Back at his camp, Alnea put aside the gourd for the moment, and checked for any signs of Oren Beasts in the area around him. Only when he was sure that there were no Oren Beasts in his vicinity did he let himself relax, and sit down, to begin his training. Entering his Spirit State, he reached towards the thread connecting his Spirit to the Origin Sea, and tugged on it, calling for Oren, the unadulterated power of the Origin Sea.

After experiencing the Spirit Test, the Spirit Measuring Stele in particular, he had felt inspired by its principle, and thought, what if instead of blindly pulling on his Roots, he tugged on it with just the right amount of Spirit Power? Would the Origin Sea lend him the exact amount of Spirit Power? And if it did, would it not mean that his control, and efficiency of using Oren would increase even more?

Since he had gotten an inspiration, Alnea had not wasted much time on deliberating about what to do. Of course, he had not acted upon his thoughts right after they had come to him. Doing such experiments, while being surrounded by either Heterodox Wanderers, or Enthralled Wanderers, would have been foolish to say the least. If anything would have gone wrong, then he would not have been able to keep him master from appearing in front of everyone.

Once the aftermath of the Spirit Test, and the attack of the Heterodox Wanderers had been wrapped up though, he did not have any such concerns to hold him back anymore. And so, even before leaving Anneve, the moment that Alnea had gained a chance to Forge his Spirit, he had used it to test out his conjectures. Surprisingly enough, they had all proven true. It was as he had thought. The Spirit Measuring Stele was probably built on the principle of how people borrowed Oren from the Origin Sea. It was just that he had not known about it.

…Or maybe he did. There was something about tugging of Roots to borrow Oren in one of the scrolls that his master had given him nearly a year ago. But that was so long ago. How was he supposed to—Then again, those things were his foundations. It was his job to make sure that he understood them completely. In any case, after he had learned the new method of borrowing Oren, things had become much easier for him. Only in terms of borrowing, and handling Oren though.

In terms of pain, and suffering, the Three Turns Spirit Forging Art was still as ruthless as always. The Oren that he formed into the shape of threads, before directing them around in his Spirit, still made him feel as if his Spirit was burning from the inside, while being stabbed, and sliced by molten knives. Especially as the amount of Oren in each of the three threads kept increasing. One unit. Two units. Three units… all the way up to eight units. And that was not even the most dreadful part of the Spirit Forging Art.

Of the three threads condensed when practicing the Three Turns Spirit Forging Art, the third thread was still alright. At least it just made him feel a little uncomfortable. The other two threads though, they were just the beginning of his sufferings. The moment that those threads had completed their three turns, Alnea knew what was going to come next. But he was never to shy away form pain. Gritting his teeth, he imperceptibly changed the path of the two threads inside his Spirit, directing them to collide with each other.

Unlike the time with the Spirit Piercing Needles though, this collision happened inside of his Spirit itself. And so did the collision of the Mysteries that those threads carried, completely drowning out everything in existence, leaving just the Mysteries from the lineages of Creation, and Destruction, clashing with each other, taking his Spirit itself as their battlefield. And as the epicentre of that clash, the place where the two threads had collided, completely ceased to exist.

Or so his Spirit felt, along with the pain of countless smaller threads piercing through his Spirit, rampaging all around it, adding to the chaos caused by sensations of feeling burnt, frozen, crushed, shattered, and turning into dust. Even the sensation of being jolted numb, and feeling burnt at the same time, which he soon recognised as the feeling he usually got when some Oren Beasts used their Lightning based Innate Abilities against him, along with countless other sensations that he did not recognise, kept running amok inside his Spirit.

However, Alnea was already used to all these different kinds of situations. Even the feeling of a part of his Spirit being obliterated was just a common routine for him. Maybe, it distracted him a little, but not enough to break his concentration. Not after months of practice. Even if the pain, and intensity of the sensations had increased with the increase in his Spirit Power, so had his will, and capacity to bear the pain.

Ignoring all the pain, and the weird sensations, Alnea kept urging the third thread of Oren to circulate around his Spirit, and slowly, one by one, gather all the scattered strands of Oren. Consequently, a gentle, and warm sensation spread from the large thread carrying the Mysteries of Life, soothing all his pain, and suffering, healing the wound left behind in the aftermath of the clash of Mysteries. Gradually, bit by bit, even the part of his Spirit that had felt as if it had stopped existing, began regenerating, making him feel as his Spirit had become whole once again.

At the same time, he had also gathered all the countless little strands of Oren into slightly larger strands, each equivalent to having been condensed from a single unit of Spirit Power. Next, he calmly guided the strands back into their respective routes, before merging them all to leave behind only three large threads of Oren, each condensed from roughly eight units of Spirit Power. Once he reached this point, the rest was easy. A simple, rinse, and repeat of the process that he had followed earlier.

