The bamboo rod felt light and dry in Kaelen Vance’s right palm.
Above his straw hat, the descending crimson scythe hung suspended in the autumn air. The razor-sharp edge was frozen less than an inch from his hair, glowing with the dark, boiling light of four hundred slaughtered souls.
Inside Kaelen’s meridians, the unsealed power of Track 2 roared like an ancient cataract.
Two hundred and forty hours of unbroken physical abstinence surged through his nervous system at two hundred and forty-one times efficiency. Under the rules of the Fallow Slate, one burst minute equaled two hundred and forty-one full baseline hours of combat mastery. A five-minute cash-out carried the weight of one thousand two hundred and five hours of bitter training.
In thirty seconds, Kaelen absorbed over a hundred hours of pure martial comprehension.
His eyes tracked the crimson arc of the blade. He watched the subtle contraction of Envoy Zhao’s shoulder muscles, the micro-fractures in the steel scythe, and the uneven distribution of spiritual marrow along the weapon’s spine.
The entire Tier 5 Crimson Scythe Slash unfolded in Kaelen’s mind like a cheap scroll.
Entry stage passed in three seconds. Proficient stage dissolved in six. Small Success and Great Success blurred past like fence posts seen from a galloping horse.
