Aamon let out a long, heavy sigh as he gazed into the night sky of his realm.
The stars above twinkled with indifference, as if mocking his recent arrogance.
He clenched his fists.
He had gotten cocky.
The rush of power after entering the 2nd Order had clouded his judgment. He thought strength alone would be enough—that raw spells and brute force could carry him through any challenge.
But the corrupted spirits had shown him otherwise.
That encounter was a wake-up call.
A cold slap across the face. A bitter truth.
He had been charging forward like a mindless beast with only the most basic techniques—[Fireball], [Wind Blade], [Rock Blast], and [Water Beam]. Crude and direct. Effective only against the simplest of foes.
But this world wasn't simple.
Aamon looked at his reflection in the surface of a pond nearby. He saw not just his face—but the hollowness of his understanding. He had been given the keys to something vast, and yet, he'd only been scratching at the surface.
"I know too little," he murmured.
The realization hit deeper than any wound. It wasn't just power he lacked—it was strategy, technique, adaptability.
He needed more.
He needed everything.
Without hesitation, Aamon activated the Awakening Skill. The air around him shimmered with golden lines of power, tracing ancient patterns in the air.
A circle of radiant runes expanded beneath his feet, and the portal to the Library of the Awakening Legacy opened before him—its arched entrance forged from celestial stone and pulsating with infinite knowledge.
He stepped through.
__The Library of the Awakening Legacy__
The shift was instantaneous.
Aamon stood inside a vast, cathedral-like chamber. Towering shelves stretched into the horizon, some lined with ancient tomes, others glowing with floating scrolls or crystal tablets humming with arcane energy.
The air was still, yet filled with whispers—echoes of a forgotten god's journey through time and realms.
This was the collection of all the knowledge the Awakening God had ever encountered.
The domain of countless worlds.
The birthplace of forgotten techniques.
Aamon's destination?
The Hall of Combat Techniques.
He passed through shifting corridors, guided by the instinctive link his legacy provided. Finally, he reached a vault-like doorway engraved with seven symbols—each representing one of the Seven Awakening Aspects.
The doors parted without a sound.
Inside were shelves arranged by combat category:
Elemental Techniques — fire, water, wind, earth, lightning, shadow, light, and the rarer hybrids.
Physical Techniques — movement arts, weapon arts, reinforcement methods, pressure-point strikes.
Weaponisation arts —the pinnacle of coordination between body, element, and weapon.
Esoteric and Forbidden Techniques — scrolls sealed in crystal cases, radiating immense danger and promise.
Aamon's eyes lit up.
Elemental Arts
Aamon stepped through the archway into the Elemental Wing, and the temperature shifted instantly.
The air here was alive.
Flames crackled quietly in suspended lanterns of fire essence. A stream of water danced midair in an endless spiral. Wind whispered through the domed ceiling, carrying the scent of ozone and earth. Scrolls floated throughout the chamber, each one encased in translucent crystal cylinders that rotated gently, as though breathing. They hovered between towering crystalline shelves, reacting subtly to his presence.
Every step Aamon took caused a ripple—like the room itself was aware of him.
As he passed, some scrolls flickered with light, others vibrated, their energies briefly harmonizing with his aura. Aamon focused, letting his intent flow outward. Gradually, a series of scrolls drifted toward him, glowing in soft hues that reflected their elemental origin.
He paused before one enveloped in pale-blue ribbons.
As his fingers made contact, the ribbon dissolved, and the scroll flared open midair. Symbols, diagrams, and channeling sequences poured into his consciousness like a tide.
[Wind Edge] – A technique that channels wind around a blade or limb, sharpening it to a monomolecular edge and extending its range.
He envisioned it—a blade slicing from a distance, whistling through the air like a predator in flight.
Next came a searing heat against his palm.
[Ember Pulse] – Unleashes a pulse of compressed heat, igniting the surrounding air to form a defensive burst of flame. Ideal for repelling close enemies.
Aamon could already see its utility in a tight melee situation. He moved on.
