The silence on the Low Path was absolute, save for the rhythmic hiss of the ocean spray against the cliffs far below. Grok stood like an iron statue, his wide-bladed butcher's sword held low. The air around him didn't just shimmer; it felt thick—a heavy, suffocating pressure that made the gravel dance in small, agitated circles.
"First Stage," Grok spat, his voice laced with a mixture of greed and insulted pride. "A week ago, you were a 'Dull Root' eating scraps from the floor. Now you stand before me with a silver aura? What forbidden pill did you swallow to cheat the heavens?"
Kaelen didn't answer. He was too focused on the strange, cold sensation blooming in his chest. As he circulated his essence, he realized that the Primordial Eclipse technique was far more profound than a standard manual. While the pills had provided the fuel, the technique was the engine. It didn't just move his essence; it compressed it.
Every breath he took through the Eclipse cycle made his silver energy denser, tighter, and more lethal. He was technically at the 1st Stage of Skin Tempering, but the sheer quality of his essence was terrifying. He felt a raw, physical power thrumming through his bones that shouldn't exist in a novice. He looked at Grok and, for the first time, didn't see an insurmountable mountain. He saw a target.
"Silent to the end," Grok laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "No matter. I'll peel the secrets from your marrow once you're too broken to crawl."
Grok moved with terrifying speed for a man of his bulk. He closed the distance in two thunderous strides, his sword whistling through the air in a horizontal arc designed to bisect Kaelen at the waist.
Kaelen didn't parry. He dropped, his chest nearly touching the dirt as the blade passed inches above his head. From the crouch, Kaelen lunged forward, driving his fist into Grok's thigh.
THUD.
It felt like striking a pillar of solid oak, but the Primordial Eclipse energy flared at the point of impact. The silver light pierced through Grok's tempered skin like needles. Grok hissed in pain, stumbling back a step.
Kaelen's eyes widened. The technique made his 1st-Stage body feel like a weapon that could rival a 5th-Stage veteran in pure physical combat.
Grok staggered, his face twisting from arrogance into a mask of pure, murderous rage. The fact that a "rat" had caused him physical pain—and that his own 3rd-Stage defenses had been pierced—was a stain he couldn't endure.
"You think you're special?" Grok roared. "You think a little silver light makes you a warrior? I'll show you the difference between a servant's luck and a Prince's favor!"
Grok reached behind his back, discarding his butcher's sword. From a hidden sheath, he drew a weapon that made the air itself seem to hum with a sharp, metallic bite. It was a Refined Iron-Wrought Blade, etched with swirling blue runes. It was a gift from a Prince, a weapon that occupied the tier just below true Essence-forged arms. It had been folded a thousand times and bathed in the essence of a master smith until it was virtually unbreakable.
The blade glowed with a sickly, brownish light as Grok poured his full power into it. The pressure on the path doubled.
"Die, rat!"
Grok didn't use a simple swing. He leaped into the air, his muscles bulging with the force of his 3rd-stage cultivation. The Refined blade was held high above his head, glowing with destructive intent. As he descended, the weapon seemed to grow in size, the energy expanding into a massive, crushing weight. It wasn't just a sword strike; it was a falling mountain, a blow meant to obliterate everything in its path.
Kaelen looked up, the wind from the descending blade pinning his hair back. His mind worked at a speed he had never known. The Primordial Eclipse technique roared within him, spinning his Spirit Sea into a silver vortex. He felt his physical strength peak, his senses sharpening until he could see the micro-cracks in the Prince's sword.
He didn't dodge. He didn't run.
He reached for the Pitch-Black Dagger at his waist.
He stepped into the path of the falling mountain, his own silver aura erupting into a blinding pillar of light. As the massive, rune-etched iron-wrought weapon smashed down toward him, Kaelen thrust the void-black dagger upward to meet it in a defiant, vertical parry.
The collision sent a shockwave through the cliffs, cracking the stone beneath Kaelen's feet and sending a spray of gravel into the abyss. The "Perfect" steel of the High Realms met the Prince's "Refined" gift in a shower of sparks that lit up the darkening sky.