Xerxes' vision returned to reality as he held his chin. "Airi, do the words Envisage, Magnus, or even Fantasia bring anything to mind?"
Expectedly, she didn't have much of an idea, but what she was able to vaguely remember was, "All I believe is that an 'Envisage' must be something or someone of great power, and the second name it mentioned, 'Fantasia', it relates to this forest somehow."
Looking into the forest of dreams, Xerxes sighed. "I don't think people even understand what they get themselves into when going into that forest. Let's assume this history relates to the gods or even the era of the Great War of Succession. If a blade of an 'Envisage' is in there, then it must be heavily guarded."
Airi agreed. "It's definitely best we stay away from it. I fear that going deep within the forest may be more harrowing than anything we have encountered in the Fallen Kingdom. I'm just inclined to believe that."
Weirdly enough, despite what Xerxes had experienced in the Fallen Kingdom, he agreed—and in a sense, he felt an unexpected urge to claim that blade for himself. Was it his greed for more power, or was it simply a random urge he had?
Airi quickly spoke. "I don't believe there is much time left that I can maintain the flow of my power to yours. We can continuously practise till the day of the tournament, but for now, we should see where you are physically."
Xerxes nodded. Then, with a quiet breath, he drew the makeshift blade he'd forged—crude, but sturdy enough. Gripping it in one hand, he slid his lead foot forward, his back foot angling outward for balance. There were no enemies left, no eyes to watch him. But that didn't matter.
His true intentions weren't only to test his strength, but also to test the sword style the man within his soul core had given him—the sword style of the 'Ezurewrath'. He had already expected his body, whilst being Xerxes alone, wasn't strong enough to facilitate the style.
However, when merged with Airi, could he be strong enough? There was only one way to find out if he could utilise a sword style he had no knowledge of.
With a bend of his legs, Xerxes cut through the air with ease, as if the very space between him and where he intended to go wasn't tens of metres but merely steps away. A drum of wind was left behind him as he threw a strike at the air.
He shadowed an opponent who was not there; however, he could envision it. He could visualise it, and with such focus on this reality he was creating, his mind sharpened. Then, something slowly began to shift.
Drawing in every stimulus from the surroundings, the world expanded. Every sound, every movement in the air—it all became more explicit. The atmosphere didn't seem as if it was around him, but part of him.
He could feel the lingering mana still fizzling away from the slain Mandilex's, its residue flickering like sparks in a dying fire. He couldn't just feel the raw mana in the air anymore—he could see it. Then, with a bend of his knee, he vanished again.
To the outside eye, it would have looked like space itself folded around him, his movement so fast it left a slight afterimage. With a blink, he reappeared mid-motion, his feet pivoting, blade arcing from low to high in a sweeping uppercut.
The force of the swing tore through the ground beneath him. A deep fissure split through the earth in a ten-metre line, soil cracking apart like split bark. The ancient trees ahead, thick and towering, shuddered before splitting in two due to the aerial force of Xerxes' swing.
Their trunks splintered upwards as if struck by lightning, and with what felt like his last burst of strength, he exhaled again—this time with a faint plume of steam leaving his lips.
Without hesitation, Xerxes lunged forward into the falling trees that were now in two. His body cut through the air, similar to how a sword carved through flesh. He cocked his fist back, then slammed it into the already cracking bark of a collapsing tree. The impact detonated through the trunk, sending shards of wood in every direction as the tree exploded from the inside out.
Before the debris even hit the ground, Xerxes slid into another stance, his blade slicing across the air in one clean arc as he sheathed the sword.
The fire that clung to his body like armour began to drift off him in thin, glowing wisps. He stood still, watching the last of the flames curl upwards, dissipating as the final remnants of power faded.
Airi had separated from him, and she let out a huge breath as if she had been suffocating. As soon as she separated, they both heard a horrific scream only a few feet away.
Airi swiftly turned around. "I sense some mana from that direction. Did you miss one of the beasts?"
Xerxes was unsure, but immediately he drew the blade again. "Watch my back, Airi."
She agreed as Xerxes cautiously made his way over. Breaking past a few bushes that were still sizzling away, he saw what was once a dome of earth—now shattered—as one of the splinters of wood from the tree Xerxes had destroyed had impaled a dwarf in the arm.
