A surge ran through Ishmael's body.
Not violent.
Not overwhelming.
But undeniable.
His Spirit Core pulsed steadily in his chest, the rhythm deeper now, fuller. The silver energy within him felt… denser. More responsive. Like it wasn't just reacting anymore, but waiting.
He exhaled slowly.
"Mid Second already."
The faint ache in his muscles eased slightly as the absorbed energy settled into place. The cuts along his side didn't vanish, but they dulled, stabilizing just enough to stop interfering with his movement.
Not healing.
Just… sustaining.
Ishmael rolled his shoulder once, testing the motion.
No restriction.
"Good enough."
He didn't move immediately after that.
Instead, he let the silence settle again.
Not tense.
Not relaxed.
Just aware.
A few seconds passed before he finally spoke.
"Status."
The panel flickered into view.
| Name: Ishmael Qamar Bane
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Race: Ancient Breed Gregorian
Titles: Genius Heir of Bane Dukedom, ????, ????
Class: ???
——————
Spirit Core Ascension: Second Ascension
Spirit Core Rank: Mid
Spirit Bond: ???
——————-
Affinity: ???
Skill: Appraisal, Combat Specialist, Expert Duelist, Spirit Energy Control
Unique Skill: ???
[System Advisory: Grow stronger.]
Ishmael stared at it quietly.
"Still hiding things."
His eyes lingered briefly on the empty fields before moving on.
Nothing new.
Nothing explained.
"Long way to go." He said gazing at the fractured sky.
He dismissed the panel with a small flick of his hand.
For a moment, he just stood there, the distorted landscape stretching endlessly around him.
Then, a faint sound.
His stomach.
"Right…well I think I last longer without food than before this apocalypse"
He reached back, pulling his backpack off one shoulder and dropping it lightly to the ground. Kneeling slightly, he unzipped it and rummaged through the contents.
Water.
Rations.
Basic supplies.
He pulled out a sealed pack and tore it open without hesitation.
The food wasn't good.
Dry.
Bland.
But it didn't matter.
He ate in silence, chewing slowly, eyes still scanning the horizon between bites.
Even now
He didn't let his guard down.
After a few moments, he took a drink of water, tilting his head back slightly before sealing the bottle again.
"Haaa….If I keep fighting like this, I'll definitely go insane" He said with a sigh.
Not fatigue.
Not yet.
But he understood it.
The pace.
The pressure.
If he kept moving without pause, he'd eventually make a mistake.
And in this place
That would be enough.
He stood again, picking up the bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
Then he reached for his side.
The wound.
Still there.
Still bleeding lightly.
He focused for a second.
The silver energy responded.
Not flaring.
Not surging.
Just… moving.
He guided it carefully, not toward his blade this time, but inward, toward the injury. The sensation was strange. Not painful. Not comfortable either.
The energy settled around the wound.
Stabilizing it.
The bleeding slowed.
Ishmael exhaled quietly.
"So it works like that too."
Not healing.
But control.
He let the energy fade naturally.
Didn't force it.
Didn't overuse it.
Then—
He looked ahead again.
The terrain shifted deeper into distortion the further it stretched. Grassland shifting into full-blown forestry. The air felt heavier in that direction, the faint pulse from before stronger now.
Not aggressive.
But present.
Waiting.
Ishmael adjusted his grip on the katana.
"One step at a time."
And without hesitation
He sat down, cross-legged, and closed his eyes.
"Let's relax for a bit, Deeper into the zone can wait.