Just as the Supreme Leader had forseen in his calculations, Ashar now entered the Highland Forests to continue his plans of apocalypses.
For days and nights he moved in silence, relying on stealth and restraint, eliminating any creatures that roamed the woods with which he collided. He had to be fast. If he failed to find what he was searching for, then by the time the Faceless Soldiers arrived, he would be utterly unprepared.
The place he sought was here, somewhere in the forest. He could feel it.
The Eastern Forests were nothing like the lands on the other side of the Noctis Mountains. There were no empty stretches, no safe expanses. Every mile teemed with life, every creature brimming with Axiom energy, each competing relentlessly for survival.
And because they possessed energy, every beast was capable of battle.
Ashar learned this the hard way.
On the third morning, he sensed a powerful presence approaching from his left. His first instinct was to retreat, to find elevation and observe. But confidence stirred within him. Over the past three days, fragments of memory had returned. He could form an Axiom blade once more. He needed practice. And whatever approached him was only an animal. So he chose not to retreat.
A massive wild boar burst from the undergrowth, its tusks gleaming with condensed Axiom. Ashar smiled as his blade formed in his hand. He lowered his stance, killing intent sharp in his cold blue eyes.
In a single charge, the boar crushed him.
Ashar slammed into the ground, the air ripped from his lungs.
"No…" he groaned. "What just happened?"
He hadn't even seen it gather energy. The boar's Axiom burst had been instantaneous, violent, overwhelming. A simple blade strike had never stood a chance, not with his weakened reserves.
"Is this how far I've fallen?" he whispered. "Is this how I die?"
The boar loomed above him, energy surging.
Then—
The Eye of Sophia opened.
Ashar slashed instinctively toward the boar's eyes. The strike only skimmed his flesh, but it gave him a heartbeat of time to survive. Water Technique started and he rolled, sprang, leapt, then was up into the trees.
The boar stayed back and reserved its strength for another day.
To it, Ashar was no longer worth the effort.
That night, shivering in bruises, Ashar descended from the sharp branches and pushed his will through a narrow gap of roots and leaves. Stone opened beneath him. He exhaled with near laughter from madness.
Because like gold, he had placed new riches into his grasp.
Across the Realms, the Shadow Clans maintained hidden sanctuaries, places of refuge and learning, untraceable by the Faceless Ones. This cave was one such training den. There was nothing inside. All he could find were some carvings, as if made by a drunkard. But that was arrogance, because at a closer look you would find that they etched the fundamentals of Axiom combat into the stone.
This was his plan. If he was to face the Soldiers hunting him, tricks would not suffice. True strength came from refinement of basics, repeated endlessly.
He began that very night. By expanding his energy, he attracted the energy of nearby wolves, rats, and other low level creatures.
First, he would train his Axiom Blade. This foundation of all offense. When Ashar's arm was relaxed and energy transferred cleanly, he formed a cutting edge, fast, precise, efficient. Its strength lay not in power, but in speed, range, and control. Legends spoke of masters whose blades moved at the speed of light. Ashar was nowhere near that level.
Next was the foundation of defense: Axiom Earth. Ashar allowed the creatures to attack. And by bracing the body and condensing energy, he could turn his flesh into armour. But he did not do this for long as this was dangerous. Earth against a superior Blade meant instant death, and when one was tired it was suicide.
Thus came the true defensive art: Axiom Water. Control of the energy beneath one's feet. With this, Ashar's movement became fluid, unpredictable. He could circle, retreat, surge forward, or explode into motion. A master of Water could fight higher-tier opponents without being touched, so long as distance was understood.
In the final nights of training, Ashar began to incorporate Axiom Fire into his attacks. This was energy transformed into explosive force. Slower than the Blade, easily perceived, but devastating when used at the right moment. Fire followed deception.
And finally, against the slowest of creatures, he trained Axiom Air. Evasion. Lightness. Freedom. When mastered, a warrior could weave through attacks as untouchable as a leaf passing from breeze to breeze, but the cost was immense. Air drained energy rapidly and punished mistakes. The old teachings were clear: Earth to endure. Water to move. Air to escape. This would be his plan.
Ashar drilled. Day by day. Hour by hour. Tens of thousands of repetitions. There were no shortcuts, and no spectacle. When he had repeated each technique more than a hundred thousand times, Ashar returned to the forest.
At midday, he met the boar again.
The boar charged with an Axiom burst, but Ashar was already moving. The Water technique carried him aside, just beyond reach. He circled, cutting with short, precise Blade strikes.
The boar roared in fury.
Ashar did not seek a killing blow. He sought exhaustion. When the time was right, he would feint with Blade and strike with Fire.
But the boar had its own plan.
Unbeknownst to Ashar, every dodge had been guided. Step by step, the beast herded him backward, until stone rose behind him.
No space.
The charge came.
Ashar moved without thought.
The Air technique activated. He slipped past the tusks, but the counter never came. The boar struck him aside before his body could respond.
Ashar defended with the Earth technique, but he staggered upright, breath ragged.
Only now did he feel it, the exhaustion, the trembling weakness. The boar was untouched.
This thing, he thought, is a better warrior than me.
The road to strength was longer than he had imagined. Technique was not enough. There was something else, something the boar possessed, and he did not.
Ashar retreated.
That night, deep in his humiliation, he replayed the battle again and again. He had been faster. More skilled. So why had he lost?
"Fighting like a coward and living like a coward," a voice laughed, "you truly have a long way to go."
Ashar turned.
Shenric stood there, smiling.