The God of Nothing.-Chapter 22: A Blade Forged by Desperation

The crackling fire sent wavering shadows dancing across the small clearing, illuminating Caelith's weary face as he slowly chewed the tough meat of the Shade Wisp Jackal.

The flavor was bitter and burnt, leaving an acrid aftertaste, but he swallowed mechanically, knowing survival offered no luxury of choice. Every bite was a testament to how far he'd fallen—forced to consume whatever scraps the cruel forest provided, even creatures he'd barely defeated.

Each bite was a reminder of the brutality he'd endured and the harshness he'd adopted to survive.

He had lost whatever innocence he had lingering within him. The Stormont estate was by no means a loving home, but it had safety. He had never had to risk his life while living there, it had been his choice to do so.

His stepmother had tried to take away his choice in living; now, he lived to spite her for it, to avenge his mother.

His gaze remained fixed on the glowing embers of the dying fire, the warmth barely enough to counter the chill creeping through his bones.

For days, sleep had eluded him; he found only fitful rest haunted by visions of his mother's gentle smile, twisted into a grimace of agony as she died.

Each time he closed his eyes, her lifeless form returned to him in unbearable clarity, a constant reminder of his loss and powerlessness.

Caelith clenched his jaw tightly, the muscles in his face aching from tension. The forest around him seemed to breathe quietly, its shadows shifting subtly in the flickering firelight, whispering secrets he was too tired to decipher. Grief weighed heavily upon him, yet beneath it simmered the raw heat of anger—a relentless ember that refused to be extinguished.

He thought back on the past week. The moment he had awakened, he found a new power: Rejection. Subsequently, he had fought for his life against a beast at the apex of the first star, then buried his mother with his own hands.

Three days later, as he was running out of food due to not being able to carry much of the Strider's meat, he ran into the deadliest enemy of his life. Thinking back on it, Caelith quivered. A two-star Shade Wisp Jackal.

The damned creature had nearly killed him, only suffering a loss due to a suicidal trick from Caelith.

Caelith then pondered about Rejection. He knew it was connected to the gods somehow, he had felt it during the blessing ceremony. What he had felt wasn't normal... the unblessed were never rejected from the totem; rather, they would not receive any feedback at all.

There were so many questions in Caelith's mind. What was Rejection? Where did it come from? Was it a product of the gods or something else? And most importantly, what was the best way to use it?

To Caelith's understanding, rejection, when applied practically, would cause a space about the size of a basketball to be void of all mana. With his new eyes, he saw the world as incomprehensibly bright and colorful, even in the dead of night. The mana sprites were simply everywhere. If not for this, Caelith would never have seen Rejection's form.

Rejection was like placing a black circle on a white background. You only know it's there because the background is white and not black. Caelith then considered his application for Rejection. While he could call upon it consistently and without much more than some mental strain and concentration, the power it produced was wild and uncontrollable.

Instead of being like stab, narrow, and focused, it was like being hit with a shield bash except in all directions. Such was the nature of an explosion. This leads to Caelith being injured by it, sometimes more than his enemy.

So far, the best and most suicidal of Caelith's approaches was the Rejection Step he had performed against the Jackal. While physically hitting the enemy with Rejection was accurate, it had too much backlash.

Conversely, if Caelith aimed well with his step, the backlash would be minuscule as his legs were strong enough to absorb the impact, while his accuracy would suffer due to being shot through the air.

'Can it exist apart from me? How far can I extend it? Can I change its form?'

Thoughts went wild inside of Caelith's mind, but it wasn't the time for that; he had to move.

The Stormont estate was located to the northeast of the Igarian kingdom, bordering the sea. The academy was 9,500 kilometers west and 3000 kilometers south of the Stormont estate. Taking the diagonal with his current travel speed, it will take 90 days to reach the academy. He should make it just in time for the commoner's exam.

The entrance fee was one piece of silver; Kaden had told him that Alaric would be sponsoring it as part of their bet.

'Guess that's out the window now.'

Still, Caelith was not poor at the moment. As the proud owner of one first-star core and one second-star core, he could buy high-quality, lesser noble clothing and have four silver to spare for the academy.

From what Caelith had heard from the guards, a prominent noble family's mundane guard made 50 copper per month, the same as a first star mana core was worth.

As dawn slowly approached, Caelith rose wearily from his makeshift camp, stretching stiff muscles and fighting off exhaustion. He bent down to the ground and grew quiet.

The daily practice had become a sacred ritual, each return a reaffirmation of his grim vow.

