"What is that sun?" Atticus's tone was sharp. At his current strength, he could go days, months even, without needing food or water.
He mostly ate out of leisure, and because Anastasia wouldn't tolerate him skipping meals. He had no choice but to eat regularly.
But now, after just one night, he was hungry? Something was definitely wrong.
The spirit nodded in approval, seemingly pleased that Atticus hadn't wasted time addressing the obvious.
"This sun is called the Hunger Sun," the spirit explained, its tone serious. "It accelerates your body's metabolic and respiratory systems, forcing your body to expend energy at an extreme rate. This makes you feel hunger and thirst far faster than normal. Even with your mana augmentation, it tricks your body into behaving as if it's been deprived of sustenance for weeks. The longer you're under it, the worse it becomes."
Atticus frowned. 'How bothersome.'
Now he was sure, the katana was deliberately trying to push him to his limits. He was here to learn the fourth art. What did eating and drinking have to do with that?
His gaze flickered as he turned his thoughts inward.
"Is this the second challenge?" he asked directly.
"I can't answer that," the spirit responded evenly.
Atticus nodded, understanding the implication. If it was the second challenge, the spirit would have been able to confirm it.
Exhaling deeply, Atticus thought, 'So I have to eat and drink water.' A twinge of irritation flickered through him.
He started moving through the scorching desert. At first, he broke into a sprint, hoping to leave the desert behind before the sun roasted him alive.
But in the next second, he regretted it.
His pace only increased his body's temperature, and coupled with the searing sun, it felt like he was boiling alive. Sweat evaporated the moment it formed, leaving his skin dry and his body burning.
Not only that, the faster he moved, the worse the hunger and thirst became.
"How do I cure this hunger and thirst?" Atticus asked.
The spirit nodded, impressed by Atticus's sharp thinking.
The boy hadn't asked where to hunt for beasts or how to find water. Instead, he focused on the source of the problem, seeking a cure to the unnatural hunger and thirst directly afflicting him.
"It'll come to you," the spirit said cryptically.
Before Atticus could process the words, a piercing screech tore through the air. He came to an abrupt stop, his gaze snapping toward the sky.
The light of the Hunger Sun nearly overwhelmed his eyes, but Atticus didn't care. His lips curled faintly in satisfaction as his gaze locked on a massive, eagle-like beast soaring high above.
He wasn't the only one excited.
The beast's fierce gaze burned with hunger as it locked onto Atticus.
Finally, prey.
The beast's aura shifted.
Its wings stretched wide, casting a massive shadow over the sand. Its sharp, curved beak glinted under the blazing sun, and its talons flexed, ready to rip and tear.
It screeched again, the sound tearing through the desert like a war cry.
But just as it prepared to dive, something changed.
The "puny boy" dropped to the ground, his body coiling tightly, almost folding into himself.
The beast paused midflight, its sharp eyes narrowing in confusion.
It hovered, unsure.
The prey wasn't running. He wasn't moving. He wasn't even looking at it anymore.
Unusual.
Then, in the next instant—
BOOM.
Atticus shot upward, a streak of force tearing through the air like a bullet.
The beast's head snapped forward. Its sharp eyes widened in shock.
"Queak?"
It didn't have time to comprehend.
Atticus appeared in front of it, his piercing blue gaze locking onto its own.
The beast froze. Its wings stiffened mid-flap. Its instincts screamed at it to flee, but its body wouldn't respond.
And then it happened.
A swirling blue wave erupted off Atticus, unstoppable and relentless.
The mana storm tore through the beast, killing it in an instant. Its gaze remained baffled, locked on the boy who had transformed from prey to death itself.
And then, silence.
The corpse of the beast plummeted from the skies, but Atticus caught it before it could hit the ground, using his swirling mana to soften his landing.
"That was hot."
The brief ascent had taken him closer to the scorching Hunger Sun. Atticus hadn't thought it was possible for the heat to worsen, but the higher altitude proved him wrong.
He truly wasn't a fan of flying in such conditions.
"Finally, food."
Atticus handled the corpse with care. During the brief battle, he had reduced the intensity of his swirling mana, ensuring that he only targeted lethal spots without damaging the body excessively.
Using a sharp edge formed from swirling mana, he sliced through the beast's thick hide, peeling it back with ease.
The smell of raw meat filled the air, but Atticus didn't flinch. He had done this countless times during his training at the Abyss Chasm, where he first met Whisker.
He expertly carved out chunks of meat from the beast's body.
"Meat first," he muttered, working quickly.
Next, he targeted the beast's chest cavity. Digging through with his mana enhanced hand, he found the water pouch nestled near its organs.
Piercing it carefully, he allowed the cool liquid to drip into his mouth.
"Not much, but it'll do," he said, feeling instant relief from the scorching heat.
His attention then turned to the feathers. 'Those could work.'
They were large, sturdy, and perfect for creating shade. Atticus plucked several, arranging them into a makeshift umbrella.
Using one of the beast's bones as a pole, he stabbed it into the ground and secured the feathers on top with sinew, forming a shaded area.
Finally, he skewered the meat onto a spit fashioned from bone shards and set it to roast using the searing heat from the sun.
As the meat sizzled and browned, Atticus sat under his feathered umbrella. The harsh sun was now nothing more than a distant irritation.
"Not bad," he muttered, watching the horizon while keeping his senses alert for any threats.
For the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself a moment of peace.
While this unfolded, the spirit watched Atticus with a bewildered expression.
"This boy…"
The fourth trial, where none had ever passed and every failure meant death in reality, was being treated like a picnic by this boy.
Atticus, however, paid no mind to the spirit's expression. His entire focus was on the food.
When the meat was finally ready, he turned to the spirit and asked if there was any danger in eating it.
The spirit shook his head.
Nodding in satisfaction, Atticus dug in with glee, drinking the remaining water afterward.
"Too little to save for later," he muttered, finishing everything.
After resting for a few minutes, he stood and continued his journey. With his feather umbrella in hand, the journey through the scorching desert became slightly more bearable.
But the reprieve didn't last long.
The rumble of thunder filled his ears.
Turning his gaze skyward, Atticus saw dark clouds gathering rapidly.
Moments later, heavy drops of water rained down, crashing to the ground like glass shattering on stone.