"Mind moving fast — is crazy."
"Mind slowed down — is wise."
"And — mind stopped… is god."
It was a bold claim form Kurian's previous world, a claim of a mortal daring to call himself a god.
Yet, arrogant as they seemed, their words echoed the ancient philosophy of the Martial Way: Budō (武道) — a path walked by countless warriors centuries before him.
In Budō, three mental states were taught:
First, Ushin (有心) — the mind weighed down with thought, fear, ego, and calculation.
Second, Fudōshin (不動心) — the mind unwavering, calm, and centered, untouched by fear or an opponent's intent.
Third, Mushin (無心) — the mind emptied of all thought and ego, where the body moves purely on instinct and intuition.
The legendary Miyamoto Musashi spoke of these states, though their origins long predated him.
Long before Musashi's era, even before Budō took form, these truths were etched into the dawn of human conflict — at the sacred crossroads of battle and meditation.
Since humanity's first awakenings, it understood this: mastery — of sword, art, or life — begins and ends with mastery of the mind.
Yet not all sought to hear beyond the noise or see past distraction; some strained to interpret the noise itself, seeking meaning in the chaos.
'It's quite loose.'
Staring at the flapping tarp, Ferdinand — in the quiet early days of his service — found himself fixated on the sheet covering a pile of supplies on an idle carrier truck.
He had ignored it at first, only glancing by chance. On the second day, while listening to news of flooding, the thought lingered into the morning.
"It's loose," he muttered again.
The tarp fluttered in the wind, unfixed, but he brushed it aside — until evening, when dark clouds gathered and rain poured.
The next day…
"It's gone."
The downpour had ripped the tarp away; a minor flood swept through the camp overnight. Yet the incident stirred an unease he could not dismiss as coincidence.
He replayed the scene — what he might have prevented, which cues he missed — until a thought crept in: 'What if this wasn't coincidence at all? What if nothing ever is?'
A wild, almost paranoid notion it was. Yet from that small, trivial incident — and his obsession with patterns unseen by others — the seed of something extraordinary was planted.
This obsession gave rise to Mortal Sense, an illogical form of human omniscience.
Yet, training such a mind was an arduous task, as to see meaning in nothing, was something only a madman would pursue.
But... Through relentless observation, he honed it. Mastering the obsession to notice and the detachment to refrain from questioning every cause, he stabilized the erratic mind of mortality.
Only then did Mortal Sense reveal its true nature — showing him creation's thoughts and the whispers of ideas carried by the unseen.
Time passed, and Ferdinand, now a strategic genius, faced massive defeats — even when his theoretical strategies were flawless.
"It's all because of magic!" he shouted, but then again, what could he do?
Unlike armies or terrain, magic remained invisible until manifested.
He could not see it… yet it existed — always present, able to manifest countless forms — from blazing fire to the dilation of time itself.
Suddenly, Ferdinand swung his arm, a strange realization striking him: 'This too — this very action — is also magic.'
Though invisible, he sensed it — a subtle current shifting from potential to kinetic with the contraction of his muscles.
A hunger to comprehend and master it surged through him, driving his pursuit to grasp the true nature of matter and energy.
Until one day, under the boundless sky, he discovered the Eye of Akasha — a perception that saw the subtle interplay of matter and energy, revealing the hidden dance of the universe itself.
Days moved on, and Ferdinand spent years mastering the Static Eye before attempting the Corporeal, yet the Transparent Eye remained a different challenge.
With Static and Corporeal Eyes, he could reach The Void — Mushin.
But the Transparent Eye demanded something beyond detachment, beyond selflessness. It required a realization surpassing the very meaning of selflessness.
Years passed... Now in his twenties, Ferdinand wandered the Garden of Eve, far from camp. One night, exhausted, he resolved to sleep on an empty street, when a group of beggars approached, offering shelter.
"No need."
He refused, yet he found himself caught in a repeating cycle: always deep in contemplation, always wandering far, always receiving the same offer.