[Aqua Lance] – Forms a spear of high-pressure water, capable of piercing steel and extinguishing flames. Its precise targeting made it ideal for duels.
[Stone Grasp] – Calls upon the earth to manifest a massive gauntlet from beneath the surface, restraining foes or breaking their balance.
He closed his eyes and committed each formation to memory, allowing the elemental flow to etch itself into his mind.
"These… these give me more than raw power," Aamon whispered. "They give me reach. Defense. Options."
He turned, the air still humming as the scrolls returned to their quiet watch.
Physical Arts
As Aamon stepped into the next archway, the atmosphere changed completely.
Here, the Physical Arts wing exuded weight. Not a physical one, but something deeper—like every inch of the space remembered the strain of training, the ache of progress, the will to endure.
The murals on the walls moved subtly—warriors frozen mid-strike, then shifting, showing a follow-up technique or a sudden feint. Their bodies were lean or broad, swift or powerful. They illustrated mastery through repetition, perfection through struggle.
Aamon approached a stone plinth in the center of the chamber. Three aged manuals rested on its surface, pulsing like living hearts. Each beat radiated discipline and purpose.
He opened the first:
[Iron Body Flow] – Circulates energy to the skin and muscles, momentarily reinforcing tissue and bone to withstand heavy impact.
A defensive art. Aamon could already imagine shrugging off the next spirit's attack, his body resisting their claws and bites.
The second manual emitted a subtle pressure that tugged at his center of gravity.
[Phantom Step] – A burst-movement footwork technique. Creates momentary afterimages and misdirection, allowing the user to evade or flank.
Perfect for both retreat and counterattack. Aamon gave a half-smile and mimicked the foot placement shown inside. His body moved instinctively, just a little faster, a little quieter.
He opened the final book.
[Breaker Palm] – A technique that transfers force beneath the surface. On contact, the strike reverberates through an opponent's armor or defenses, hitting their core with a delayed shockwave.
He could almost hear Caedric praising the technique.
"Not just strength," Aamon murmured, adjusting his stance. "But how and when to use it."
He bowed slightly toward the murals before moving forward.
Weaponisation Arts
The final archway loomed before him, its entrance lined with floating blades suspended in midair, motionless yet menacing. The aura that awaited him here was suffused with lethal intent—subtle, refined, and controlled.
The Weaponisation Arts chamber was a sacred forge of martial knowledge.
Here, weapon phantoms danced—echoes of masters locked in eternal sparring. Swords clashed with spears. Bows loosed ghostly arrows that never fell. Every weapon had a technique. Every technique was a philosophy.
Aamon's eyes locked onto a floating greatsword, its edge wreathed in a curtain of moonlight.
When he drew closer, the projection activated—an ethereal warrior demonstrating the art in slow, deliberate movement.
[Moonshadow Draw] – A high-speed Iaido-style slash. The user draws their blade and delivers a delayed crescent of moonlight that can bypass conventional defenses.
It was elegant. Lethal. Deceptive.
Aamon moved past it and reached toward a pulsing greatblade where the projection was a relentless combo.
[Echo Cleave] – For each strike landed, the user stores kinetic echoes. On command, the echoes are unleashed as a chained shockwave, repeating previous hits in spectral form.
"This… is devastation in reserve," he muttered.
The final technique drew him in with its spiraling movement—a dancer's footwork combined with brutal slashes.
[Gale Spiral Slash] – Combines rapid spinning motion with directional control, allowing a sword user to strike multiple targets around them. Best used when surrounded.
"These are made for the battlefield," Aamon said softly.
His fingers brushed across the glyphs on the weapon projections, and each one shone in turn. The knowledge transferred into his consciousness like hot ink on parchment, settling in his bones and blood.
He stood in the center of the chamber, breathing slowly, the new techniques humming beneath his skin.
"I was blind before," Aamon whispered. "But now… I have paths. I just need to walk them."
With new knowledge and fierce resolve, he turned and left the chamber—his mind sharper, his foundation stronger.
Tomorrow, the world would see a different Aamon Celastine.