As the nonats passed by, Myrkas became increasingly bored and restless. He was stagnating. The not-bastard princeling wasn't stagnating, Myrkas knew. There was no way his Imperial Highness was stuck handling grass, unable to advance because his well-meaning but overly cautious uncle refused to let him take any amount of risk.
The situation had to change. Myrkas felt no closer to sensing Qi than at the start of his training, nonats ago. Unacceptable. Simply unacceptable. Once again, Myrkas felt the urge, the need to do something drastic, to take risks and reap the rewards. How was he ever going to gain strength otherwise? The boy refused to see his potential limited by his uncle. He was a Heavens’ chosen protagonist, however self-declared. His status had to come with some plot armour in the welcome package. It only made sense. It must have been written somewhere.
Following this logic, Myrkas could clearly see his next step. He refused to wait any longer for Koriss' permission to increase the intensity of his training. It was Myrkas' own responsibility to take matters in hands. Time to do what he had wanted since the beginning: mix and match all training methods. That was the surest way to get results. No need for years and years of slow progress. Myrkas only needed a few intense sessions to achieve legendary greatness. His patience was gone. The time for decisive action had arrived!
Myrkas had planned and prepared, making sure everything was in place. He had successfully applied an extra Leech that very morning, leaving his vital Qi reserves emptier than ever before. The boy felt weak and dizzy standing up, a touch short of breath, with an edge of anxiety that kept him awake and alert. It was an odd sensation, to be depleted of vital Qi as he was. It made him strangely "hungry," but unable to say for what type of food. As if his body knew mere rice could not fill the hole in his core. Uncomfortable, disturbing, but necessary to gain the ability to sense Qi quickly. His path to power demanded so.
Myrkas entered the scene. He kept a single, plain candle lit for the moment, ensuring one last time everything was ready. The room was dark and silent, a simple shed in a corner of the property. Myrkas had covered its single window with heavy cloth for maximal sensory deprivation once the flame was blown. His bath was prepared, at body temperature, the water salted heavily and high enough to almost submerge him when he would lay in the large tub.
In a streak of self-proclaimed genius, MyrKas had added the entire amount of Piercing Jade Grass oil from the same morning's chores to his usual weak medicinal bath. Not like he intended to drink it. "Purifying Qi" should be good. Not much would get through his skin. That measly plant's Qi shouldn't be that dangerous. Myrkas had already developed a tolerance, his skin no longer reacting to mere drops, and his bowels much calmer despite his ongoing exposure. And the oil was diluted in the bath, it was a big bath. It was just enough to increase the concentration of Qi and surround himself with less neutral, more aggressive Qi. And "purify" his body at the same time, possibly, maybe. Removing impurities through alchemy was a thing cultivators did, indeed.
At the last minute, Myrkas had decided not to directly inject any Qi inside his body. It sounded a little too dangerous upon further reflection. The small wound from the leech was still bleeding a tad. That portal of entry would have to be enough for this last method for Qi sensitization. There were limits to tempting the green devil.
In position, Myrkas killed the flickering light. The moment of verity had arrived. With some trepidation–but courage aplenty–Myrkas breathed deeply, taking his time before diving, figuratively, into the Qi-filled water. A sense of calm filled the young boy. He felt good, proud despite the possible danger. Myrkas was making changes, owning his destiny, deciding on his fate. No need to rely on his uncle's mercy or a flaky Master.
With deep, slow breaths, and chanting his mantra in his mind, Myrkas plunged into the water, one limb at a time. His mind was open. His senses were stretched to their limits, sensing any minute variation in the air, temperature, sounds, or light. As his body sunk into the warm bath, Myrkas noticed a prickling sensation on his skin. The feeling was subtle, at the edge of his awareness, making him doubt if it might come from his imagination. Whether a hallucination or a true sensation Myrkas could not tell. He feared he was making up signs of progress in his enthusiasm and impatience.
