The sound of the impact rippled through the mist, drawing more beasts.
They came in droves, rushing toward him.
But Atticus didn't move from his position.
He stayed rooted, his arms a blur, striking down every beast that dared to approach.
The bodies piled higher.
But Atticus stood tall. Silent. Unyielding.
In an instant, the death toll entered into the thousands.
Despite his relentless actions, his mind never once stopped working. From the very beginning, ever since his guide had provided information about the mist, Atticus had found the entire situation odd.
The katana was forcing him into a specific scenario. This whole trial felt orchestrated, as though there were preordained rules and situations that every challenger would inevitably face.
The beasts, the mist, Atticus was certain every challenger of this trial experienced the same as he was.
This small fact revealed something crucial to Atticus.
There was a way out of this situation. A solution all challengers were meant to discover on their own.
The purpose of the trial, after all, was the fourth art. His current fighting style wasn't just a strategy to survive, it was a method to try and figure out the solution.
The more he exerted himself, the more energy the mist absorbed. Atticus needed time to think, which meant he had to minimize his exertion while maximizing efficiency.
With his approach clear, Atticus's mind churned faster than ever, working through every clue.
'Why can I augment my body with mana but can't use it for any art?'
No matter how much he tried, Atticus couldn't manipulate his mana for anything beyond augmenting his body. He couldn't shape it to form weapons, nor could he perform any of his arts.
This made his thoughts shift to his training for the other Katana arts.
He had never needed other arts during his training. In every battle, the katana arts had always enough. Atticus had always thought it was just his elements, but what if…
Atticus's mind flickered as the puzzle pieces clicked into place.
'What if… from the beginning, I was never meant to use any other art but the katana art during the trials?'
Everything suddenly made sense. His elements had always never been the only restrictions, his other arts had always been restricted too!
'If I can't use any other arts but the katana art, then I'll use that.'
He didn't know what the fourth art was, but if the trial was designed to push him toward it, then he just needed to find the right way to direct his mana.
Atticus's thoughts sharpened.
His hands moved rapidly, striking down the invisible beasts from every angle. Each blow was precise, piercing throats and shattering spines. But the swarm didn't relent.
Even as his strikes continued, his mind remained focused, testing different possibilities. He tried moving his mana in new ways, stirring it, forcing it to obey, but it resisted him at every turn.
No matter how he tried to direct it, the mana refused to respond.
Doubt crept into Atticus's mind. 'Was my assumption wrong?'
Then, something struck him like a lightning bolt.
The beasts were circling him, attacking akin to a coordinated storm, closing in tighter with each moment. The pattern… the circle… it all connected.
"Circle… swirling…" Atticus muttered under his breath.
The spirit's eyes widened, shock appearing across his face.
'He figured it out already?'
But there was no time for further reaction.
Atticus's mana churned again, and this time, it responded.
With a single, unwavering focus, he twisted it inside himself.
A sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced surged within him.
It began as a ripple, a faint, swirling movement at the core of his mana. It spun slowly, like the first tentative revolutions of an immense wheel, before gaining momentum. Faster. Stronger.
Inside him, it felt like an unstoppable vortex forming, pulling everything into its center. Waves of power radiated outward, spinning in perfect rhythm, growing fiercer with each cycle.
Atticus's gaze sharpened. His breathing steadied, and then—
It happened.
The storm erupted.
A swirling blue wave of energy coiled around his fingers, crackling and alive.
He moved.
The next beast lunged at him, its invisible form cutting through the mist. Atticus's strike met it, and the swirling mana shredded the beast into pieces, tearing through flesh and bone as if slicing through water.
The howls grew louder.
The ground trembled beneath him as dozens of beasts converged on his position.
But Atticus didn't flinch.
His piercing blue gaze snapped open, his mana erupting outward once again.
It exploded.
A violent surge of swirling energy burst from him, radiating in all directions. The shockwave tore through the ranks of invisible beasts, the mist itself twisting violently under the force of the storm.
The nearest beasts disintegrated, their shredded forms scattering across the sand.
Atticus stood at the storm's center, his glowing blue eyes cutting through the chaos.
For a brief moment, the world stilled.
The remaining beasts hesitated, trembling under the weight of an intense bloodlust that slammed into them like a tidal wave.
The spirit watched in shock, his translucent form quivering as he took in the scene. 'This boy…'
Time resumed.
Piercing howls shattered the silence as the beasts attacked from all directions, frenzied and relentless.
Atticus exhaled, cold white air streaming from his nostrils.
His mana churned, spinning with unstoppable momentum.
And then—
The storm erupted again.
A swirling vortex of mana surrounded him, shredding any beast that dared approach.
Atticus moved like a predator, his body cloaked in the energy of the storm. He tore through their ranks, his strikes precise and devastating.
Blood soaked the sand, pooling beneath him as the beasts fell one by one.
The vortex spun faster, shredding flesh and scattering remains with each rotation.
Beast after beast fell, their howls fading into the oppressive silence of the desert.
Until only one remained.
It lunged, its invisible form desperate and wild.
Atticus caught it mid-air, his hand closing around its throat.
The beast trembled in his grip, its flickering form barely visible as it disintegrated under the force of the swirling mana.
Without a word, Atticus tossed the shredded remains aside.
The desert fell utterly silent.
Not a single sound remained.
The spirit stared, his gaze filled with complete disbelief.
'He killed them all? What the hell…' he thought, utterly shaken.