He thought it was impossible, but once again, this child proved him wrong.
The spirit was left speechless. This particular trial had been where every wielder who challenged the second art had failed, including him.
Yes, he had returned to the starting line to catch his breath and strategize, but that decision had been fatal. He spent too much time under the blood moon, and eventually, his mana was completely drained, leading to his demise.
Only after becoming a spirit did he learn how to pass the second trial. It was insane.
Despite the overwhelming power wielders gained at this point, the second challenge wasn't about brute force. It required a combination of intelligence and raw, unfiltered talent.
The ability to mimic mana signatures.
There were billions of people in Eldoralth, but only a minuscule percentage could achieve this feat.
Mana signatures were divided into two parts: the outer mana signature and the inner mana signature.
The inner signature was what defined an individual, enabling them to use their powers and abilities. It was intricate and nearly impossible to replicate.
Unless the individual themselves had reached a level where they could fully understand and explicitly copy their own signature into an art, no one in Eldoralth could claim to confidently achieve this from mere observation.
The outer signature was comparatively easier to mimic but still a monumental task.
If Atticus had simply mimicked the outer mana signature, the spirit wouldn't have been this shocked. After all, Atticus had already displayed incredible feats.
But no. What Atticus had done was something far harder, something impossible.
Beyond mimicking the outer mana signature, there was an additional step: reversing it.
Every being's mana signature was unique, like a fingerprint. But for every fingerprint, there existed its opposite, its reverse.
By inverting the beasts' mana signatures, Atticus had created a force they could not resist. Opposites always attract.
Atticus's mana churned harder. His body became a blur, his speed multiplying with every step as he shot across the hard ground.
The ground cracked beneath his feet, worm-like beasts erupting with fangs bared, but Atticus was already gone, an azure trail blazing in his wake.
His piercing gaze locked onto the beasts as they leapt into the air. Rings of mana materialized behind him, glowing like blazing halos.
One second.
He mimicked their outer signatures.
Half a second.
He reversed them.
The rings shot forward, supersonic and unrelenting. The beasts dove, attempting to escape into the hard ground.
But the rings followed.
Screeches erupted, piercing, guttural, blood-curdling. The ground quaked, geysers of blood shot from fissures, and then silence.
Atticus didn't stop.
Step. Crack. Burst.
Dozens more erupted from beneath the platform, but they fell just as fast. Rings of reversed mana carved through them with brutal efficiency, leaving no time for retaliation.
Ten beasts. Fifty. A hundred.
In mere seconds, over a hundred beasts had fallen.
It was a massacre. The earth was painted red.
A heavy, suffocating silence fell as Atticus stood calmly on the hard ground, his cold eyes fixed below.
No trembling. No slight displacement. No signs of danger.
Everywhere was silent.
Atticus turned his gaze to the sky, watching as the blood-red moon began to shift, its crimson hue fading, replaced by its normal silver glow that bathed the platform in radiant light.
He could instantly feel that his mana had stopped being siphoned by the moon.
"Is that the end of the second trial?"
Atticus almost cringed as he asked the question. That felt like tempting fate. However, it seemed the universe had decided not to play tricks on him today.
The spirit nodded his head furiously before turning to Atticus.
"Y-yes. You've successfully completed the second trial. Congratulations," the spirit said, though his voice was filled with disbelief.
Despite the news, there wasn't a single flicker of happiness in Atticus's gaze. He simply nodded before settling on the ground, closing his eyes.
"I thought you'd be happier," the spirit couldn't help but ask, baffled. "You're the first person to ever pass the second trial."
Atticus raised an eyebrow. That was news to him, but it didn't change anything.
"Why would I be happy when I could still die?" he replied. "Going by your words, there's still one more trial. The second was harder than the first, and it's only logical the third will follow the same pattern. I have to be ready."
The spirit fell silent. To think Atticus didn't waste even a second reveling in the joy of surviving the second trial, instead already focusing on the third…
The silence stretched before Atticus finally broke it. "Aside from the third trial, will there be any more challenges?"
The spirit paused for a moment. Atticus had experienced the challenges firsthand, so he could ask about them.
"Yes. One," the spirit admitted.
"Before or after the third trial?"
"After," the spirit replied.
Atticus nodded, his expression unfazed as he closed his eyes again.
From the spirit's answer, he now knew that the next challenge would be the third trial. But he couldn't help but wonder why there would be a challenge after the third trial. Wasn't it supposed to be the final test?
Then it hit him. A familiar scene that had played out one too many times before came to mind.
"I see. I might have to battle the katana's avatar again," he muttered under his breath.
When he had learned the first three katana arts, he had always faced the katana's avatar at the end. Atticus was certain this would be no different.
Satisfied with his conclusion, Atticus closed his eyes and rested for most of the night. He wasn't as drained as he had been after the first trial, but the blood moon had caused him to lose a significant amount of mana.
After several hours, Atticus felt he had recovered enough mana. He stood up, stretching lightly, before resuming his journey across the white ground.
Since he had passed the second trial, no beasts emerged from the ground again, and his progress was uneventful and quiet.
But that soon changed.