Chapter 137: Asceticism
Legends are as numerous as dogs, and liches walk everywhere.
Soren suddenly recalled a phrase he often heard in the past. This phrase was a self-deprecating remark made by many, especially those who hadn’t yet reached the legendary domain. Many who had suffered serious injuries or death liked to use this phrase to poke fun at themselves. Although he hadn’t seen a lich yet, Soren had encountered plenty of individuals above the quasi-legendary level. As a mere third-tier professionist, Soren felt immense pressure. However, he couldn’t just find a dragon and say, “Hey, lie down and let me stab you so I can level up quickly.”
A month of time.
He had grown from a lowly thief to a third-tier professionist. Besides the extraordinary bloodline of the holy child and others, it was unlikely anyone had progressed as quickly as he had!
Yet he still felt it wasn’t enough; his strength was far from sufficient when facing certain beings.
The information extracted from the interrogation was quite vague. Besides the names of the fallen in the town, everything else was unclear. No one had seen the appearance of that elector. Only after Soren asked for some details did he learn that the elector always wore a black cloak, had noticeable protrusions near the ears, and that the color of her palms was not that of an ordinary elf, which confirmed her race. She had arrived more than half a month ago; at that time, Soren should have still been in White Horse City.
According to the fallen believers, she was the avatar of the Goddess of Torment, a title that cannot be used carelessly.
Otherwise, it would be blasphemy!
Those who could claim to be avatars of deities are generally electors granted powers by the deities. They play pivotal roles within the Church of the Deity. The power that comes with the status of elector is equivalent to that of a divine power priest of profession level 20. They can employ the divine power they are granted to cast spells like Holy Word or Blasphemous Words, which are very close to ninth-level divine techniques.
This allows a person to commit suicide or control their minds, even allowing them to generate a group of zealots in one go.
As long as there are vulnerabilities in the mind, divine power can guide them.
The town’s guards began to move out to apprehend the fallen believers, and the middle-aged woman issued orders with a grim expression. Subsequently, someone called for the guardian knights of the agricultural temple.
The composition of the temple’s power comprises three parts: priests, believers, and temple guards.
Five temple guards of about third tier appeared. Clad in heavy full-body armor, they slightly bowed before following the security team. These were beings that Soren could not even withstand a single blow from in the past, yet now he had the confidence to take on three at once. His rate of growth had been astonishing; unfortunately, the time given to him was far too short. He had traversed a path in a month that would take others over a decade, but the enemies he faced were already thousands of years ahead of him.
The sky gradually darkened.
There were signs of unrest in the town, but Soren paid little attention. He rested in an inn while silently honing his will.
He had to complete a session of ascetic practice!
In dealing with these fallen, as an outsider adventurer, Soren did not need to fight on the front lines. The believers of deities were not to be trifled with; carelessly engaging could lead to disaster. There were very few ways to gain killing experience in a short time. The distribution of creatures was already quite dispersed, and indiscriminately killing would only invite destruction and cause him to lose his way completely. Ordinary creatures provided too little killing experience. Challenging a savage tribe alone was too difficult, and systematic assassination could take a long time.
According to normal progress, Soren estimated he would need at least seven days to accumulate enough experience to level up his profession.
He needed to absorb divinity!
Soren prepared to confront the will of the Demon God of Fear directly, intending to consume the divinity it had severed from its soul fragments.
However, this required an exceptionally strong will.
A night passed quickly, and Soren slept very well that night, fully replenishing his energy. When he stepped outside the next day, he looked very different from before. He had removed his leather armor and insulated clothing, wearing only the thinnest linen garment. His hair, shoulder-length, hung loosely. His bare feet, unshod, walked directly on the cold snow.
—Asceticism!
The best way to hone one’s will.
Strong wills are forged over time and accumulate bit by bit; a person’s will cannot simply change because of a single decision.
It is the slow accumulation during times of persistence!
He stepped barefoot onto the snow. The biting cold wind whirled around his clothes; the overly thin linen offered no protection. Even with Soren’s high constitution of 21, he could not resist the chill coming from all directions. Other townsfolk looked at him with strange expressions, as if they were seeing a madman or a fool. Even the naturally cold-resistant Northerners would fall ill after not too long in such thin clothing.
Soren arrived at the agricultural temple, and his attire briefly startled the priest, who then slightly bowed in acknowledgment.
She knew what Soren was intending to do because priests might do the same!