Xerxes looked down, realising that this was probably his fault. He turned to Airi and said, "Shit."
Airi flew over and assessed the damage. It certainly wasn't good, but at least it wasn't life-threatening.
"AHHHHH, ya' bastard! Right in my hammering arm. RIGHT IN MY HAMMERING ARM!" he screamed, rolling left and right.
Xerxes immediately crouched down, worried. "Are you okay? I'm sorry," he said as he put a hand on the dwarf.
The dwarf was no taller than five feet and seemed quite young. He wore a dwarvish helm—slightly indented, perhaps saving him from being hit directly in the head. His brows were thick and furrowed, his nose plump, his features almost squashed. His lips weren't thin, and his eyes, like Xerxes', were an intense green. Despite his armour, his arm was still impaled.
The dwarf raged and looked at Xerxes, bullets of sweat dripping down his face. "DO I LOOK OKAY, YA' ALMOST KILLED ME!" he roared, pressing the wound.
Airi said to Xerxes, "I can heal the wound slightly, but he will definitely need some professional help."
Xerxes nodded and looked down, trying to calm the situation. "Alright, I can help you. What's your name? I just need to keep you distracted while I help you."
Airi began giving instructions as to what she needed Xerxes to do. The procedure would definitely leave anyone in agonising pain from the sound of it, but Xerxes needed to do what he could to help the poor dwarf.
The dwarf spoke through gritted teeth and accelerated breathing. "I go by many names, though I prefer when people call me the most intelligent, dazzling, and charming craftsman—Thornfum Furdia the Great, God of Forgery, God of Crafts—"
Xerxes let him continue speaking, then pushed all his force on Thornfum's chest to keep him still. He pulled out the piece of wood impaling him.
The dwarf let out a guttural roar—the pain must have been unbearable. While his mouth was open, Xerxes placed part of his blade in it and quickly said, "Bite down on this, Thornfum!"
Then Airi used as much of her healing flames as she could on Thornfum while cauterising the wound. He clamped his teeth around the blade as Airi continued pouring her flames, biting down harder and harder until the blade snapped.
He spat out the pieces of wood to the side and rested his back, relieved that the wound had cleared up greatly. "Just give Thornfum the Great five minutes..." he said through ragged breaths, resting his head back.
Xerxes looked at Airi, and Airi looked back. "Airi, what in the six kingdoms is this day becoming?"
Airi sighed. "I'm not sure, Xerxes, but the dwarf is your responsibility. You decided to punch the tree!"
Xerxes put a hand on his face. He could sense that Airi had expended a lot of her power, but nevertheless, he was proud of her, which she could tell. She was growing stronger alongside Xerxes, and she had even been able to supply power, use her own on Thornfum, and not need any rest.
"You've done amazing, Airi. I'll handle it from here," Xerxes said with a smile. She did as such, flying to Xerxes' shoulder and resting on it.
After waiting a few minutes to let Thornfum catch his breath, Xerxes asked, "What were you doing around here, let alone under an earthen dome?"
Thornfum began to sit up. "Ah, you see, the reason I created the earthen dome is because you wouldn't be able to sense me—it acts as a mask for my mana."
Xerxes gave him a suspicious glance. "And why exactly would you do that?"
Thornfum looked at Xerxes. "Well, look at yerself. Yer the talk of the town—well, not the town, can't give ya that much credit. More like talk of the street. Your the Zombie Boy. I needed to see if ya were as strong as people said."
"I read a bit into yer past—that ya fought against an orc. Ya must've used material of incredible make to carve through it. Couldn't be anythin' basic like steel or the human material for blades ya find near the northern coasts. So I wanted to come and find out today."
"But all ya were usin' is a wooden sword. DO YA KNOW HOW DISAPPOINTED THAT MAKES ME FEEL!"
Xerxes found humour in Thornfum's words. "Why would it bother you?" he asked with a chuckle.
"Because ya dishonour the true element of swordsmanship! Ya need to fight with respectable material and a respectable blade—two of which ya don't have! I witnessed how spectacular your swordsmanship was just by your stance, your breathing, and your actual fightin' style, but it goes to waste without a true blade."
"Which is why I, Thornfum Furdia the Great, craftsman and forger, will be willin' to craft ya a blade under two conditions."