Lazy Salvation How Long

'How long…?'

He asked the sa question for what felt like the millionth ti.

'How long am I going to stay here?'

There was no answer to that. Only one thing remained certain: how much ti had already passed.

'Fifty years.'

The spear moved on its own within the endless white dreamscape with an unbroken rhythm, even as his thoughts drifted.

'Fifty years of holding a single rock. Of standing in the sa place, in the sa posture… straining every second so it doesn't crush along with whatever remains of my dream for freedom.'

'Hah.'

Only now did he realize it. The ti he had spent trapped inside this circle had long since eclipsed the life he had lived before it.

As for why he still regarded it as tornt even after Inertia had lifted the physical suffering, it was simply because ntal pain was in a different category altogether. After his muscles stopped being the enemy, two new nightmarish foes had taken their place.

Boredom. And loneliness.

Fifty years was easy to say. Actually living them was another matter entirely. Those years were akin to a lifeti of a normal man.

Imagine having to stand in one circle for a lifeti. Ashen was sure that the majority would go crazy in the first year.

But here he was at fifty, and still completely sane.

'Well… mostly.' He smiled bitterly. The illusions of his Liminal Drear trait had been getting a bit out of hand lately, following him even to his dreams, where he was supposed to have full control.

"Bro Bro! Still goin' at it?"

'Her today, is it.'

Ashen grumbled under his breath as the voice of his little sister, followed by her manifestation to his side, made his spear movents stop for a fraction of a second before they continued into a perfect arc.

"Wow! How pretty! You gotta teach those moves when you co back next ti, you hear !"

She struck a pose with both of her hands holding her cheeks before shooting him an eager look, but Ashen ignored her. All there was before him was a ghost of his own making.

Lapis didn't seem to mind and kept chattering on, "By the way, when are you coming back ho, Bro?"

Flinch—

"If you don't co back soon, I might co for you myself~ hehe."

Alas, even if it was a dream, his little sister was still the sa as ever, knowing which buttons to push to get a reaction out of him.

The spear stilled.

"So…? Are you still bored? Why don't you play with for a change instead of only training~?"

He closed his eyes and turned his attention inward. The background chant, the one that had been running since before he could rember, began to rise.

Endure, Overco. Endure, Overco. Endure, Overco.

He kept all of his attention on that voice until it filled everything, drawing every other sound down with it, including the ghost's chatter.

When he reopened his eyes, she was no more.

"Silence at last. I hope it lasts a while this ti."

Even as he said that, it was hollow to his ears. He knew that sowhere in his mind, he secretly longed for the ghosts' voices and their presence.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

No matter how fake they were, it was also true that they alleviated his loneliness.

…that was also why they kept appearing.

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Sotis, as a spear wielder, Ashen wondered about the best in the field.

How would he fare against them? Were they so far ahead that no amount of ti could close the gap?

And… what is it like at the peak?

At first, he thought that even if he trained restlessly for decades, he would still be far off for the simple reason that the majority of those in power were long-lived.

Whether they were demi-humans with natural long lifespans or humans who had gained more ti by rging with concepts, they would have surely gained a trendous amount of experience using that ti.

Recently, though, Ashen was starting to believe that he was starting to get close, perhaps.

Even with his limited information, he knew that few could replicate what he was doing.

'While they have lived far longer than I have, I doubt anyone would be crazy enough to swing a single spear for twenty years straight.'

It has been sixty years now since this circle had beco his world. The last ten of those he had devoted entirely to his spear, and the decade before that, when he had only just begun, brought the total to twenty years spent wielding it.

Aside from the monts he was forced to halt and face his ghosts, Ashen devoted every last second to the spear.

The first couple of years, he spent honing his form and the three basic moves of his weapon: thrusting, slashing, and parrying.

Seven years later, all three had reached the peak of Zenith.

He kept at it for three more years, but the next realm of mastery remained elusive. One thing seed to happen, though, making those three years not completely in vain.

His three separate skills had rged.

It happened when the flow of his spear grew so natural that a thrust leading to a slash, then into a parry that borrowed its own montum to return as another thrust, beca a closed, endless loop that would not stop unless he decided…

When it no longer felt like distinct actions, but a single, seamless motion…

It appeared.

Way of the Spear (Zenith )

And with its appearance, he felt the other skill that he had acquired when he lost the Grafted fighting style react.

It was the Spear Harmony that he achieved after countless tangles with the mischievous spear.

That skill's mastery rose in the background with each passing year in which he lived and breathed nothing but the spear.

From Entry to Basic, and then finally Skilled. When Spear Harmony reached the peak of Skilled, Ashen could only describe the feeling that ca over him by borrowing an expression from those fantasy stories: One with the spear.

One would think that he was just high on the sensation of mastering the spear so thoroughly, and that in reality it was just that: no more than a sensation; but soone, or sothing, would beg to differ.

It was mana itself.

Recognizing the spear as part of himself when he wielded it, the motes of mana reached along and seeped into the conjured spear as if they were moving alongside his mana-kissed body.

Like playful children using the spear as a thrill ride, it flowed in with each thrust and aided every trajectory, listening to his intent.

To Ashen, such a transition felt like it was only a given as he kept going. All of his attention was on following the flow to the next move. In that state, he did not notice when his skills rose, and barely did when mana acted playfully.

He only knew of his change when he happened to throw his spear at a distance-conjured target when he was practicing a certain 'Salvation' move.

Before he could conjure another spear, the one he threw, against all odds, moved on its own and flew back into his hands.

'...'

Only then did Ashen acknowledge that he might have really climbed high among the ranks of spear wielders in terms of skill.

By rights, who else could command their weapon with nothing more than a single thought?

And naturally, he did not stop there. Ashen continued wielding his weapon. After all, if he stopped for even a brief instant, he felt like sothing would catch up to him.

But this ti, he kept this new feeling in mind.

Now his spear dance did not require him to step into close range all the ti, as his spear could fly on its own to vanquish his foes.

And after twenty years of pursuing the way of the spear, a conjured Narkal fell, not to the spear in his hands, but to sothing else…

…sothing perhaps more formless.

Ashen did not understand at first. The foe he was sparring with suddenly dropped dead on its own with a hole in its temple.

The hole appeared identical to the ones he usually made with his spear, but he was sure he hadn't moved yet. His weapon was an extension of his body, so there was no mistake or unconscious movent.

'What am I doing?'

He looked at his next target, and this ti he saw it clearly: When he ford the intent to kill, mana manifested ahead of him according to his intent into a sharp blade identical to the one he had always wielded and completed the motion before his body had begun it.

He knew how fast he could be with a single thrust of his weapon, but for his mana to read his intent and move before even that…

'I'm a monster,' the thought appeared before he could even put it to a halt. At first, he ant it as a complint to his accomplishnts, but the word made him rember Edward's last words.

Ashen. You will always be my son, no matter how you change.

And as if it were a cure to a virus, his mother's words arrived soon after, chasing away the gloom that wanted to engulf him.

'It was rely a ghost conjured of my mories of her…' he reminded himself, but the words themselves seed to still hold weight for him, nonetheless.

"Haah… let's go back."

He wanted to, but his montary daze allowed the appearance of yet another ghost.

"Partner."