The only thing that puzzled her was why the wanderer would choose such an extreme method to test his will; they did not need to depend on will to stabilize their faith as priests did.
Wanderers generally possess vague faith, merely saying they believe in the deities!
Soren received his due rewards: only a small number of gold coins, about thirty, a portion of holy water, and most importantly, two bottles of powerful healing potions.
Their value exceeded 500 Ginds, effective from treating moderate injuries to severe wounds.
Priests are experts in this field.
Soren continued his journey, dressed in thin linen garments, barefoot on the icy snow, treading carefully one step at a time. He did not use any extraordinary abilities or cast any spells to empower himself, just walking step by step forward. The ever-present chill seeped into his body; his arms, cheeks, and feet soon began to turn slightly blue from the cold. Without shoes to protect them, his soles also began to bear light wounds.
The ground was rough, filled with stones, dry branches, and inconspicuous thorns, as the area was surrounded by coniferous forests.
Frostbite began to accumulate gradually.
Although the pace of increase was slow, the frostbite still steadily rose, and due to the wounds on his feet, Soren also developed slight bruises. These injuries continuously reduced his life value, slowly wearing down his vitality.
On the first day.
Soren walked one hundred fifty kilometers barefoot and encountered a hungry polar bear, which met its end at the edge of his blade.
Night fell.
He had not consumed a single drop of water all day; only then did he drink a little and then slowly eat some rations—nothing but the coarsest black bread, devoid of any meat. The frostbite all over his body was already quite noticeable, and the reduction in life value had exceeded ten points. If it weren’t for his regeneration talent specialty and an extraordinary constitution exceeding 20 points, he surely would have frozen to death that day. His weak cold resistance specialty could not offset all the frostbite in such an environment.
Soren did not start a campfire; he sat cross-legged on a rock, cradling his curved blade in his hands, and slowly closed his eyes!
This was the way of the Sword Saint’s practice.
He was meditating, but not in the same way a wizard might to train their mind; he was honing his will.
The howling cold wind did not cease for a moment.
Occasionally, snowflakes fell on Soren’s body, melting little by little then freezing into ice due to the chill. He remained motionless, seated on the rock, appearing as if he were an ice sculpture, with only the heart within his chest still beating slowly and steadily.
A night passed slowly.
When Soren opened his eyes the next day, his body was covered in white frost, and he showed signs of bruising, even pulling some flesh when retracting his curved blade. His hands had frozen onto the blade. A night of meditation left him feeling rigid all over; the accumulated frostbite had surpassed fifty points, nearly a third of his life value.
He slowly got to his feet, drank some cold water, and then began to eat, moving his body slightly.
No reckless monsters had approached him today.
After moving, Soren’s skin turned slightly red. He drank one healing potion and felt a surge of warmth within his body. The power of the healing potion could not quickly restore his injuries. After a brief rest, Soren continued on his journey. He remained clad in thin attire, barefoot in the snow, making slow progress along the road. Occasionally, he encountered others, and they would watch him with incredulous eyes, as if he were a madman!
On the second day, third day, and fourth day.
Time passed slowly. Soren’s form grew increasingly emaciated, and his expression more fatigued. The frostbite on his body had reached the point of flesh cracking, but the brilliance in his eyes became more pronounced, like a blade buried in the snow. He hunted down a pack of snow wolves, slayed three bear goblins, and had a brief encounter with an ice troll.
The distance he walked each day gradually decreased because he was truly tired.
Along the way, he met some human villages, but he did not pause for even a moment, quietly walking past.
On the fifth day, sixth day, and seventh day.
Soren’s lips were completely cracked, and his body was covered in severe frostbite, losing the dashing appearance he had at the beginning. His gait had become somewhat awkward because he had run out of all healing potions, and the accumulated frostbite had ultimately dragged him into a severely injured state. He encountered a sizable pack of wolves; due to the bloody scent from his frostbitten wounds, the lead wolf bit into his leg, leaving a wound that had yet to heal.
The Frozen Kingdom is always this cold.
Soren walked over a thousand miles in thin clothing and barefoot in this icy world. When a city emerged before him amidst the snow, he finally received the long-awaited specialty prompt.
Traveling barefoot for a thousand miles.
Though Soren was extremely weak at that moment, it was also his moment of greatest strength!
Life and death lay in this instant!!!
………………(To be continued ~^~)
