Chapter 43. Finding and Pain
A week. Seven long days of iron discipline, silent observation and honing every movement to automatism. I stood in the center of my room, my body one solid aching muscle, but my mind remained crystal clear, sharp. The last form, the last complex… I finished it with perfect precision, and somewhere in the back of my mind I felt a barely audible click. Like the last lock in a complex mechanism, falling into place.
Come on. Come on.
The golden light hit my eyes, making me flinch and close my eyes. I turned my head, and the System window hung in the air in front of me, glowing and shimmering. It was brighter and more solemn than ever.
The "Master of the Blade" quest has been completed. The "Swordsmanship" skill has reached its maximum: 100%. Reward: New skill — "Aura".
I grimaced. Damn. The aura. The one that the Crimson Ones used. The one that I despised for its noisiness and rudeness. The system, as always, operated according to its own incomprehensible laws.
"System, my profile."
Name: Azrael Age:18 (**) Vitality:200 / 200 Skills:
· Sword Skill: 100%
· Killer Skill: [ACTIVATED]
· Skill: Young Body: [ACTIVATED]
· Skill: Aura: [AVAILABLE]
"Okay," I mentally exhaled. —Activate the aura."
Come on!
It wasn't like activating other skills. It was like a battering ram hitting the gates of my consciousness. A hellish pain exploded in his temples, waves of hot lead rolled through his veins. I fell to my knees, clutching my head, and choked on a low moan. A roar burst into my ears, not a sound, but pure energy, crushing everything in its path.
An ocean of information was pouring into me. Feelings. Of the Rules. It wasn't just a skill. It was a new sense organ that had suddenly sprouted in me and demanded immediate recognition. I felt like something was bubbling in my chest, pressing from the inside, tearing out.
I forced myself to breathe. Deep. Gradually. As I once taught. I didn't fight the flow. I passed him through me, filtering, sorting, forcing him to obey.
And gradually the pain receded, replaced by... awareness. I felt. I felt everything.
The cold of the stone under my knees. The warmth of one's own body. The quiet, flickering light of life somewhere on the floor below is Yuki. Her fear was no longer an abstract concept, but a cold, prickly spark in my new perception. I could feel the sleeping consciousness of the maid behind the wall. A fierce, scarlet barrage of Ragnar's energy in the far wing. Solomon's cold, calculating mind is in his office. And her... Quinn's inquisitive, restless mind.
The entire castle stretched out in front of me like a map made of lights and shadows. I was a blind man who suddenly regained his sight and was blinded by a riot of colors.
I slowly got to my feet. The pain was gone, leaving behind a light, annoying buzzing, like after a powerful blow. I looked at my hands. They looked the same. But I could feel a new force flowing through them. Not physical. Energy. She needed to be restrained. Direct.
I took a step forward. And then I felt that distant, haunting echo of the connection. That same thrill. But now he wasn't a phantom. He was... a thread. A thin, barely noticeable silver thread stretching somewhere far to the south. And along that thread, something warm was making its way to me. Persistent. Full of anxiety and hope.
They felt the change in me. My awakening.
I clenched my fists. A new force was bursting out. She promised power. Protection. But she also made me visible. Noisy. She threatened to destroy my main protection—silence.
I drove her inside. He made me shrink into a tight, red-hot ball in my chest. The light in the room dimmed. The noise in my head stopped. I became a shadow again. But now I knew that I was carrying a sleeping storm inside.
The plan remained in effect. But now I had a new, double trump card. Or a new, double threat.
I went to the window, looking out at the night. Somewhere out there, beyond the snow, they were looking for me. And here, in the stone walls, I was preparing for the storm.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt not the cold of emptiness, but the heat of anticipation.