Chapter 6: Axe Art [1]
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The descent from Ridge was nothing short of torture.
By the time my boots crunched over the last ridge stone and I stood at the foot of the mountain, my legs were trembling like brittle branches caught in a storm. Five hours of downward scrambling had carved deep aches into my calves, and yet I had no choice but to push forward.
Because if the story hadn't changed if the world still followed the hidden notes and scraps I'd once pieced together then the Parshu Axe Art should lie somewhere beyond this wilderness.
Ten more hours. That's what it took to reach the forest. Ten hours of dust clinging to my throat, sweat soaking into my shirt, and every step dragging at me like chains.
But then, at last, I found myself standing before it.
A vast forest stretched wide, sprawling like a sleeping beast across the land. Its canopy swelled toward the horizon, blotting out the dying sun. Shadows pooled beneath the trees, heavy and thick, as if warning me not to enter.
I didn't hesitate.
The moment my boots touched the leaf-strewn ground inside, a strange silence wrapped around me. No chirping insects. No distant birdsong. Only the steady rasp of my breath and the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.
Despite the exhaustion weighing on my shoulders, I gritted my teeth and trudged forward.
Most people would call me impatient, reckless even. After all, I hadn't slept properly in nearly two days. My body screamed for rest, for food, for reprieve.
But impatience had nothing to do with it.
This was survival.
I had been thrown into a world where strength wasn't a luxury it was the single line between life and death. And unlike the blissfully ignorant, I knew the future that lay ahead. The endless bloodshed. The death flags waiting like snares in tall grass.
If I wanted to stand against it if I wanted even a sliver of hope I had to seize every opportunity before anyone else.
So I pressed on.
The night deepened. The canopy overhead tangled tighter, filtering the moonlight into mere splinters. Yet my vision barely faltered. My body, transformed by that miraculous fruit, moved sharper, lighter, stronger than before.
Still, even enhanced sight couldn't banish the unease crawling up my spine. Forests at night were deceptive things. Even if I saw ahead, even if shadows parted before me, the unknown pressed close on all sides.
"If I remember right," I muttered, breaking the silence, "there should be a river nearby."
That was my first marker.
'For they who seek the axe's way, follow the flow that descends from the peak.'
The clue was etched in my memory, a hidden detail I had once slipped into the margins of a side-scroll. The protagonist never uncovered it. Few even remembered it existed. But I had read it, written it, and now it was mine to claim.
I walked. Minutes turned into hours, feet dragging, shoulders aching, until finally, the forest thinned, and I heard it.
The gentle murmur of water.
I stumbled into a clearing where the river gleamed faintly, silver under the moonlight. The current flowed from the distant mountains, steady and calm. Relief surged through me, but it was drowned almost instantly by the crushing weight of exhaustion.
My knees buckled. I collapsed at the bank, barely managing to cup my hands and drink before my limbs gave out completely.
"…Damn."
No matter how much willpower burned in me, the body had its limits. I had pushed too far.
But even in that weakness, my instincts whispered the same truth: this river was my guide.
Before sleep claimed me, I dragged out the compressed water bottle and dipped it into the current. Watching it fill was almost surreal. A palm-sized container swallowing liters upon liters of water without weight. Technology so advanced it looked like magic.
Fifty liters. Just like that.
In my old world, such a marvel would've been priceless. Here? 20 N
And that thought pulled me deeper into reflection.
The Nexus Council. Humanity's wall against annihilation. Seven heads, each stronger than S-rank. SS-ranked monsters disguised as men. And above them, the shadow none but I knew existed: the SSS-rank, the secret final blade they had yet to reveal.
Even recalling them sent a chill through me. The strongest force in the human domain. Untouchable. Unassailable.
And yet… as a reader, I knew even gods could bleed. Even walls could crumble.
That was why I was here. To carve my own path before the storm broke.
Sleep dragged me under before I could think further.
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Dawn cracked the horizon.
I rose sore and stiff, packed away my cube-tent, and trudged along the river once more. The hours blurred together. The forest unfolded endlessly.
