Ch. 15 - Ocular Tremors & Flesh Proliferation

Back in his room, Robb didn't rest immediately. Instead, he dove straight into his daily meditation practice.

Ever since becoming a [Potion Apprentice], his perception of spirit power had grown noticeably sharper.

And today's insight into "rhythm" during body tempering seemed to point toward an entirely new approach.

"If the Solar Breath is an imitation of the sun's principles..."

Robb opened the worn copy of Fundamentals of Meditation. "Then could spirit power also have its own governing rhythm?"

He studied the basic rune in the book, the one formed from three arcs.

Before, he'd only copied it mechanically. Now he suddenly realized that the arrangement of those three arcs seemed to conceal a rhythm of its own.

With this idea in mind, he began attempting to trace the rune at varying tempos.

[Basic Meditation initiated]

When the first arc took shape in his consciousness, he no longer rushed to complete it. Instead, he carefully attuned himself to the flow of spirit power.

Remarkably, whenever a section of the rune resonated with his spirit power's fluctuations, that arc became extraordinarily stable.

"So that's how it works..." Robb finally understood.

The rune wasn't merely a tool for channeling spirit power, its very shape was a mimicry of spirit power's most natural flow pattern.

[Special effect triggered: Astral Rhythm, this meditation session's effectiveness slightly increased]

[Basic Meditation EXP +1]

[Basic Meditation EXP +1]

[Basic Meditation EXP +1]

[Daily training limit reached. Rest recommended.]

Far more experience than usual. This confirmed his theory was correct.

Just as Robb was about to continue meditating, a commotion erupted outside his door.

"Did someone advance?"

He rose and opened the door, just in time to see a familiar figure rush past.

It was Locke, who had arrived at the Black Mist Forest in the same batch as him. He was sprinting toward the testing hall, his face alight with excitement.

"Looks like an Initiate broke through."

Arnor lived not far away and had evidently heard the noise, stepping out of his own room. "This has been happening more and more lately. The closer we get to the deadline, the more willing people are to gamble everything."

Robb understood what he meant. As time ran out, those who saw no hope often resorted to desperate measures, either attempting dangerous forbidden spells, or purchasing dubious "special potions" of questionable origin.

"Let's go have a look. Anyone's success is worth studying."

Arnor waited for Robb to lock his door. "Maybe we'll pick up something useful."

The testing hall sat at the center of the dormitory area. It housed a specially crafted crystal ball capable of measuring spirit power intensity.

By the time they arrived, a sizable crowd had already gathered.

Locke stood before the crystal ball, his face pale but his eyes burning with excitement.

"It's starting," someone whispered.

Locke placed his hand on the crystal ball. Dark red mist immediately began churning within the sphere.

Moments later, a reasonably bright symbol coalesced within the mist, but it looked extremely unstable, flickering on and off like a broken lightbulb.

"He actually made it!" Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd.

It was genuinely surprising.

Locke had been in the same boat as Robb, a borderline case who'd barely scraped past the sixth-magnitude threshold.

And now, nearly three months ahead of schedule, he'd already reached the spirit power standard required for the Initiate evaluation.

"What method did he use?" Speculation buzzed on all sides.

But Robb noticed Arnor's expression turning grim. "Something's wrong..."

"What do you mean?" Robb asked in a low voice.

"Look at his pupils." Arnor's face was taut. He half-extended an arm to hold Robb back, slowly retreating.

"They're far too dilated. And..."

He pointed at Locke's hands, still resting on the crystal ball. They were trembling uncontrollably. "This could be the precursor to a spirit power meltdown."

Sure enough, amid the crowd's exclamations, Locke suddenly clutched his head and let out a pained groan.

His once-lucid eyes turned wild and confused. The corner of his mouth began twitching beyond his control.

"This is bad!" Arnor grabbed Robb and pulled him back rapidly. "Get away from him..."

Before he could finish, Locke let out a bloodcurdling scream.

His eyes flooded with blood, and his spirit power fluctuations turned violent and chaotic.

The surrounding air seemed to solidify. Everyone felt a suffocating pressure.

"Judging by the symptoms, it's side effects from a banned substance." Arnor hissed through gritted teeth. "This idiot actually dared to take that kind of thing just to boost his spirit power."

Robb noticed that the dark red mist inside the crystal ball had suddenly thickened. The symbol within was twisting and deforming, clearly not a good sign.

Just as the alarmed crowd scrambled backward, a white figure materialized at the center of the hall.

The Initiates immediately scattered like a receding tide, their eyes betraying undisguised fear and reverence.

This instinctive dread was not without reason.

