Spirit's Awakening: The Path of Lightning and Water-Chapter 351: The Road Home
Lassim propelled himself through the sky with gentle steps, each activation of [Storm’s Dance] with a flicker of his fused mana. Space folded and condensed around him, shortening vast distances into mere moments.
Despite the speed of his movement, his spiritual sense absorbed the familiar sights and terrains below—reminders of the path that had led him southward years ago. Now, with home on the horizon, each landmark he passed filled him with a bit of nostalgia, despite it only being three or four years since he’d headed to the Southern Continent.
The jagged peaks of Mt. Aso came into view as Lassim crossed into colder air, leaving the Sapphire River long behind him. Snow capped the high ridges, and thick glaciers carved deep scars into the mountainside. The observation from the sky allowed him to take in the entirety of the mountain with a much better perspective compared to having been forced to cross it on foot.
The icy wind tugged at him, but he pushed forward, recalling the time he had fought the Ice Yeti here. The encounter had been brutal; the Yeti’s sheer strength and ice-affinity techniques had tested the limits of his control over his budding power at the time and nearly left him for dead.
"It was freezing," Lassim thought aloud, as the mountains passed beneath him.
The memory of escaping the Yeti’s—barely getting away by paralyzing it—reminded him of how far he’d come. Today, he’d be able to swat that first level Spirit Transcendent stage Yeti like a fly.
With a lingering glance at the frigid peaks, Lassim didn’t halt his steps, continually pressing onward.
The temperature warmed slightly as Lassim left the mountain behind and approached a dense, webbed canopy of the Queen’s Threads. Towering trees with massive, twisted roots dominated the land, but were completely wrapped in endless threads of silken webs. Every plant and millimeter of land was covered by the faintly shimmering threads, catching the afternoon sun in patterns so intricate they resembled a silhouetted and glowing map of the forest below.
He thought back and remembered a trinket he’d still kept. He adjusted the [Rathlek] brooch pinned to his belt—the token of the Spider Queen’s favor.
Below, half-humanoid arachnids moved across their webs, their movements fluid and purposeful. Lassim could feel their eyes on him even from this distance, their awareness keen and ever vigilant. He even felt several, more powerful, eyes glare at him from the shadows, before looking away, unperturbed by the traveler.
"[Well, the widows at least know we’re passing through,]" Lassim remarked inwardly. "[Hopefully we can pass quickly before Princess Silvari notices and kidnaps us for a few days again…]"
Mari’s voice held approval. "[Indeed. She was quite cute and a bit lonely. I do hope her lion bat has grown. Maybe next time we should stop and say hello.]"
Lassim nodded mentally, "[Yeah. It’d be nice to see her when we’re not pressed for time.]"
The Spider Queen’s Threads soon connected to the swamp which was then quickly passed, giving way to the ascending cliffs of the Kingdom of Aetheria. The terrain rose sharply, and Lassim climbed higher into the air to fly high above the ridged plateaus of the kingdom.
The trees here sparkled with crystallized branches that refracted light into intricate patterns. Lassim could see faint movements below in a city he soon flew over—some citizens and geomancers working together to adjust the cliff sides of their city. It was hard to forget the five years he’d spent inside Khaalseru’s realm and only reminded him of the small mistake he’d made by showing himself a bit too early, not having enough power to truly protect himself.
As the cliffs of Aetheria faded into the distance, he descended once more towards forests and hills before seeing the lively, bustling Durelia Town appeared next. Even from far away, his enhanced spiritual sense allowed him to practically hear the shouts of merchants and gamblers, and the grand coliseum at its heart teeming with activity. Though Lassim flew high above, the memory of his time in Durelia was still vivid.
It had been here that he’d entered a tournament and impressed Hallen as just a fresh Spirit Growth stage Spirit Warrior in the random showmatch. Yet, winning had brought Mercy to show himself and try to recruit Lassim for the Abyssal cult.
The roar of the crowd seemed to echo in his mind, much too similar to the winning of the duel against the Steel Snake Sect. At least this time he was much more powerful and could hold his own against average Spirit Warriors.
