Allan was going at it for the last 20 minutes, and no amount of struggle will stop him from continuing. He pushed the rocks away, or the rocks themselves hit and moved out of the way from his body on their own. Sometimes, the water was bathed in crimson, but only for a few moments, as the regenerating power of the soul-fire was activating.

“Isn't it enough with your madman training?” Sarey suddenly shouted from the shore of the river. Noticing and counting the number of exercises he had made, she no longer thought he could remain at this pace. It would be too much, and no amount of madness was necessary for overdoing this already long day.

In the last few days, he hardly fell back beyond this section of the river. He did so only a few, but he always ended up around a hundred meters down the river, floating in the calmer section where he managed to get out. As for the current position of his hard-fought river, this was the strongest current available. The only exemption would be the waterfall itself, but not she, nor 36 agreed to Allan's comment about it. In the past few days, Sarey found a new founded knowledge, and she spent quite a bit of time with 36. He told her a few things here and there. There was even a section of training that revolved around pushing oneself against the waterfalls with thousands of times more volume than this.

It was just a matter of perspective, and Immortals far outweighed some measly little waters of mortal planets. The weight and sharpest of the descending water be like a mountain of blades. Pushing, destroying, and without stopping. With a much harder surface, attack, and power than anything else. It would always remain the same, depending on the way mountains formed the section of the waterfall. Though, gravity made it for the most part.

“Ah! Alright! Coming.” Allan heard her and reluctantly shouted. Steadying his posture, he made long, stretching strides toward the shore.

Praising the earth with the same amount of attitude was, by this point, his regular thing to do. Sarey couldn't help but chuckle every time she has seen him like this, as he really did it every time.

“Phew. This exercise of mine was quite a good idea. It isn't like swimming or doing squads in the water. It is slower, harsher, and more impactful. I am building stress on my body the more I do it. How long was it this time?”

“I have no idea what you talk about, but you kept at it for 20 or so minutes. Do you think I am the sort to do things like you? I would get washed by these currents with a few steps inside.” Sarey argued against him.

“I guess that is true.” He couldn't help but said the reality that he could imagine. After all, he would never guess his own progress, as he thought it wouldn't be that great. Now, he feels alright doing something he thought was impossible.

He could even tell that the vast majority of this stage of training could be over within the next 7 days. The only problem which remained was the rock-smashing which he couldn't manage, and part of the climb. At this point, rocks nearly as tall as himself were in the face of his fist and body. Even though most were around 20 to 30 centimeters thick in their widest sections.

These were the pieces of rocks that shattered from the cliffs above, so they weren't the firmness, but a general view of common sense still applied to them. When the mass was great, the defense would follow. Weight, density, or whatnot were a key part of this with size. Weather and corrosion led them to fall from high above. They formed these long and thin rock formations.

There was nothing particularly strange about them, yet he couldn't understand why he wasn't able to crack the current ones apart. He assumed the density of this piece of rock was nothing like the previous one, but neither 36 nor Sarey had a clue about any common rocky materials. It stayed true to its form even after the barrage of his all kinds of attacks which, by this point, weren't weak at all. His body strengthened and changed in many fundamental aspects. Especially the weight and density of his muscles, and overall build structure that followed 36's ideas. Though, those ideas came from the Unmoving technique for the most part.

As for the rest of the things, they were already easier than he would ever imagine. Making his own style from them already made his training more fun. Same with the things he did with the river right here. This sort of exercise wasn't in the 36's comments at all, but Allan liked it. No matter that, the amount of effort he put into this made his body much stronger.

Yet, no energy whirlwind was possible to begin inside of him. To 36 dissatisfaction, of course, Allan still didn't find the right fate. In truth, not many people would even try to do what they were currently trying to accomplish.

New forms and ideas were instead formed in 36's notes from the constant progress of his research and changes in Allan's body. Unlike the regular procedure of Immortal training, 36 found himself to be engrossed by a style that wasn't the least bit familiar to him before. Whenever Allan did or made progress, he would get to know them with Sarey's keen eyes and reports. The only issue he had was to know if there was a strand of energy within him or not. Sarey wouldn't know it, nor Allan, if he would place no interest in that.

It could possibly come like a stride of Immortal ascension from what 36 could understand. Like a sudden comprehension of the universe, or technique with regarding the stages of Cultivation.

The truths and ideas that stemmed from this could be whatever 36 assumed because those weren't facts. Just logical research points without him being sure about them.