One day, in a rare trance, he quietly asked, "Can I stay?"
The beggars, smiles warm and gestures gentle, nodded. "Please."
Suddenly, he jolted from the trance. The universe itself seemed to shift — and he with it. That day, Ferdinand cried, understanding a new feeling: Love.
Selflessness and detachment had allowed him to perceive energy and matter together — but only as complementary.
A bizarre thought struck him: 'Perhaps matter and energy are deeply in love, that they are always together. They do not exist apart; they cooperate, intertwine, and in their love, sometimes forget themselves.
The one thing surpassing selflessness — "placing what you cherish before yourself and letting it lead" — was love: "placing what you cherish beside you and walking alongside it."
A state beyond selflessness — a state of accompanying the existing and the existence itself — a state above Mushin (無心): the Kami (神).
Ferdinand had unlock the Transparent Eye. Yet even that revelation stirred within him a deeper drive for continuation, a yearning to reach further.
Thus, he finally stepped into the realm where many practitioners had lost themselves seeking Mushin (無心) — the realm of Inner Reflections.
This was the third and ultimate mortal fruit of the honed Mortal Mind and the Eye of Akasha. Within Inner Reflection, Ferdinand discovered the ability to pose the question: "What ifs?"
This realm was meant for contemplation, and adhering to that, Ferdinand's mind began to accelerate — processing countless scenarios at impossible speed.
His thoughts moved so fast that they achieved a paradoxical stillness, creating the illusion of the void itself — a motionless awareness born from ceaseless motion.
Kurian rarely lingered on his past unless he willed it, yet even in a place where thoughts should not be, memories surged until they blurred.
He replayed fragments of his former life in a storm of what-ifs, never judging, merely watching a multiverse of possibilities to test his limits.
Since attaining Brahman's sleepless nature, Kurian's pondering had became non-stop, weather it be when he was dancing, eating, or resting, he never stopped thinking: "How to counter a Resonator?"
Time and again, he refined his responses within that mental infinity — to the point that, by now, he had probably fought more Resonators in his mind than he had strands of hair on his head in infinite multiples, whilst training his body to match that very perfection.
This was the true yield of Kami: it proved you needn't know everything. Each grain differed, but by having knowledge of its fibrous nature, one could anticipate its taste.
So when Kurian met Resonators in reality, surprises came at first, then dulled — until Kraven. Yet, in the span of two real exchanges, Kurian had already fought Kraven a billion times in his mind.
Kraven's defeat had been calculated long before the final blow.
And now, the beaten Kraven was barking to his men and the Fractsidus troops, his voice trembling with fury and fear: "What are you staring at? Kill him!"
Kraven picked himself up and scurried away. Kurian took a step forward, but his path was quickly blocked by the exiles and the Fractsidus troops.
'I'm reaching my limits.' It would be inhumane of Kurian — though his actions had long transcended that line — if he wasn't already nearing collapse.
Yet, strangely, a peculiar sensation stirred within him. 'I never knew I had such a drive for battles,' he thought. 'Honestly… it's kind of addicting. Having lost all my former strength, I can finally enjoy this dance between life and death.'
His bones and muscles screamed in agony, yet his mind numbed the pain. There was something — some presence — calling to him, reaching out its hand as if inviting him to a dance.
Exhaling deeply, Kurian grasped the sword lodged into his abdomen and pulled it free.
As he did, the blindfold covering his left eye slipped loose, and six radiant lights flared from his body, each shining from the very places his mother had once scarred him.
Taking his stance, Kurian leveled his blade toward those who barred his path. His voice, sharp and unwavering, cut through the charged air — "Face me!"
Kurian advanced, his momentum surging; each step growing faster, heavier, and becoming unstoppable.
Watching the young pre-Resonator charge head-on, the exiles and Fractsidus bellowed a thunderous roar, "HAAAAA!"
