In a few moments, Leonel could think of quite a few interpretations of his uncle's words, the most important and profound of which was the dichotomy between the presence of a clap of thunder, compared to the irony of the world's ignorance.

The clap of thunder was supposedly the subjects beating heart, and everyone could so clearly hear it, and yet they had no idea just what that represented.C0pyright © 2024 Nôv)(elDrama.Org.

Whatever hidden rage and fury that caused the skies to quake was still bottled away, hidden in the tip of the very pen before him.

It was a powerful imagery, and it made Leonel somewhat understand what his uncle was trying to say. The spear was a steady and controlled weapon, but that didn't mean that the intent behind it had to be. In fact, if the intent behind it was too shallow, then it also made the spear weak.

It was just like what his uncle had said about being a man. It was good if a man was willing to take on burdens and weigh down his shoulders. But, if he didn't have a good reason for doing so, if his resolve was weak and lacking, then his back would easily break.

Montez wanted Leonel's spear to be steady, swallowing up all its elegance and flare, and exploding it forth in a single strike.

"The calligraphy pen teaches the weight of words, but not just that. It teaches you how to embody the meaning and feel of those words into strokes. They're not just words, they are strikes of your spear."

Montez unfurled another sheet of paper.

"They can be FORCEFUL. They can be SUBTLE. They can be SWIFT. They can be GENTLE."

With every emphasized word, he wrote another, his strokes changing like the wind. Leonel's eyes glazed over, he could almost see the pen as a spear and the stance of his uncle, his style morphing on a whim and without the slightest pause.

The variations made what Leonel had learned from the primitive woman seem like a joke. He couldn't change like this, he lacked the proper sort of intent.

"These four words are the ones you will start with. Until you can replicate the intent to my liking, I won't let you continue to do other things, at least not related to this."

"What happened to poetry?" Leonel asked.

"Poetry? You can't even understand the intent behind single words, how can you string them together?"

"Words…?"

Leonel's gaze flashed. He suddenly thought back to his battle with Myghell. That cousin of his had the habit of speaking out single words before he attacked. Could it be…?

After hesitating, Leonel decided to ask. He had originally thought that that was Myghell's Ability Index or something related to it, but then Myghell exposed his devour type Ability Index, so Leonel never got the answer he wanted. And, after that, so many things happened that he had forgotten to ask.

"… Ah, I see. This Myghell is interesting."

Montez scratched his chin, smiling. He suddenly wanted to learn a bit more about this Myghell.

"The truth of the matter is that this method of training the spear was self-created by your grandfather. I refined it somewhat after I matured and your father always ignored it, insisting on doing things his own way. He doesn't even use his spear 90% of the time."

Montez shook his head, stopping himself from going on another rant about Velasco.

"However, just because it is created by our family line, doesn't mean that others might not have thought of similar methods. This Myghell is quite the genius.

"You, though, my little nephew, seem to be a bit dumb."

Leonel's lip twitched. Was that necessary?

It wasn't that he was stupid, but his mentality wasn't right to think of such a method on his own.

'Maybe I am a bit slow,' Leonel laughed at himself. 'With how important Artistic Conception is to strength in this world, I should have guessed that there was such a method. But, if it was me, I wouldn't choose poetry, painting or music. I would choose to use Force Arts.'

In Leonel's opinion, the beauty of a Force Art was far beyond poetry, painting or music. But, the difficulty in creating an Artistic Conception through Force Arts was several times more difficult.

Force Arts were the foundation of life and being. If Leonel wanted to give it life, it would quite literally be like creating life.

Leonel picked up the calligraphy pen, ready to start. But, his uncle's palm stopped him.

"Hold on, now. If I don't give you other tasks, you'll probably end up slamming your head against a wall trying to get this right. The only way for you to stay sane is by switching between tasks.

"Creativity isn't like any other training you've ever done, the drain is far heavier than a monotonous task. It's even more important, then, that you know how to switch when you've reached your limit.

"The next thing I will show you is the power of rhythm and music."

Montez's palm flipped over to reveal another mallet. But, this one had a golden ball on the end of it that radiated with mysterious ruins.

Montez clasped his palms together, his demeanor shifting once again.

At that moment, a flood of Earth Force surged.

Montez opened up his clasped palms, radiant Earth Force taking root in the air and suddenly forming illusory keys. They shimmering with a resplendent silvery bronze.

With a slight movement, Montez's arm rose, his wrist flicking and striking down.

DONG!

Leonel's eyes widened. Montez's Force hadn't even formed physical metal, but it struck the Force as though he had. He never thought that something like that was even possible.

However, Leonel soon lost himself entirely. The first strike seemed to be nothing more than a test, it echoed through the room and fused with the walls, making Leonel feel as though his whole rib cage was vibrating.

But, the following strikes were much more peaceful.

Leonel found himself breathing to the rhythm of the music. And then, he felt like he couldn't even hear the music at all, but rather than he had been transported to an entirely new world, one where a man stood alone in the face of an army with nothing more than a single spear to his side.

His hair fluttered, his eyes losing focus.