The fact was, that an unknown thing outside some swirl of energy already formed deep within Allan. Without him even knowing about it, it formed and changed in his heart.

Laying down on the ground, Allan rested for about 10 minutes, before Sarey argued to stop for today, as they spend 2 hours here. Calming his legs with some massage, Sarey forced him to walk after more arguments so he could walk back home. Sarey led him out on an already familiar path, but Allan would still get lost in such a long stretch of wilderness.

Soon they were met with the path which had cloth strings across many trees. It was a familiar location to both of them. Even though the majority of the strings were already broken down, it was still not that long before Allan ran here like a madman. Animals and wind were the cause for their destruction, as Sarey didn't find it worth retrieving. Not like Allan needed this any longer, but it felt like ages ago when he was here.

Soon enough, in their home. All sorts of things were left to others, and Zigmund's restaurant went into the care of his friend Pedro. It was only a small promise between them and it seemed Zigmund had other intentions with that, but that was Sarey's own thoughts. With the strange and unknown upcoming troubles, Zigmund was hesitant to care about it any further. Even without the war, Allan, Sarey, and other things were already plenty enough for his mind.

Currently, the sun still had the shimmering light that may go on for another hour or two. Allan and Sarey spent quite a while outside this time around. Be it the climbing, rock smashing, or the end in the river.

Allan wasn't necessarily moving towards the path of more intense training for less time. Instead, he had chosen the harder path, where the intensity was met with a long stretch of time. Not the overwhelming kind, but enough for him to retain this sort of training for an extended period of time. Furthermore, his body was already better than ever and managing it was fine for the current him. Although from the outside perspective only, that is.

What was the body forging was rather an ambiguous term with many interpretations. Certain Immortal clans even included everything known about the body and called it by many names.

What Allan was doing was the base, which could lead to better results later on. A built-up, robust foundation and roots which wouldn't shake in centuries. That was at least 36's plan and hope he had, even with the involvement of his imminent death sentence, that was yet to come.

Talent, as well as endurance in this path, played the main role. Individuals of poor talent would have much worse results than someone who had the necessary talent. Allan was the prime example of both, while even he himself figured some truth in his power. 36 admitted it very seriously over the past 5 or so, summonings where he watched Allan's progress. He was both careful about the future he put into Allan, but that didn't mean he was before. It was seemingly a lot at the beginning, and 36 knew that what he made was quite a half-assed part of his teachings. Now, it may be correct to say it was much more honest than ever before. Perhaps he had a change of heart, but who knows? Not even himself, for sure.

Walking into the familiar scent of their home, Allan wanted to rest and made some further progress on other things. His energy was still fine and his tired body could wait for sleep and Sarey's acupoint treatment later. In the past days, he spent time working on himself more than the forging itself. That was a fact, but it wasn't like he forget about forging completely. He managed at least to finish the 10 pieces for Zigmund with long overdue terms.

Unfortunately, Sarey explained to him that something strange was going on with her father. His acts seemed rather distracted apart from the spars, where he seemed like he could kill them if he could. Nothing much was happening after each spar. The selling or even the topic of his forged pieces may as well wait until Zigmund will have some mind for it. Even when Allan told him about the finished pieces, he didn't even take a glance at them. Unlike the previous times.

All of them were laid by the wall around Allan's forge. Longer, shorter, shinier, and polished towards the extremes, which were all possible by the increasing familiarity that Allan managed.

He, a blacksmith who made them all, was more than satisfied with them. Including the glaive, slim sword, and spear. He also worked on other things. Both similar, or different, he further went into the wide variety of his possibilities. Like making a light long-dagger. Not long as a blade, nor too slim to be called a regular one. Around 35 centimeters long, it was light, swift, and the sheen of grey ended the light at the razor-sharp edges.

But he didn't make special attention to each work. The regular-looking sword he made a couple of days ago could be called normal by any means. Used by adventures, normal infantry, and so on, Allan used cheap material. Adding two kinds of axes, Allan was about done with the 10 pieces.

The last one was a robust kind of blade. Similar to the glaive, but with a short handle, slimmer blade, and more straight edge. Still curved, but it wasn't anything like he had done before. There was a piece of the straight edge at the end that ended at a sharp point that would do piercing damage. The handle was from the toughest wood he could find, which added quite a bit of weight. Though, he didn't find the weight an issue with almost all the pieces.

Unsure why he made such drastically different approaches to all of his work, Allan long speculated it was because of his father. Allan wanted to long improve and move to his own work, but couldn't because of him. He always talked about the slow progress and young that or weak this. He would wish he could see his work, which could prove his talent to him, yet he can't do that. Not here, not even ever, perhaps.

