The duel contest resumed from where it had left off the previous day. By now, most students had either proven themselves worthy to advance to the next stage or had been defeated. As a result, today’s battles carried a more serious tone than before.
The atmosphere was intense, with the sounds of steel clashing chaotically, as if threatening to unravel the invisible threads of the wind itself.
Northern sat in silent observation, carefully absorbing the essence of each fighter’s combat style. He could feel something shifting within him—a blessing of sorts. A swelling sensation of change, pressing against his very being.
And at the heart of it all, there was nothing he wanted more than to step into the arena himself and test his sword.
One thing that fascinated him was the sheer diversity of weapons wielded by the competitors. Each fighter had a unique preference, their combat style seamlessly tailored to complement their chosen armament.
Northern had fought with Grengar, he had wielded daggers, and even an odachi—yet none of them felt as natural as the longsword, the very first weapon with which he had learned the art of combat.
There was a sense of comfort, a synchronization between blade and body, that no other weapon had given him.
However, as he watched the duels unfold, witnessing the sheer variety of styles and weaponry, a creeping thought began to form.
Perhaps that comfort was, in fact, a limitation.
His mind turned to the question of how best to unleash the full power of his strikes.
And amidst all the combat styles he observed, one in particular began to pique his interest.
Northern possessed a vast arsenal of talents, and with the system’s ability to combine them, the only true constraint was the breadth of his imagination.
In other words, he was not bound by limitations.
Which led him to wonder—how could he maximize this advantage? How could he engage in battle while strategically using only a fraction of his talents and abilities, ensuring efficiency without waste?
At present, his core talents were:
These were the talents he currently possessed—both Owned and Copied.
However, there were some he had manipulated, and he suspected that they might come with a backlash once he attempted to ascend to a new soul rank.
Even so, he wasn’t too concerned about that. He had more than enough usable talents at his disposal. What worried him was Aster’s talent. If he lost it, he could always copy it again, but what he truly feared was facing another penalty.
He couldn’t afford to delay his Paragon breakthrough any longer than he already had.
And there was one last Owned talent he needed to upgrade before that. Fortunately, he had accumulated more than enough talent fragments to do so—while still having sufficient resources left to become an Ascendant.
Each of these talents was meant to provide him with the best possible advantage in any battle he found himself in.
Watching the battles unfold, observing how each student wielded their talents with diverse creativity, Northern couldn’t help but question his own approach.
For someone of his age, had he been too constrained in his thinking?
Now that he was truly watching, he looked back on his own battles—the sheer abundance of talents he had at his disposal—and felt something stir.
’That’s a little frustrating.’
If Nexus, the one who had given him the system, were here, watching him all this time, he would probably be very frustrated too.
Northern had always believed he didn’t need to exert his full power in every battle. He also held the belief that hardship was a necessary forge, tempering warriors into something greater.
But now, a question gnawed at him.
With such values and beliefs, was he sure he wasn’t forcing himself into hardships that didn’t actually need to be there?
Maybe... he didn’t have to suffer through hardship at all.
Northern frowned slightly.
That thought was uncomfortable.
He did not want to grow complacent—not with all the unknown dangers lurking beyond this world, dangers these students couldn’t even comprehend as they fought, believing the Milhwa Contest was their greatest battle.
’Well, in a way... I am their greatest battle. And I’m here.’
Northern let out a small grin, but then his thoughts shifted back to the main point.
For a while, he pondered his desire for hardship and growth and felt...
’Maybe I am overdoing it?’
Would it be so bad to crush his enemies in one swift motion?
At the same time, he didn’t want to feel like a fraud.
But he had suffered, he had walked the razor’s edge of death more times than he could count to reach this point. So was he not allowed to simply bask in the overwhelming strength he had earned?
Then why, whenever he considered it, did he feel like an imposter?
Why did he feel like he was being complacent?
The fear that he might lose himself in his own power, become stagnant, and stop pushing forward?
’I can just keep copying talents and upgrading them…’
But deep down, Northern knew it wasn’t just about that.
There was no true limit to how powerful a person could become. He could continue copying talents and overwhelming his enemies—but what would happen if one day, an unimaginable adversity crushed him? If it was only then that he realized he had grown weak?
Northern did not want to reach that point before understanding his own fragility.
Strength and weakness were not absolutes—they were ever-changing, ever-shifting.
And he needed to tread carefully.
But maybe, just maybe, this carefulness was stopping him from living up to the expectations placed upon him—from being the true anomaly that he was.
Even though he was already a menace to existence itself, even though he had accidentally slain a Catastrophic Behemoth, there was still something lacking.
Northern sighed, arms folding across his chest as yet another duel reached its conclusion.
He could feel it now—the need for change.
To be more outspoken, more expressive in his abilities.
Not in words—but in actions.