day, something remarkable happened.

His blood began to circulate faster under the strain, muscles that had been locked in perpetual resistance adapted, not by lightening the burden, but by becoming denser, tougher, the burning in his limbs dulled, replaced by a constant, manageable ache.

He was no longer a novice in this battle art.

His senses were sharpened within the oppressive air, each movement carried weight, forcing his body to maximize efficiency, and balance, he could feel the exact points where his stance faltered, where his muscles threatened to fail.

And as he corrected them, the art began to flow.

It wasn’t beautiful, not yet, but it was potent, every strike seemed heavier than before, each step more rooted, the pressure that had once pinned him now fed his strength, forced his body to move through impossible resistance, rebuilding him with every motion.

The longer he practiced, the more he realized something else.

The crushing spiritual pressure wasn’t just breaking his body, it was tempering his will.

Every hour spent moving inside this suffocating space sharpened his instincts, forced his spirit to flare against collapse, it wasn’t about surviving the pressure, it was about dominating your opponents.

By the end of the third week, Jonan had grown exquisite with the movements of Moonlit Reverence, movements that demanded bursts of speed, shifts in elevation, and rapid directional changes, beneath the crushing weight of the fifth step, each motion was a test of raw strength.

And he could finally move on to the next step.