The terrain softened and the return of many rivers appeared as Lassim approached Golden Lotus River City, the place where his Spirit Awakening Ceremony had been held nearly nine years ago.
The golden-lined crimson pagodas of Golden Lotus River City shimmered in the distance, rising gracefully above the flowing rivers that wove through the city. Bridges arched elegantly over the waterways, connecting its bustling districts. The exalted temple of the Elder Gods stood tall at its center, its spires piercing the evening sky as a beacon of divine power.
Lassim slowed slightly, allowing himself a moment to take in the sight. It was within those sacred walls that he had bonded with Zaphy and Mari, setting him on the path that had brought him to this moment.
Finally, unwilling to waste any more time, Lassim continued as the sun was now setting on the horizon. Soon he reached and passed above the dense expanse of the Emeraldwood Forest. Towering sequoia-like trees stretched skyward, their branches forming a verdant canopy teeming with life. Lightning squirrels darted between the branches, their faint sparks visible even from above, while wood boars rooted around the forest floor.
This forest surrounded Swallowtail Mountain City, Lassim’s childhood home.
Memories surged forth unbidden: racing through these woods as a boy, his heart pounding with excitement; chasing an azure-tailed water fox while laughter and shouts of encouragement echoed behind him.
As he crossed the final stretch of forest, the lights of Swallowtail Mountain City came into view. Nestled at the base of the mountain, the city’s timber-framed buildings glowed softly under the lanterns lining its cobblestone streets.
The city was much larger than before, and even his senses picked up the burrowed out tunnels and tent homes in an adjacent camp with many familiar, root-like tattooed faces.
He would visit them soon enough, but he had a more important place to head to first.
From this height, he could see the bustling streets, dotted with colorful banners bearing the crest of his Vanthar family—the magnificent two-handed bastard sword crossed with a blazing sun, its rays reaching outwards like fiery tendrils. A pang of pride surged through him, mixed with a longing he hadn’t felt in years.
Lassim, in his hurry, quickened his steps and surged his cultivation for a brief moment. Then his boots touched the ground just outside the Vanthar Family estate entrance gate that was shut with two guards standing at attention.
He deactivated [Storm’s Dance], letting the folded space around him return to normal, and relaxed the full power of his cultivation, the spiritual pressure still gently swirling and billowing out from him, but no longer at full strength for the moment.
As he took a breath, the air here was familiar, carrying the scents of earth, wood smoke, and distant blooming flowers in the garden maintained by his mother.
He was home.
~~~
The rising sun cast its golden rays over the Vanthar Estate, its sprawling grounds alive with the gentle hum of the morning breeze and the faint rustle of leaves from the towering oaks lining the cobblestone path.
Ulric rubbed his eyes as he adjusted the straps that tightened his armor to his muscular frame, heading toward the front gates for his morning shift.
The day started as it always did: quiet, predictable, and peaceful. A quick breakfast of porridge and bread in the barracks filled his stomach before the guards assembled for their morning assignments.
Ulric, having been on the rotation to work the gates for the last 2 years now, had long since settled into a rhythm—inspect the mechanisms, check the locks, and ensure the gates remained pristine for the many visitors the estate hosted. The rotations within the estate changed every three years, so it was more more year of relaxed daily life before he might be sent back on patrols through the Emeraldwood or to the standing army’s position within the Kingdom’s legions.
By mid-morning, Ulric was joined by Milo, his overeager partner who, despite having been a recent hire with the family for several months now, still carried the restless energy of a new recruit.
"Did you hear about the tavern brawl at the Golden Pike last night?" Milo asked as he adjusted his helmet.
Ulric rolled his eyes. "What now? Let me guess—someone got into it over a bad dice roll?"
"Not just someone. Old Tevris himself was thrown out! Apparently, he accused the barkeep of watering down the ale. Didn’t take kindly to being laughed at, so he tried to break a chair over someone’s head." Milo chuckled, his youthful grin widening. "They say he’ll be banned for a month, at least."
Ulric snorted. "That man’s been in more scraps than half the soldiers in this family. If they actually banned him for good, he’d probably wither away."
The two shared a laugh as they resumed their short patrols along the front gate, the morning sun climbing higher.