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First round, second round, third round, clash of Mysteries, healing his Spirit, and gathering the strands of Oren, guiding them back into their routes, merging them together, and then starting all over again. First round, second round, third round, clash of Mysteries…

Alnea did not know how many times he repeated the process. He had tried keeping count before, but that had only made him feel as if time was passing excruciatingly slowly. And Origin knew that time already went by slowly whenever he Forged his Spirit. Once, he had even asked his master if the Three Turns Spirit Forging Art also held some Mysteries of Time mixed within it. How could just a simple act of Forging his Spirit… Alright, it was not that simple. Still, at least the process itself was simple. Yet how could an hour of Forging his Spirit feel like ten hours?

After a knock on his head, Alnea had come to the conclusion that all of it was just an illusion. It was all because of the extreme amount of pain he had to bear. But there was no way to circumvent that pain. That was how Spirit Forging method worked in the first place. So, he could only grit his teeth, trying his best not to notice the passage of time, and keep on Forging his Spirit until almost all of his Spirit Power was exhausted.

Only when he started feeling strained, and was on the verge of losing control of the strands of Oren inside his Spirit, did he stop Forging his Spirit, and slowly, one by one, returned all the borrowed Oren back to the Origin Sea. He could, of course, also have chosen to shoot the threads out of his Spirit, and just stop bothering about the Oren. But he was not a masochist. At least not yet…

With how things were developing though, he did not know if he would be able to remain normal in the future. Especially with what was waiting for him at the False Rank. Sighing in exhaustion, both mental, and physical, Alnea opened his eyes, and stretched his body, before picking up gourd like fruit lying by his side.

“Rotting Blood Essence,” Alnea mumbled, staring at the fruit with some excitement in his eyes. “It is the tenth day already. You should be able to help me cross that final threshold, right?”

The fruit did not know the answer. And neither did Alnea. But he hoped. Licking his lips, he almost gave in to his urge to bite the fruit. Almost. Since he was living in a Forbidden Area, he had to abide by its rules. And the rules dictated him to do one more thing before he could indulge himself with the Rotting Blood Essence. Thus, stuffing the fruit into his bag, he pushed the bag back into the crevice, hiding its opening with some shrubs, and leaves, before taking a walk around his camp.

Different from the Bright Light Forest, which was like a swathe of trees, and sea of Oren Beasts prancing about all over the forest, fighting, and killing each other, as well as all their invaders, the Night Canyons were more like a labyrinth, or a maze. A—Countless gigantic mazes, that formed a world within themselves. And the branch of the maze that he was in, situated in one of the corner regions of the Night Canyon, was exactly one such world.

Except for a few openings, only two of which opened up into the deeper regions of the canyons, the canyon was almost cut off from the rest of Night Canyons. Or at least, from its deeper regions. As such, there was a lack of an oppressive atmosphere, teeming with bloodlust, and killing intent, that spread through the air of the Bright Light Forest, even in its outskirts. There was no sea of trees to block his vision eighter. Instead, the canyon was more like a mixture of plains, sporadic groups of trees, and of course, the rocky areas, with all sorts of wonders hidden around them, waiting for him to find them… and fall in their traps.

Unlike the more brutal, and straightforward dangers of the Bright Light Forest, the dangers of the Night Canyons were more hidden, and devious. Like the sea of the Bone Rotting Plants, or the sneak attack from the Razorback Black Water Turtle. Though the latter was clearly arranged by his master, it still showed how advantageous the environment of the canyons was for the Oren Beasts.

And this was just one of the outermost veins of the canyon. The deeper that one went into the canyons, the more dangerous the regions became, with both stronger Oren Beasts, and trickier environments. However, that did not mean that the canyon he was currently in was safe for him. On the contrary, he would have been safer had he been in those ‘dangerous’ areas, for then, his master would have been by his side. Yet, since the regions of the canyons he was in was not ‘too dangerous’, not only did he have to live by himself, but his master had also even refused to set up a protection around his camp.

And so, Alnea could only unsheathe his dagger, and patrol the area by himself, ensuring that no Oren Beast had snuck in, prattling around his camp, waiting for him to let his guard down before attacking him. That was the only way he could train, or rest in peace. Of course, he only had to patrol around his territory in a semi circular area of around forty, to fifty metres, with his camp at its centre.

Staying on the balls of his feet, Alnea crouched down a little, keeping the centre of his gravity as low as he could, as he walked around his camp, keeping the dagger in front of him in a horizontal manner. Thankfully, he did not have to worry about keeping his steps quiet. The sandals that his master had made for him helped him there, absorbing any, and all kinds of sounds that his feet were making. At the same time, the robe that his master had sewn, the black robe, with golden borders in the shape of thorny vines, also stuck to his body, not hindering him in his movements, while also helping him camouflage himself in the darkness of the canyons.

That only worked on the Oren Beasts who searched for their preys on the basis of their vision though. And such Beasts were quite rare in the night like conditions of the Night Canyons. Here, only those Oren Beasts who had adapted to the canyons, developing their own ways of navigating through the darkness could survive. Like the Dark Wind Wolf that jumped at Alnea the moment he passed by a mound of boulders.