The ground shuddered beneath their roar, the air trembling with the force of their fury. Yet Kurian's gaze did not flicker. His stride became a blur — his blade, a streak of radiance cutting through flesh, steel, and will alike.
"Carp breaks the shell."
He moved like a storm-born carp breaching against the torrent, weaving through the sea of bodies with spectral grace. His sword singing a cold hymn of death and deliverance.
"This is as far as you go, brat!" the lanky, four-armed Fractsidus Executioner roared, his swift blades intercepting Kurian's path with a flash of white.
Kurian's eyes met his — unmoved, unfeeling. His voice came, calm and absolute.
"Carp ascends."
Clang — Clang — CLANG!
Three consecutive strikes echoed through the chaos as the Executioner's guard shattered — his four slender arms flung wide. His gaunt frame was hurled skyward, the golden lights in his mask flickering violently… glowing with stunned disbelief.
"A… dragon…" he breathed, his voice a broken gasp of realization as he hung suspended, helpless, against the transforming carp.
Kurian raised his blade, eyes glacial, tone divine in its stillness.
"Apotheosis"
The carp seemed to have become serpentine, sprouting fangs — and in the Executioner's fading vision, he saw it transform into a dragon, its maw closing around him as Kurian's blade mirrored the motion of those divine jaws.
"Dragon Descends."
The sword fell like a serpent diving from the heavens, its slithering arc tracing the path of a celestial dragon. The Executioner's defense shattered completely beneath its weight.
As both crashed to the ground, another Fractsidus warrior lunged forward, only to meet a swift downswing followed by a brutal upswing that broke his guard. Kurian's leg shot out — a rib-cracking kick that sent the assailant reeling.
Then, as if unsheathing his very soul, Kurian tightened his grip, muscles coiling like drawn steel. "Now… I feel like I've truly returned."
His next swing tore through the air with explosive force — a sonic boom erupting from its wake. For the briefest moment, Kurian felt the surge of his former glory — the wrath and precision of his days as a Brigadier General.
Placing his free hand on his hip, Kurian mused, 'It would be great if I could use more weapons, and have a bit more range.'
At that thought, the burning lights along his six scars flared brighter, solidifying into six Tacet Marks, as Kurian murmured, "Ho?"
In the next instant, flames erupted from his back, snaking along like serpentine veins — only to be instantly encased in ice. From that frozen blaze, four spectral arms materialized, each gripping the weapons that had once pierced his body.
The hands pulled them free as Kurian let out a low grunt.
The weapons began to unravel, their forms fracturing and collapsing under the chaos of raw energy — until spectral light reshaped them into countless variations: a shield, a gauntlet, an axe, a musket, and a spear.
Now Kurian stood transformed — a six-armed Shura (修羅), wreathed in shifting fire and ice, wielding weapons forged from light itself, carrying the intent of destruction.
The winds roared, thunder cracked, and the very air trembled around him, as each arm was a conduit carrying the promise of a massacre.
'Interesting,' Kurian thought, his heart pounding, a thirst for violence and rampage surging through him as his eyes fell upon the trembling exiles and Fractsidus before him.
He began, sparing no room for mercy as he hurled the light spear which tore through the hearts of many, while his musket spat scattered shots, leaving gaping holes in the unlucky few.
A handful tried to strike from behind, but Kurian turned toward them with a smirk, declaring, "I don't really need a shield. Mind holding it for me?" With a casual flick, he hurled it, sending the exiles and Fractsidus troops sprawling backward.
He leapt into the air, smashing the shield with his gauntlet — DONG! —The sound rang like a bell across the battlefield, sending shudders through those who had held it.
He followed swiftly, slashing with his sword and countering with the axe anyone daring to approach, becoming the very embodiment of Shura — a whirlwind of death that left no one standing in his wake...
Surveying the aftermath, he clicked his tongue. "Tch."
"Hic... Hic..."