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Myrkas then tried to relax. Only his mouth and nose poked out of the fresh-smelling water. He tried to open his spirit to Qi, anxiously waiting for a real change in his perception. Any slight vibration made him flinch. After a few minutes, the boy shook himself. This was not the proper mindset, he instinctively knew. He needed to fall into a meditative state, the same one he reached when under his favourite tree, surrounded by his animal friends.
He submerged his head for a moment, letting the medicinal water cover his entire body. Once Myrkas surfaced, he slowed down his breathing, focusing again on his mantra and his senses. He let go of his immediate urge for progress and instead concentrated on simply being, on perceiving his body and his environment.
As his mind calmed, Myrkas gradually lost track of time, too attuned to the repeating rhythm of air flowing in and out of his lungs with his heart beating along. Some time passed. It happened insidiously at first. The faint prickling sensation increased in intensity. Then discomfort and mild pain started, located mainly at the site of the wound left by the Qi-leech earlier that morning. Similar to a few ants biting and walking around, invading the tiny breach in Myrkas' skin. The phantom insects spread from there. They grew in numbers and aggressivity, as if set to conquer every exposed area. They went places better left unsaid. Then they transformed. What had felt like small, weak, and bothersome became hard, strong, and painful. Instead of ants, Myrkas felt assailed by needles. Like the boy had been encircled and attacked by the angriest porcupines in history.
The pain evolved as well. Slowly, foreign energies made their way through the boy's skin. They pierced ever deeper, scorching his insides through their passage. The previously uncomfortable sensations had given way to pure, unaltered suffering. Myrkas' meditative state became harder to maintain. Myrkas had to grit his teeth and tighten his fists to prevent himself from bolting out of the tub. Because the pain wasn't the only thing he felt. All along the needle-like tracks, the boy noticed a shiver of something. Impressions of a foreign will mixed with a residual tingle. He was almost there; his goal at the tip of his fingers.
And so Myrkas endured. He persevered, submerged in the bath as the pain worsened, drilling deep into his insides, transpiercing his immature bones. Hidden by the darkness, blood seeped into the water, only noticeable by the faint metallic scent it carried. Myrkas' agony crested higher. It reached a point where metaphors were unable to help. Unable to describe his torment, Myrkas was suffering. His psyche had become pure pain. All thoughts reduced to smithereens in the face of agony.
Myrkas' breathing accelerated against his will. It became ragged and hard, too fast and shallow. His heart stampeded. The boy was losing, his state worsened by his building panic. In a brief moment of lucidity, Myrkas realized the probability of his death kept rising with each second that passed. The risk of his demise increased as whatever had invaded his body was let free to wreak havoc on his insides. In that instant, Myrkas pinpointed the sole culprit he could think of: that accursed Piercing Jade Grass and its overaggressive purifying Qi. He had underestimated the stabby grass, too familiar with it was he by now. But he refused to let it win, refused to give up. That motherfucking herb would eat his dust. With a tremendous effort of will, Myrkas put the pain aside and focused back on his breathing.
Inhale. Hold.
Exhale. Hold.
And again.
Inhale, hold. Exhale, hold.
And again.
Bit by bit, second by second, purposefully, Myrkas gained back control of what he could. His breath, in and out, his tensed muscles, which he unclenched. He shelved his pain as best he could, acknowledging the hurt, the signal his body sent that something needed to change sooner rather than later. He pushed it to the side, trying to mute it, to keep its alarm, the information it expressed, but remove its distracting character. Myrkas had understood the message well enough. His self was under attack, his innate physical and spiritual defences crumbling. That stupid stabby grass oil was tearing him apart!
He had to fight back, to muster some type of additional defences. No time to worry about sensing Qi, his survival was at stake! Myrkas had to follow his pain, let it guide him to the foreign Qi invading him, and somehow, neutralize it. The boy had no time to spend on being overwhelmed. He was a goddamned self-proclaimed protagonist. Enduring and overcoming all obstacles to his greatness; pursuing his Dao to the end was his chosen Destiny.
With newfound resolve and the same stubborn will to survive that burned in his belly ever since his rebirth, Myrkas gave a pained smirk. He had a task to do and a green devil's butt to kick.