As apex predators of the Black Mist Order's food chain, Morning Star Mages wielded virtually unchecked absolute authority.

But more terrifying than the power itself was the invisible pressure that emanated from a Morning Star Mage's very being.

Robb had heard from Arnor that when spirit power surpassed a certain critical threshold, reaching the standard of a Morning Star Mage, the mana within underwent a strange, active transformation, forming a special energy field known as a "domain."

This domain continuously radiated highly penetrating energy outward, so intense that even the mage themselves could barely contain it fully.

Though most mages employed special methods to suppress this radiation to a minimum range, merely being within two meters of a Morning Star Mage was enough to cause discomfort in anyone of average constitution, dizziness, nausea, feverish heat. Prolonged exposure could even trigger signs of organ failure.

It was said that those with particularly frail constitutions could die within minutes from overexposure.

This was why mages preferred to live alone, surrounding their dwellings with layers of wards, to protect their privacy and research, but also to prevent unnecessary "accidental casualties."

Robb could feel it.

As the white-robed figure drew nearer, the air seemed to thicken. Breathing grew labored.

A strange prickling sensation crept across his skin, as though countless needle-tips were gently prodding him.

This sensation was unmistakable even from more than ten meters away, to say nothing of those apprentices trapped closer in.

Several Initiates near the white-robed mage had already gone ashen. One had begun bleeding from the nostrils.

But no one dared complain, and no one dared leave without permission. In a mage's eyes, either could be construed as disrespect, and the consequences were invariably dire.

This was the deterrent power of an absolute gap in strength.

The apprentices revered the mages from the depths of their hearts, not merely out of fear of their power, but because every one of them harbored the desire to one day become such a being themselves.

"Alright. If you can't handle it, step back."

As the white-robed mage's cold voice rang out, he waved his staff. A ring of silver light expanded outward.

Everyone was forced back against the walls, leaving only the convulsing Locke in the center.

"Interesting..." the mage mused. "Appears he ingested a 'Spirit Catalyst', and at a dosage far exceeding his body's tolerance."

As he spoke, he produced a crystal vial from within his robes. Inside was an eerie black liquid. "A perfect opportunity to test this new formula."

Robb noticed Arnor's face had gone ghastly pale. As someone well-connected to the rumor mill, he had clearly witnessed similar scenes before.

"Don't watch, it'll..." Arnor whispered sharply. But Robb knew. Scenes like this had to be remembered.

This was the Magus World. The strong treated the weak as experimental material. Life and death hinged on a single whim.

A piercing scream shattered Robb's thoughts. The black liquid had been forced down Locke's throat by an invisible hand. His body began convulsing violently, and something seemed to writhe beneath his skin.

The white-robed mage raised his hand and clenched his fist. The silver ring of light locked around the thrashing Locke, binding him in place.

By now, Locke had lost all reason. His eyeballs trembled ceaselessly, and within his pupils, constantly shifting geometric patterns were reflected.

"Ah... the classic Ocular Tremor Syndrome."

The white-robed mage's voice remained perfectly calm.

"When a mortal glimpses a truth they were never meant to see, this is the most common reaction."

He paced slowly around Locke, like a researcher examining a mouse in a cage.

"Given these symptoms, the Spirit Catalyst he took was likely derived from mutated creature eyeballs."

At that moment, a grotesque undulation rippled beneath Locke's skin, as if something was squirming through his flesh.

His right arm began to swell. The epidermis split open, revealing writhing, living tissue beneath.

"Flesh Proliferation Syndrome." The white-robed mage chuckled softly. "Now that's somewhat rare. Contracting two forms of aberrant contamination simultaneously."

Robb forced himself to keep watching despite the revulsion. He noticed the mage's own eyes trembling faintly, a telltale mark of prolonged exposure to arcane knowledge.

Locke's screams gradually took on an inhuman timbre. His flesh continuously reformed, spawning grotesque aberrant limbs and organs that immediately collapsed and dissolved.

"Stop watching, let's go, now!" Arnor pulled Robb around and hurried away, but those images were already seared into his mind.

On the walk back to the dormitory, Robb was silent the entire way.

The nightmarish scenes kept flashing through his thoughts, the eerie patterns in Locke's eyes, the writhing flesh, the distortion in the air...

What had happened? Why would a potion meant to enhance spirit power lead to such horrifying consequences?

"Arnor..." Robb finally broke his silence. "Those symptoms, the ocular tremors and flesh proliferation, have you seen them before?"

The golden-haired youth's face turned ugly in an instant. "Robb, this is not something you should be worrying about right now!"

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