Suddenly, hiccuping sobs echoed, as Kurian's ears perked up. He turned to see an exile raggedly breathing, perched protectively over a weakened female exile.
Kurian advanced toward the figures, the glacier-arm gripping the axe, poised to strike. As the distance closed, it swung down, forcing the exile to clutch the female exile tightly — but… Clang—
Letting go of the sword clutched in his arm, Kurian drew back his spectral limb, murmuring a command into his Resonance: "Halt!"
— SHRICK—FZZZT—SKIRRRR—CRACKLE—SHWIP—NULL —
Yet, even his Resonance seemed to have a mind of its own. The six elemental resonance began to stray from his orders.
In a flash, Kurian struck down his own manifested arms — breaking them — yet the defiant Resonance still lingered, proud and unwilling to submit.
In that instant, memories of his mother's face flashed through Kurian's mind — the Tacet scar beneath her foot, the delicate, haunting image of the dancing god.
His jaw tightened, a pang of melancholy threading through his chest. 'Perhaps fighting demons for too long has made me one too…' he thought, his gaze falling on the exile cradling his loved one so dearly in his arms.
A faint, bittersweet smile touched Kurian's lips. Softly, almost as if speaking to both the past and the present, he whispered: "Powers that seek to harm… I don't need that."
Raising his right leg, he shouted: "Leave my body at once!"
The six Tacet Marks writhed violently, converging beneath his right foot into a singular, unified mark. Kurian stomped down upon his own Resonance.
His posture now mirrored the dancing god: right leg pressing down, left leg raised, one hand gesturing skyward, the other pointing to the earth.
And just like that, the six Resonance were subdued. His body, which had surged into the heights of Resonance Apotheosis, now settled back into its human form.
His right foot bore the mark of his Denunciation — a scar etched deep, mirroring the Tacet scar his mother had once carried beneath her own foot.
"He… he turned into a human?" the exile whispered in shock, witnessing Kurian's transformation. Meeting his gaze, Kurian's gaze softened as he advised him, "Leave this place. Go far away, and always cherish those whom you love."
With that, Kurian turned toward the exit. One final act of bloodshed remained before he would end his rampage — and with it, he would release the lingering attachment to his deceased mother.
"Hmmm… Hmmm… Hmmm…"
A low hum escaped him, a lullaby his mother had once sung, as he set off to search for his father, who had departed earlier.
***
"Haah… Haah…"
Kraven, wounded and desperate, made his way through the foliage, only to sense a presence behind him. Kurian had caught up. Cowardice overtook Kraven as he shouted, "Don't come any closer!"
But Kurian needed no words. A swift kick to Kraven's shin sent him sprawling. Kurian pressed his chest against Kraven's, driving him to the ground.
Years of pent-up rage — five long years — poured out as his fists rained down without pause. Even as Kraven's body went still, lifeless under him, Kurian did not stop.
Punch after punch, blow after blow, until his arms ached, his body screamed, and his eyelids grew heavy. Yet a faint, serene smile graced his lips.
"Adiós, papa." he whispered.
As Kurian's body began to collapse, a figure stepped forward to support him — the white-haired boy, Calcharo, catching him with steady hands.
One of the members behind them blinked in disbelief, shouting, "Boss… are you sure this kid is a rookie?"
The members of the Underdogs, stood in stunned silence, taking in the utter devastation Kurian had wrought upon Kraven's lair.
To be continued...
***
A/N: With this chapter, I've concluded all the philosophical exploration I wanted to include. Readers can rejoice, there won't be any more philosophical tangents or "extra" musings.
I wanted Kurian to feel like a Resonator who triumphs over Resonance itself, and for that, along with the introduction of his techniques (which are based on philosophies from our world), this philosophical groundwork in the first volume was necessary.
I chose this admittedly "boring" route of adding philosophy early on, but don't worry — going forward, there won't be more philosophical digressions, since they don't directly contribute to the story ideas I have for the fanfic.