True mories always co with frayed edges and blurriness, not this kind of high-definition, all-encompassing emotional bombardnt.
"It’s an illusion..."
A cold voice struggled up from the deepest layer of his soul.
It’s not a voice but a will, honed from countless battles, choices, lonely paths, a survival instinct and the pursuit of the wizard’s path.
The wizard’s path is one I’ve chosen.
The parents’ concern is real guilt, but that guilt should not be chains that break wings; it should be one of the motivating forces to move forward more resolutely.
Only by reaching a high enough place might there be a possibility to change sothing.
And to sink into this, to dutifully serve false parental illusions, is not only self-deception but an utter betrayal of the real self, of the self already on the path.
Before him, the parents are still gazing at him eagerly, the mother with tearful eyes, the father hesitating, the scene still easily tearing through his defenses.
Duke shut his eyes, took a deep breath. When he opened them again, the montary vulnerability and hesitation in his eyes were crushed, replaced by profound pain and even deeper resolve.
He no longer looked at the class teacher.
Facing the aging, expectant "parents," he stepped back, breaking free from his mother’s hand.
Then, under the stunned, confused, gradually despairing gazes of the elderly couple, he slowly, solemnly knelt down.
No words, because any language at this mont appears pale or hypocritical.
"Thud."
The forehead touched the cold concrete floor.
A muffled sound, it was a farewell to past bonds, a tribute across ti and illusion to the real parents’ nurturing grace, and a confirmation of his choice.
"Thud."
The second bow was a farewell to this gentle trap, a relinquishnt of all comfort the illusion could offer.
"Thud."
The third bow was a steadfastness to his path, a vow to cut off hesitation, and to face unknown suffering and glory.
After three bows, he lifted his head, his forehead slightly red.
He looked at the frozen faces of his parents, a sadness and disbelief as if the world had collapsed, and word by word, his voice dry but clear, pierced through the veil of illusion:
"Dad, Mom... I’m sorry. This path, I must walk it."
"Fake, it’s ultimately fake."
"Break for —"
The final low shout was no longer sound but a spiritual storm that burst with all the will to break away, erupting from his kneeling body.
It wasn’t aid at external energy but a direct stab at the sunken core of consciousness within.
"Crack!"
The classroom, sunlight, parents, teacher... like a shattered mirror, instantly covered in cracks, then transford into countless luminous shards, suddenly dispersed.
"Pfft—!"
In the secret chamber, Duke, sitting cross-legged, shuddered violently, suddenly spitting out a mouthful of dark golden blood, containing chaotic energy residues.
His face turned pale as paper, veins bulged on his forehead, cold sweat poured out like pulp.
But those newly opened eyes bore no trace of confusion or fragility.
Only after enduring the deepest temptation and tearing it apart personally did he leave behind an iron-like coldness and determination, and the soul fire in the depths of his pupils burned brighter and purer.
He had no ti to breathe, not even to wipe the blood from his lips. The mont his will returned, with unprecedented precision and ruthless stance, he took control again of the nearly chaotic six-elent energy flow within, pouring all his heart into the unabated, cruel yet magnificent process of bodily elentalization.
The lingering shock of the illusion’s shattering had not yet subsided, and the pain brought by the six intertwining and colliding energy flows on the body reoccupied the summit of perception.
However, this pure, material level pain now seed to Duke like a gift of clarity.
He discarded all distractions, his will acting like the most delicate probe and helmsman, diving back into the chaotic storm of initial elental transformation within him, continuing the unfinished process of ascension.
The elentalization progressed steadily amidst pain, each cell’s transformation accompanied by the collapse of old structures and the establishnt of new order, akin to a violent microcosmic life reconstruction.
However, just as Duke focused entirely on this inner universe’s creation, another more eerie, penetrating soul interference, like a cold snake, silently snuck into his spiritual barrier.
Initially, it was a slight, barely noticeable rustling, like countless tiny insects crawling at the edge of consciousness’s darkness.
Then it beca indistinct whispering, as if murmuring from extrely distant places, separated by heavy water and rock layers.
These sounds had no specific language but directly conveyed chaos, madness, greed, malice, and a nauseating curiosity towards the essence of life and order.
Unknown whispers.
Duke’s heart trembled, ascending to Level 2, energy impacting the mind, and triggering illusions was a common risk, but this direct ntal interference, seemingly from external entities’ sinister whispers, were seldom ntioned in the literature, generally only appearing among specially talented, those making overly dynamic breakthroughs, or those entangled in karmic links with dangerous beings.
Evidently, the six-elent composite crystal’s uniqueness, and possibly involving the Light Divine Status and other secrets, has drawn attention far beyond the ordinary.
The whispers rapidly intensified, beca clearer, as if coming from countless directions simultaneously, directly resonating in his brainstem:
"...fragile order... wonderful disintegration... rge with chaos... enjoy eternal slumber..."
"...light? Ridiculous gleam... darkness is the destination... embrace the void... beco the void itself..."
"...pain... struggle... such a vibrant offering... praise the transformation... offer your suffering."
"...knowledge... yearn for knowledge? I can grant... the truth beyond your imagination... the cost is small... only need to open your soul..."
These whispers not rely noise; they contained twisted spiritual power attempting to directly pollute his thoughts, dissolve his will, tempting him to relinquish control, embrace chaos, or promise him false omniscience.
Each murmur, like a cold spike, fiercely chiseling at his spiritual sea’s barrier, bringing waves of pain as if axes cleaving, with a headache like splitting, even distorted grotesque abstract color blocks and indescribable shape phantoms began to flicker before his eyes.
Ordinary wizards encountering such assaults during key monts of ascension risk losing their mind, causing uncontrolled energy, failed ascension, or soul contamination.
Yet Duke now bore multiple evil focuses from different directions and natures, like hungry monsters hidden in dinsional shadows simultaneously licking at his soul.
"Get out!"
Duke roared silently in his heart.
At the center of the spiritual sea, the six-elent composite crystal erupted with unprecedented brilliant light, especially the core part embodying the Light Divine Status, radiating pure and intense purifying will.
The remaining top-grade Soul Dew’s potency was fully unleashed, forming layers of light film reinforcing the spiritual barrier.
His willpower, having undergone the ultimate test of the terrestrial illusion, was now as condensed as immortal diamond, fiercely resisting the invasive whispers.
He couldn’t let himself be distracted to listen or understand the contents of these whispers; even a hint of curiosity could lead to vulnerability. He must perceive them purely as spiritual noise to resist and soul attack.
Amidst enduring both the head-splitting pain and maddening sibilant speech, he guided with unimaginable precision the internal six streams of world-ending energy for elental fusion.
The difficulty and peril involved were beyond the scope of words to describe.
Sweat long dried, replaced by blood beads oozing from pores, containing trace elents impurities.
His seven orifices seeped bloodstains under this dual pressure, a fierce apparition, like a ghost.
But his gaze, piercing through the haze of pain and whispers, grew brighter, colder, ever more... resolute.
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