Even Sarey was surprised by the quality of the regular-looking soldier sword he presented to her. Allan talked about it for almost an hour with stories and facts he knew about them. Making it seem much more impressive than it was, she couldn't help but nod and silently listen to his words. She never heard him talk so much about something completely outside of their everyday life.

She watched the sword and looked at its shine. It was sharpened with the same black whetstone in the same manner as everything Allan made. Sarey had a hunch it was the reason for completely different edges from the ordinary kinds of sharpening blacksmiths do. He didn't even use the water, oil, or anything, which was a part of the name, but who was she to judge?

She could be his assistant, but she wasn't the kind who would question something that she wasn't sure about. Not to downplay their work or anything, but she knew what was better right away. Wielding and using Allan's work felt different from the weapons from the town, or the ones provided by her father. It was normal when she grew up with a military father, but seeking the difference broadened her values.

Inside the house, Sarey glanced at the closed door of Zigmund's office. It usually meant he was inside whether it was close, so she wouldn't distract him. The times when she saw him outside of his office were rare. He never worked on something by himself, and the worry in her eyes went with it as well.

At first, worried about her father's behavior, she didn't know what to think of that. It gradually turned worse, and now, it seemed, he was thinking of worries that he wasn't the least bit willing to talk about. So she acted as if everything was alright. As if pretending the issues weren't real, or out of spite at her father.

Being unaware or ignorant of something could be called bliss, yet she wasn't the kind to forget the worries of others.

In the kitchen, she prepared a simple meal that consisted of shimmering soup from pork bones and meat. She added some veggies as well to make it more interesting and more nutritious.

Summer or not, the pair of mortals enjoyed the full meal in one package.

“What are you planning now, Allan?” Sarey asked as she finished her 3rd bowl.

“Nothing much. I plan to figure out something I left untouched for longer than I wanted.”

“You already finished your 10 pieces. What else is there for you to do? Continuing with the work even when my father is like that?”

“Yep. I have no clue what his worry is, but I sure don't want to think about it for the time being. Did you already forget my reason for actually doing the forging itself?”

“Maybe. Why won't you refresh my memory?” Sarey told in interest, placing another bowl on Allan's side of the table.

“Before, I wanted to repay by the regular work I would do. Although I overdid it, it's still surprising to me that I manage the high quality of my work. These are my honest words.”

“Hmmm. Really? Can I still look at your work, though?” Sarey thought little of his empty words and made the 4th bowl for herself.

“Sure.”

Both paused for a sliver of awkwardness. They both ate their fill to eat the silence, as no topic came to both mind. It wasn't like Allan minded this sort of situation. He knew that when he worked; he cared very little about his surroundings. Counting the times, the cheerful girl frightened or startled him out of blue. Her help was too much for him to handle since it was his problem to be so empty-minded when working on something he love.

Today, Allan's previous statement was more than true. He had something old, yet some sort of a new plan in his plan. The mixing. It was a long time since he touched the possibility of that strange technique, but its memories would never escape his mind. At least the extent of the knowledge he had about it. His father knew for a fact much more than his son, but it may as well be history at this point.

Finishing his bowl with one last gulp to his throat, Allan felt the warmth it provided. It was pleasant, and the taste was excellent. Chunks of pork meat provided a nice texture and the long boiling broth led to an excellent aftertaste.

With this sort of full stomach, he could work as he wished. Nothing beats the day of training, then eating, and coming to his forge. Allan had long days where he didn't have time to think about forging, but they may as well be in the past by now. Everything could be forgotten by him when he had this comfortable spot for himself and his overall mindset went through a strange motion in the past dozen or so days.

Perhaps he became more confident? It could be, but he wasn't the kind of taking that word that lightly.

Walking out towards his smithy, he didn't need a change of clothes. A leather gown was all he needed for everything. Even if he was naked and the leather gown was on himself, it would cause no issue to him. Though the mysterious and curious eyes of the looker, wouldn't like that.

Sitting on the chair beside his work table, Allan began to question the possibilities of his newly formed plan. This included the dozens of days to the past, where he wondered about the Mixing. Scenes as well as general lists of materials were presented in his mind. They were information from his spy diary, the first order of mixing and spoken properties of new kinds of materials in Sayre's world. He crossed some in his mind while some were discarded since he was unsure if he could work with them. Others he kept since he was more familiar with them since he worked with them.