Forsaking the Blade

Azar stood amidst the towering trees, the forest thick and silent around him. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting fragmented shadows over the rugged form of the man standing before a mossy rock. In his hand, his sword gleamed faintly, a faithful weapon that had seen him through battles, victories, and losses. But now, its weight felt strangely foreign—a relic, unnecessary and stifling. He took a final, contemplative look at the blade, then, with a sense of closure, planted it firmly into the rock.

The blade sunk effortlessly into the stone, embedded as if it belonged there, its edge catching the final glints of light before he turned away. There was a sensation of liberation, a clean break from his past. Swordsmanship had always been a tool, a means to survive the battles of his former life. But here, with this surging power thrumming within him, the sword was just an accessory to a strength he no longer needed.

A faint smile crossed his lips as he flexed his fingers, feeling the raw energy that had grown in him since the battle with the Deep Sea King. Azar's memory drifted back to his past life, where his training had begun with bare-handed martial arts, not weapons. In those grueling sessions, he'd built the foundation of his combat skill in strikes, dodges, and unpredictable, instinct-driven moves. Recalling that fierce rhythm, he knew it was time to test his newfound power. And the mountains rising sharply ahead—wild and untamed—were the perfect testing grounds.

He walked toward the rocky terrain, his stride purposeful, each step crunching over leaves and stones. Reaching the foot of the mountain range, he looked up at the imposing cliffs, mist hanging around the jagged peaks like a shroud. His blood pumped in anticipation. With a deep breath, he tightened his muscles, his body coiled and ready to act, then launched himself upward in a powerful leap. The ground cracked beneath him, leaving a small crater where he'd stood.

The sensation was intoxicating—his strength felt endless, his agility effortless. He landed on a cliff ledge high above, barely stopping to regain his footing before he took off again, bounding from ledge to ledge. Each jump shook loose stones, leaving small avalanches in his wake. Testing his reflexes, he sprang higher, fists trailing in controlled arcs as he vaulted over boulders and chasms. His movements were fluid, natural, as if the mountain itself yielded to his touch.

Once he reached a plateau, Azar clenched his fist and threw a punch at a nearby boulder, curious to see what his full force could do without a blade. His fist collided with the massive rock, and it exploded on impact, shards scattering and raining down the slope. Grinning, he continued to punch through the rocks in his path, each strike sending tremors through the ground and echoing up the mountainside. The sheer ease of shattering such solid obstacles was thrilling. He felt like he could rip apart the entire mountain range if he wanted to.

Without hesitating, he began punching, kicking, and even leaping onto larger boulders, shattering everything in his way with unrestrained intensity. The ground fractured under his footsteps, cracks splitting across the cliffside. His laughter rose into the thin mountain air, wild and unrestrained. With every blow, he felt the rush of his strength, felt his power extending through his fists, his feet, and even the very ground beneath him.

A particularly enormous boulder loomed just ahead. Azar grinned, planting his feet firmly on the ground and drawing back his fist, preparing a concentrated strike. He thrust forward with all his might, his punch reverberating through the rock with a sound like thunder. The massive boulder shattered, fragments scattering for yards around. A shockwave rippled outward, sending smaller stones tumbling down the mountainside.

Azar panted slightly, exhilaration lighting his eyes as he looked over the devastation he'd caused in such a short time. The cliff edge, once rugged and solid, was now strewn with pulverized rocks, cracks, and debris from his attacks. The air was thick with dust, and the faint smell of churned earth hung around him.

He raised his arm, examining it in awe. The intensity of his strikes, the sheer force with which he could now shatter mountains, was astonishing. He had felt powerful before, but this was different. It was as if he had become a force of nature, something beyond human or monster.

Azar looked out over the ruined landscape, his chest heaving, a smirk tugging at his lips. This was strength unrestrained. No sword, no weapon could have made him feel this free, this powerful.