By early afternoon, the streets leading to the estate had quieted, save for the occasional merchant cart or courier. One of the local farmer’s daughters brought over a package of eggs that had been picked that morning, but it was fairly uneventful.
Ulric leaned against the gatepost, taking a moment to enjoy the lull while Milo waved goodbye to the girl, his grin lingering a bit longer than it should.
"Bet you two rations she comes back tomorrow with something else," Milo said, still staring down the path after her.
Ulric raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smirk. "Don’t hold your breath, boy. She looked like she’s got better things to do than fawn over some guard who can’t even keep his helmet straight."
Milo straightened indignantly, adjusting the helmet in question. "You’re just jealous she didn’t bring you any eggs."
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"They’re for the family anyways, not you," Ulric said dryly, settling back into his post. "Plus, better that than another day chasing down some runaway wood boar. My legs are still sore from last time."
Milo chuckled. "Fair point. Though, she can come around any time she’d like." He said with a wink.
Ulric shot him a warning glance.
Milo shrugged but fell silent, and the two returned to their watch as the afternoon wore on, shadows growing longer across the path until the sun started to fall towards the horizon.
It was then that Ulric felt it.
A faint vibration rippled through the air, subtle at first but growing stronger with each passing moment.
The breeze shifted, carrying with it an unnatural charge that prickled at his skin and made the hair on his arms stand on end.
"Y-you feel that, S-sir?" Milo asked, his voice tinged with nervousness.
"Quiet," Ulric barked, his tone sharper than usual as his instincts flared. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the path and skies ahead.
The pressure in the air intensified, weighing heavily on his chest. A strange, static-like energy buzzed faintly, and Ulric summoned and gripped his elemental weapon, a mid-length sword tight, his heart begging to pound in his ears like a war drum.
Then, with a sudden displacement of air, a figure appeared just beyond the gates in front of them.
The man stood tall, roughly 193cm tall or more, with velvety blue hair. His storm-filled eyes looked like swirls of lightning as tiny bolts jutted from them. He was wearing a sect of martial sect robes that he didn’t instantly recognize, a violet base with golden accents embellished all over.
There was a scary feeling pin on the man’s chest in the shape of a lightning bolt that, when his spiritual sense came in contact with it, felt like the bolt was raging to defy the heavens. It had a power that was far beyond any realm of cultivation held by any Spirit Warrior he knew, even far beyond the Master of the house’s own—The Iron Marquis.
The spiritual pressure around the stranger was like a tempest as sparks of lightning crackled around him, and the remnants of storms at his feet—a powerful movement technique, no doubt—began dissipating into the atmosphere.
Ulric’s breath caught. The overwhelming pressure radiating from the stranger was unlike anything he had felt before. His body tensed as the sheer weight of the man’s presence pressed down on him, making it difficult to speak.
"Who goes there?" Ulric managed, his training and confidence as a guard for the Vanthar family kicking in.
The figure didn’t respond immediately, his gaze sweeping over the guards with a calm that only heightened their unease.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried effortlessly, yet it held a gravity that made both men shudder.
"I’m here to see Captain Gryphon," the man said.
Ulric tightened his grip on his weapon, his mind racing. He exchanged a glance with Milo, whose pale face mirrored his own confusion and fear.
Whoever this was, they weren’t an ordinary visitor.
"Senior. I apologize, but the Captain doesn’t take visitors unannounced. Especially ones that refuse to introduce themselves." Ulric replied, forcing his voice to remain steady as he prepared to ready his sword in the direction of the newcomer.
The man’s lips twitched into a faint smile, and he stepped closer, the pressure around him finally retracting back into the man. "Tell him his nephew is back."
"Nephew? Who would dare falsely—"
The words struck Ulric like a blow, but he couldn’t reconcile them with the man standing before him.
This... was the young master?
"Milo! Go get the Captain," Ulric barked, his voice cracking slightly under the strain of the moment.
Milo didn’t hesitate, turning and sprinting toward the estate as fast as his legs could carry him. Left alone with the stranger, Ulric felt his legs trembling as he came to grips with the realization who had arrive, nay—returned.