He knelt quietly beside the dirt, gently touching the freshly turned earth. His fingers curled into the soil, the cool dirt grounding him in reality.

In this quiet place, his grief surged powerfully, tightening his throat with sorrow. He let out a slow, shaky breath, struggling to contain the despair clawing at his heart.

"I haven't forgotten," he murmured quietly, his voice ragged but steady. "I'll never forgive what they did to you. I'll become stronger—strong enough to make them pay."

Standing slowly, he brushed the dirt from his knees and glanced toward the darker reaches of the forest. The academy test loomed heavily on his mind, an unspoken countdown urging him forward relentlessly.

Survival demanded mastery of his newfound powers—especially Rejection, which he'd only begun to explore.

Determinedly, he ventured deeper into the forest, moving with careful steps. Every sense was sharpened, every movement cautious.

The forest here felt alive in ways he'd never experienced—each rustle of leaves, each distant crack of branches warned of unseen threats lurking just beyond sight.

As he moved, he began experimenting again with his rejection. Initially, he'd only managed large, volatile bursts, dangerous and unpredictable

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Now, understanding that recklessness was a fatal flaw, Caelith forced himself toward precision and control.

He concentrated on small bursts beneath his feet, pushing him forward short distances without sacrificing balance.

His first attempts were awkward, even humiliating. He stumbled, crashed into trees, and fell painfully against sharp rocks.

Controlling the size of Rejection was truly the hardest part.

Bruises accumulated rapidly, each fall intensifying his frustration, yet he refused to surrender. Gradually, persistence yielded improvement.

He found a delicate rhythm—short bursts propelled him swiftly, with only minor adjustments needed to maintain stability.

Each usage of Rejection drained him considerably. The strain accumulated swiftly, each experiment weakening him physically and mentally. He learned quickly that restraint was essential; careful rationing of power ensured he wouldn't be left utterly defenseless. He recognized the double-edged nature of his gift—powerful yet demanding, volatile yet precise.

His mind grew tired from constant concentration and his body from constant impact.

His daily hunt for food became more difficult. Rabbits, small birds, and rodents proved adequate but soon grew scarce.

Caelith gradually moved deeper into unexplored territory, discovering unsettling evidence of a dangerous predator's presence.

Huge, claw-like gouges marred ancient trees, slashes cutting deep enough to expose pale wood beneath thick bark.

Heavy, armored footprints pressed deeply into muddy ground suggested massive size and considerable weight.

Nearby, broken bones lay scattered, splintered by jaws powerful enough to shatter them with ease.

Caelith moved cautiously, meticulously noting each discovery while avoiding direct confrontation. Clearly, something massive and deadly prowled these woods—an apex predator far beyond his current capabilities. Each sign deepened his caution, reminding him of his vulnerability despite his newfound powers.

But hunger eventually drove him deeper into dangerous territory. Following smaller prey, he gradually approached areas recently frequented by the creature. A sudden stillness settled around him, the forest's ambient sounds fading rapidly into oppressive silence. Every instinct screamed in warning.

Then he saw it.

Through gaps in thick undergrowth, a massive Stonehide Ravager emerged—its enormous body armored with overlapping plates resembling solid stone, scales glinting ominously even in dim light. Muscles rippled powerfully beneath impenetrable armor, claws gouging the earth effortlessly as it sniffed the air cautiously.

Caelith's heart froze. Silently retreating into shadowed underbrush, he watched carefully as it prowled forward, moving with surprising agility given its bulk.

He memorized each detail—the positioning of scales, joint movements, blind spots in its vision—knowing confrontation was inevitable, yet understanding preparation was critical.

Once safely distant, Caelith redoubled his training efforts.

He worked tirelessly to refine the precise usage of Rejection, concentrating it into increasingly controlled forms.

Hours turned into days of relentless experimentation, exhausting yet necessary. Slowly, his skills developed. He managed brief, controlled bursts without painful recoil, refining delicate precision while increasing effective duration. Still, maintaining focus drained him considerably, requiring frequent rest.

Nonetheless, he still struggled with forming rejection away from his body, but he succeeded in separating it, albeit briefly.

A small baseball-sized sphere appeared in Caelith's hand.

Exhaling, caelith threw the sphere. It traveled for roughly three seconds before exploding. In its wake, a series of small explosions appeared, their area's mana displaced by the sphere's flight.

Finally, forced by dwindling supplies, Caelith returned cautiously to a Ravager's domain 50 kilometers away from the first one. His muscles remained tense, every nerve poised for sudden action.

He moved silently, carefully noting fresh signs of recent activity—new tracks and claw marks promising imminent danger.

