The Transcendent Godslayer-Chapter 41: Limit-Breaking physique

Kallen wasn't joking when he said he could achieve what he wanted without any divine help. The system Samaelas had given him, had not made itself known, to this day... nor was the Infinity's Edge, and it was nine years already.

There was no trace of what happened in that astral temple except his memory. And even that, the events that followed the mysterious eye's appearance, remained shrouded in mystery, as he couldn't remember anything after that.

His steps led him up a plateau, and into a grand courtyard that seemed to overlook the entire world. The vintage point offered a sweeping view of Crimson City, a vast, sprawling metropolis named after his family.

In the heart of the courtyard, an old man sat cross-legged before a low tea table. The steam curling from his teacup mingling with the cool morning air.

Azarel cocked his head and beamed. "Ah, little fighter. What brings you to this old man?"

Kallen nodded his head in greeting. He glanced around. "Old man Ariel isn't here?"

Azarel snorted. "Brat, are you here for Ariel or me?"

"Both."

"Well, Ariel's not here."

"Not a problem."

Azarel narrowed his eyes, studying him for a moment before his brows jumped. "You've grown stronger? Not just that... by an insane margin. But..." He frowned.

"...I don't sense any trace of dynamis from you. How strange."

"This is the results of my training, I pushed my body to and past its limits."

"I see... Past its limits huh?" He smiled knowingly. "So, you'll be awakening your core now? It's long overdue."

Naturally, he understood that everyone had their secrets. Although it was a little strange for a nine-year-old to have some mysterious secrets, he could look past that. Afterall even he knew a secret about him, that the lad wasn't even aware of.

"Not yet." Kallen replied.

Azarel's brow twitched, but he didn't press further. Instead, he smirked. "I might just have the right materials to help you. Come with me."

Before Kallen could even process his words, Azarel grabbed him by the collar and vanished. The world blurred, and in the blink of an eye, they stood in a massive, high-tech forge.

At the center, a scorching-hot lava furnace pulsed with liquid fire, its intensity barely contained by forcefield barriers.

The walls were lined with holographic blueprints and runic interfaces, displaying the intricate blueprints of weapons, armor, and artifacts.

Azarel waved his hand, and seven pitch-black ores with a metallic sheen clattered onto the workbench, along with a beast hide that radiated an overwhelming, suffocating presence. Without hesitation, he began his work.

After melting the rocks and boiling the leather, glowing runic symbols appeared in the air, forming a complex pattern.

He poured the molten metal and threw the softened leather into the formation. The symbols flickered and pulsed as if alive, guiding the materials into place, and holding them up in the air.

"Give me your hand," Azarel ordered.

Kallen did not think twice, extending his palm, and Azarel made a small incision. Immediately, a thick blob of deep red blood and a single droplet of milky, jelly-like essence oozed from the wound.

A sudden wave of nausea hit Kallen. His limbs trembled, as a deep exhaustion settled over him.

Azarel entered the blood into the runic formation, and the molten metal glowed a deep scarlet, heat radiating from it like the breath of a slumbering titan.

The forge roared, runic hammers materializing from thin air, hammering the molten materials into shape with rhythmic, earth-shaking blows.

Minutes stretched into eternity.

Finally, a smooth, black-and-red sphere hovered in the air before them. With a flick of his wrist, Azarel pressed it to Kallen's chest.

The sphere melted like liquid metal, spreading across Kallen's entire body, save for his face. Beneath his clothes, the material clung to his skin, like a second layer of muscle.

The moment it settled, his breath hitched. His muscles screamed, his bones groaning under an invisible force. It felt as though every atom in his body was under crushing weight, like trying to lift a mountain with every cell of his being.

Azarel grinned. "Now, this should speed up whatever you're doing."

Kallen clenched his fists, his breaths ragged. "It's... heavy."

"It's not actual weight," Azarel said nonchalantly. "It works by applying pressure to every cell in your body, forcing them to strengthen at an accelerated rate. That's why I needed your blood and bone essence. And no, you can't take it off."

Kallen didn't respond, only focused on enduring the strain.

Azarel chuckled. "Over the next few days, your body and mind will adapt to the pressure. It won't hinder your movements, but it'll refine your physique at a terrifying pace. The vest can also reshape itself to act as armor, though its defensive strength depends on you. At your current level, it should grant around 300 to 500 points of defense, but it'll scale as you grow stronger."

Kallen exhaled slowly. "Thank you."

Azarel waved a hand dismissively. "Ahhh! No need, no need.

"Let this grandpa of yours treat you good." He grinned.

With a snap of his fingers, they vanished, reappearing in the courtyard.

Azarel sat back down, refilling his tea as if nothing had happened. "Right, you can use the gravity chamber now. Now shoo, so I can drink my tea in peace."

Kallen lingered slightly before turning away.

---

Kallen walked until he reached his room. At this point, it felt like he had been carrying the weight of the world. His body was leaden... quite literally, his muscles screaming in protest with every step.

The moment he laid eyes on his bed, he let himself collapse onto it with a soft groan. Adjusting slightly to lie on his back, he panted loudly, as if no amount of air in the world could fill his lungs.

His eyelids felt like they were made of stone, yet the deep, burning ache in his muscles refused to let him slip into unconsciousness easily. It was maddening.

Sleep hovered just within reach, yet felt miles away.

If he had thought the brutal training as a mercenary kid on Earth was torture, then this was hell itself.

Although he was exhausted, both physically and mentally, he still found time to think clearly.

The Pathfinder title he had earned from breaking unknown bodily limitations was, in fact, an ancient and long-forgotten practice from Earth's ancient human civilizations.

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His clan had preserved old texts detailing routines, exercises, training regimens, and meditations aimed at surpassing the body's natural limits.

It was said that those who succeeded became superhuman, capable of unimaginable feats. But as the centuries turned to millennia and no one managed to achieve this so-called limit-breaking physique, the practice was dismissed as mere myth, eventually fading into obscurity.

Still, even without shattering any boundaries, those who practiced the techniques would gain physical abilities far beyond the norm, making them elite among elites. That was why clans like his own, a lineage of assassins stretching back to the olden days, had preserved the knowledge, although it was no longer complete.

It was an invaluable tool for training peak-level assassins and mercenaries.

The fact that he had actually attempted it, delaying his Awakening by three whole years, had been a reckless gamble—one he hadn't even been sure would pay off. And though it ultimately had, relying on chance and luck, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The only reason he had stuck with it was because, through the Existential Compendium, he could visibly see, and trace his progress through his stats' growth. If his growth had suddenly stalled for two or three months, then he would have immediately abandoned the method and awakened.

It was never wise to depend too much on hope.

Expectations were a poison to the mind.