Roots snagged my boots. Branches scraped my arms. Sweat stung my eyes.
And all the while, I cursed my past self.
The writer-me had been so lazy with traveling scenes, so dismissive of details. Omitted landmarks, skipped time, hand-waved geography. It made sense when I was behind a keyboard who wanted to read about endless walking?
But now?
Now I paid for every lazy omission with aching feet and wasted hours.
Still… fate was kinder than I deserved.
Because by the time the sun hung low, I found it.
At first glance, it was just a boulder. Moss-eaten, vine-strangled, weathered by years. But when I brushed the growth away, I froze.
The outline emerged. Not a rock. A statue.
A man stood immortalized in stone, axe raised high above his head, stance firm, gaze proud even through erosion.
"Grandmaster Bhargav…" I whispered.
The founder of the axe art. A forgotten figure, erased by time, overshadowed by flashier, more graceful styles. But his legacy still breathed here.
I sat before the statue, spreading my cloth, heart hammering in my chest.
Because I knew what came next.
At sunset, when the final rays struck the axe's blade, they would reveal the path.
The wait was agonizing. Shadows crept longer, colors bled gold, and then—
It happened.
Light struck stone. A golden beam refracted, shooting out in a single sharp line that cut through the forest.
I followed its direction—and there it was.
A tree. Larger than the rest, towering like an elder among children. Ancient. Inconspicuous except for its sheer presence.
"Bingo."
I didn't hesitate. I ran.
Branches clawed at my clothes. Roots lunged at my ankles. My lungs burned, but I pushed harder, faster.
Because I had maybe two minutes. Three at most.
If I lost sight of that tree before the sun vanished, I'd never find it again.
By the time I staggered into its shadow, the light had died. The horizon swallowed the last gold, leaving only darkness.
But I was here. I'd made it.
"Now what…?"
I searched desperately, palms running over bark and roots. Nothing—until my hand caught on one root looser than the rest.
I tugged.
Snap.
The earth shook. Soil crumbled. A hole yawned open at the base of the tree, wide enough for one man.
My breath caught. My pulse thundered.
I dropped inside.
The hollow interior stretched downward like a throat. And from above, a rope dangled frayed, ancient, yet sturdy.
I gripped it. My palms slick with sweat. My stomach knotted.
The pit below was darkness without end.
"…Of course."
Gritting my teeth, I descended.
Minutes bled into hours.
My arms screamed. My shoulders burned. My fingers ached, knuckles white against the rope. The dark pressed close, swallowing all sense of time, all sense of self.
I lost track. One hour? Two? Five? My mind drifted, fraying at the edges. Thoughts looped, faltered, broke.
But then—
Light.
A faint glow, pulsing far below, like a heartbeat.
I forced myself onward, every muscle trembling, until at last my boots struck stone.
I collapsed to my knees, gasping, trembling, sweat dripping down my back.
And then I looked up.
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The chamber stretched vast before me.
Carvings lined the walls, ancient and fading yet alive with detail. Golden strokes etched scenes across stone:
A man cleaving demons with his axe.
A man kneeling in meditation as rivers of blood flowed around him.
A man standing before a burning village, axe at his side, sorrow heavy in his eyes.
Each scene carved with reverence. Each stroke a memory of who Parshu had been.
Beneath them, words in ancient script:
"Power is not for vengeance. The axe is not for slaughter. It is the hand of justice, and the arm of dharma."
The words burned into me. Chains and wings all at once.
And then—
A voice.
—"Do you seek the path of Parshuram?"
The chamber shook. The carvings pulsed with light.
My breath caught. My heart lurched.
"Yes," I rasped. "I seek it."
Silence. Then—
—"Then prove it. Not strength. Not blood. Prove your justice. Prove your dharma."
The ground rumbled. The walls split, three doorways yawning open.
Each glowed with fire. Each whispered promises in voices I couldn't name.
A trial.
A trial of justice. A trial of dharma.
My fists clenched. My pulse thundered.
This was it.
The true beginning of the axe's path.
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