Suddenly, the forest grew deathly silent again.

His instincts roared warning as massive underbrush rustled violently ahead, erupting into chaos as the Stone hide Ravager charged directly toward him.

Caelith was in shock but reacted swiftly. During his first few days in the forest, he had relied on his newly enhanced physique and swordsmanship to fend off enemies; now, he planned to do the same.

Using his enhanced agility, Caelith sidestepped and performed a cross block with his sword, shooting back several feet into the dirt.

Scrambling up quickly, he readied his sword just as the beast lunged again, narrowly evading deadly jaws. His blade glanced harmlessly off its armored hide, the force jolting painfully through his arms.

The beast pursued relentlessly, each attack driving him backward, draining him swiftly. Every evasion was costly, each counterattack futile.

Rejection used as blunt force proved ineffective, lacking the necessary precision to penetrate thick scales.

Caelith utilized Rejection step to enhance his swings and maneuver to blind spots; however, the beast's hide was far too strong. A two-star defense-based beast was a calamity to everyone under the second star.

As the battle dragged on, exhaustion blurred Caelith's vision, desperation growing swiftly. Memories flashed—painful experiments, repeated failures, incremental progress. Precision. Discipline. Control.

He summoned the remainder of his strength, condensing rejection at the back part of his palm, behind the sword's pummel—a delicate yet volatile balance that he barely maintained under overwhelming strain.

Utilizing the same principles as keeping the sphere manifested during projectile motion, he had it follow his hand as he drove his sword upwards from under the beast's jaw.

The Ravager attacked furiously again, massive jaws snapping inches from his face. Caelith pivoted narrowly, each muscle burning with effort.

His sword trembled violently, barely holding the tiny sphere of concentrated Rejection steady.

Suddenly, the Ravager adjusted tactics unexpectedly, lunging toward him with shocking agility. Huge claws descended swiftly, leaving Caelith nowhere to evade them.

Panic surged sharply—death bore down upon him, inevitable and unstoppable.

Clarity pierced through terror. He lunged desperately forward, driving his sword straight into the path of descending claws. The fragile concentration held at his blade's pummel, a precarious balance trembling at the brink of instability.

The Ravager's claws fell closer—mere heartbeats away from ending him completely—

At the last instant, desperation exploded from Caelith as the concentrated Rejection at his sword's pummel erupted violently outward.

An explosive flash engulfed the clearing, mana surging uncontrollably into the tiny void before detonating spectacularly.

The world turned chaotic—dust, dirt, and debris flung violently outward. Caelith was hurled backward viciously, slamming painfully against a massive tree trunk. Pain flared sharply, vision blurring as consciousness threatened to fade entirely.

Weakly raising his head, Caelith saw the Ravager collapse heavily, body twitching feebly, shattered armor exposing charred flesh beneath, and a metal sword piercing its brain. Relief surged through him—yet victory was short-lived.

Movement stirred ominously at the edge of vision, another massive silhouette emerging silently from deeper shadows.

A second larger Ravager stepped calmly into the dim clearing—bigger, deadlier, eyes glinting with unsettling intelligence.

'It had a mate, fuck.'

It advanced deliberately, claws flexed menacingly, knowing prey lay utterly defenseless.

Fear tightened Caelith's chest, desperation overwhelming as he struggled weakly to rise. Every muscle rebelled, utterly drained from violent exertion.

Terror seized him—no strength remained, no escape possible.

The beast lunged suddenly, massive claws descending swiftly toward helpless prey, promising imminent death.

With a final cry of defiance, Caelith summoned Rejection once more, shooting himself toward the carcass of the first Ravager.

He retrieved the sword from the opening it had created with the beast's tough scales and skewered on it was the enormous brain of the Ravager.

The senior Ravager unleashed an angered roar at his prey for avoiding him, then began another charge.

Caelith smirked and began to summon rejection beneath his feet but hesitated at the last second. A shiny white tusk caught his eyes.

The Ravager's tusk had been broken off with his last attack. A tusk from a defense-based beast, surely it must be sharp and sturdy beyond belief, possibly enough to withstand more direct use of rejection.

In a split-second decision, Caelith decided against using Rejection Step and rolled toward the tusk, his arm being grazed by the charging Ravager.

Caelith quickly retrieved the white tusk before utilizing his Rejection step to shoot off into the forest.

The Ravager gave chase, but after the second use of his ability, Caelith was out of its sight.

Armed with his loot of a 10kg brain and a new potential weapon, Caelith continued on his way toward the academy.