As the night deepened, Marcellus found a rhythm in his footsteps, each step a defiant beat against the sombre rain-drenched earth. The road stretched endlessly before him, an unyielding companion bearing witness to the silent struggle within him. Each league traversed whispered secrets of a journey not just through space, but into the depths of his own resolve.

Hours into his journey, his feet ached with a sharp, insistent pain that pulsed with his heartbeat, threatening to undermine his determination. "It'll be worth it," Marcellus whispered into the night, his voice a blend of hope and desperation, the mantra reverberating in his mind, growing into a relentless echo filled with doubt.

Was it truly worth it? The weight of his family’s absence bore down on him with each step, turning his journey into a physical manifestation of his internal conflict.

The road mocked him with its infinity, a cruel mirage of an endpoint that seemed to recede with each step. The chant that once filled him with hope was now tinged with despair, taunting him: Will it truly be worth it? Can redemption be found at the end of this torturous path?

Exhaustion draped heavily upon Marcellus as he trudged onward. Lutton Marsh felt worlds away, and his muscles screamed for rest. His steps slowed, each one heavier than the last, his eyelids drooping under the weight of fatigue.

Fortune, dressed as nature herself, offered sanctuary—a cave amidst the rugged landscape, its mouth gaping like a silent invite to temporary respite. With cautious steps, Marcellus entered, alert for any hidden dangers, his dislike for snakes and other ground-dwelling creatures heightening his senses.

The cave’s interior offered a stark contrast to the blustery chaos outside. Here, the air was unexpectedly warm and dry, the howling wind reduced to a gentle murmur by the cave's protective embrace. The ground was a tapestry of moss and twig, a natural bedding that welcomed his weary body.

Marcellus nestled into a corner, letting the cool earth cradle him as the silence of the cave enveloped him. Yet, sleep was a fleeting visitor, stirring him awake with the dawn.

Awake, his thoughts wandered to the Harmonious Nexus Path—the knowledge of martial progression he had gleaned from the Church of Combat. His unexpected journey into this arcane knowledge was a blend of awe and fear, realizing the power it could unlock.

In the cave’s dim light, Marcellus practised the ancient breathing techniques he had mastered, each breath a step further in his journey toward becoming a Sword Saint. This elusive title, revered within the martial community, was marked by rigorous training and an unwavering commitment to the sword.

He practised the "Arm Chop," a foundational technique requiring thousands of repetitions for mastery, each motion sharpening his focus and strengthening his resolve.

The "Arm Chop," fully known as the Sword God Style - Initial Strike, is a crucial hand-to-hand combat technique within the Sword God Style, designed specifically to disarm or incapacitate an opponent effectively without using a weapon.

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The Sword God Style is one of the three major schools of swordsmanship, popularized by a figure who, according to legend, was a demi-god. Renowned for his unparalleled skill, he never lost a duel throughout his lifetime. This legacy has inspired countless individuals to pursue the heights of his martial prowess. Even today, some primitive tribes continue to worship him, aspiring to attain a fraction of his legendary glory.

Some bold and daring individuals even name their offspring after him, hoping that a fraction of his legendary prowess might manifest in the next generation.

Marcellus, finding himself without a sword, adapted his training to master this technique using his own body, specifically his arms, as his tools of defence.

Marcellus hadn't acquired the "Arm Chop" technique in the dream realm; rather, it was a skill he had mastered during his early training under the priestess at the Church of Combat. Before he had abandoned his training, he had gleaned significant knowledge from her. In contrast, the combat style in his dreams was rudimentary—merely slashing and dodging with no refined techniques beyond the basic "downward slash."

The Sword God Style, which he practised now, was markedly different, emphasizing offensive manoeuvres and featuring a variety of specialized techniques tailored to aggressive combat.

Marcellus diligently practices the Arm Chop. Each repetition sharpens his accuracy and timing, which is critical when he lacks a physical blade. He visualizes an opponent in front of him, focusing on striking at the precise moment to maximize impact.

To enhance the effectiveness of his strikes, Marcellus incorporates elements of his body mechanics. He engages his core, rotates his hips, and aligns his shoulder to drive power through his arm. The snap from his elbow as he completes the chop adds an extra burst of speed, making the strike not only powerful but also swift enough to catch an opponent off guard.

Sweat glistens on his skin as he repeats the movement, the repetitive motion burning into his muscle memory. Each chop is performed with a sharp exhale, focusing his energy and intention with every strike.

As the sun's first rays infiltrated the cave, Marcellus knew he could not linger in this temporary haven. Lutton Marsh awaited, and with it, the trials of his quest.

The path to Lutton Marsh was a relentless trial of endurance and will. The rain softened the ground, making each step a laborious effort. Sweat mingled with rain, each droplet a testament to his resolve as he pushed his physical and mental boundaries to their limits.

In moments of exhaustion, Marcellus paused, allowing the disciplined cadence of his breath to restore him, drawing on the profound depths of his fighting spirit to fuel his onward march.

Marcellus was out of breath, running at his top speed. He had heard rumours that some primitive tribes around his settlement might kidnap him and subject him to unspeakable rituals. Unfamiliar with the world beyond his immediate surroundings, he wasn't sure if these were just "scary stories" or if there was truth to them—and he certainly wasn't eager to find out through experience. This fear had also prompted him to stay in the cave the previous night. He was worried he might fall into a literal trap, like a deer caught by hunters, and this threat kept him vigilant and cautious as he navigated the unfamiliar terrain.

The journey was not just a physical challenge but a forge for his spirit, each step honing his resolve and fortitude. The Harmonious Nexus Path, with its profound insights into martial mastery, loomed large in his mind, a beacon guiding him through the hardships.

Upon reaching the outskirts of Lutton Marsh, Marcellus paused, his body and spirit weathered yet unbroken. The landscape before him was both a daunting barrier and the gateway to his future. Catching his breath, he promised himself, "I will return here someday, between dreams and the break of dawn," a vow echoing with the determination of a man who had walked through the night to greet the dawn.