Atticus gazed skyward, taking in the sight of the towering mountain before him.
The mountain was a jagged colossus, a single slab of stone stabbing toward the heavens. Thick clouds swirled around its peak, shrouding it in a ghostly veil.
All around, the wind roared, screaming down the slopes, wild and furious. Even at the base, Atticus could feel its raw intensity pressing against him.
He placed a hand on the mountain's surface, its dark texture cold and smooth under his palm. Then, he turned toward the spirit hovering silently beside him.
"Is this the last challenge?"
The spirit paused for a moment, as though unsure how to respond.
Atticus's gaze narrowed. Before he could press further, the spirit finally answered.
"It's the path to the challenge."
Atticus's expression sharpened. "A path?"
His eyes flicked back to the peak, his mind spinning.
'Looks like my assumption was right.'
After completing the second trial, Atticus had formed a theory about the challenge after the third trial. It had always felt strange to him that there would be an additional challenge beyond what was supposed to be the final trial. His assumption had led him to believe that he would face the katana's avatar.
"Where's the final destination?"
"The peak."
'The peak, huh,' Atticus thought coldly, audibly exhaling. It made sense that the final challenge would culminate in such a climactic setting.
He focused on the surface of the mountain. 'No footholds.'
Its dark surface gleamed like polished obsidian, untouched and sheer, as if carved by the blade of a giant.
"Is there a specific way I have to climb this?" Atticus asked after a few seconds of deliberation.
The spirit shook his head.
Atticus's thoughts swirled until his gaze abruptly sharpened, a critical question forming in his mind.
"Am I supposed to gain something from this path?"
The spirit froze, stunned by the insightfulness of the question. He clenched his hand behind him tightly before answering.
"Yes."
"Is it related to the fourth art?"
"Yes."
Atticus nodded, his sharp gaze softening slightly. 'I should recover first.'
Just as he moved to sit cross-legged and recover, the sharp, metallic scent of acid hit his nose like a hammer. Almost immediately, he felt his body begin to corrode slightly.
Atticus's gaze snapped downward to see the green sea of acid rising.
'It's affecting the little mana I have left… Looks like the katana doesn't want me to rest.'
Atticus sighed. He had been hoping for a brief reprieve before beginning the climb, but it was clear the katana had no intention of allowing it.
The green acid sea stretched endlessly behind him, and although the massive mountain loomed before him, he was still standing on the narrow stone pathway. Somehow, Atticus wasn't sure if he and the mountain were sinking or if the acid was rising.
Either way, resting was no longer an option.
Atticus turned to the spirit. "How do I survive climbing this mountain?"
Now that he knew he would be climbing in this state, his mana drained and his body fatigued, he needed to tread carefully.
"Move fast and be cautious," the spirit replied.
"Why fast? What happens if I slow down?"
The spirit glanced at the acid sea. "First, it will catch up to you. And second, this mountain is made of healing ground."
Atticus's eyes narrowed. 'That changes everything.'
The smooth, obsidian-like surface made sense now. There were no natural handholds, and he would have to carve his own footholds as he climbed. But if the mountain healed itself instantly, every hole he made would close as quickly as it appeared.
Atticus clenched his fists. 'This won't be easy.'
The green sea engulfed the stone pathway, sizzling smoke rising into the air as it began to burn his shoes.
He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath before exhaling slowly.
'Last one.'
Atticus crouched low, his legs coiling like a spring ready to snap.
He used no mana. He couldn't afford to waste what little he had left, choosing instead to save it for critical moments. But his passive strength was nothing to scoff at.
Muscles tensed, his entire frame brimming with raw, unrelenting power.
The air seemed to vibrate.
Then he launched.
A blur of motion. Shockwaves erupted beneath him, sending ripples tearing through the green sea below. He shot upward, a streak of speed and force cutting cleanly through the air.
His fingers struck the mountain, hard and firm. They pierced the smooth, obsidian-like surface effortlessly, carving deep holds into the stone.
He hung there for a moment, his body taut, before driving upward again.
Another leap. Another strike into the mountain.
But then, he felt it.
A shift.
Atticus's gaze sharpened, his pupils narrowing to pinpricks.
His body was suddenly dragged downward, the air pressing against him like an invisible hand.
The gravity had changed.
Not by a little. By a lot.
His momentum slowed drastically. The height he should have reached with ease fell short, forcing him to pierce another hole and grip tightly.
"What the hell…"
Atticus's mind raced. His body felt impossibly heavy, as though weights had been strapped all around him.
'Of course, it won't be that easy.'
He didn't waste time. The mountain was made of healing ground, and less than a second after striking a hole, it would close again. He launched himself upward once more, moving with rapid speed, piercing another hold higher up.
But the realization struck him as he climbed.
'It's increasing as I ascend.'
At the start, he had been able to move about 10 meters upward with each leap. But as he climbed, the gravity continually intensified, reducing that height significantly. Soon, even moving 4 meters at a time became a grueling challenge.
As he ascended, Atticus turned his gaze toward the spirit.
"Is the gravity increase time-based or height-based?"
"Height," the spirit replied.
Atticus nodded, relieved. Then, abruptly, he stopped launching himself upward. Instead, he began climbing the mountain gradually.
Now that he had confirmed the gravity wasn't increasing with time, he could pace himself. His sudden launches had been causing the shifts in gravity to hit him harder, placing unnecessary strain on his body.
'Moving at an even pace will let my body acclimate,' he thought.
With this new strategy in mind, Atticus climbed the towering mountain rapidly, his body adjusting to the increasing gravity as he ascended.