For Merin and Asuna, the sudden change of the intruder catches both off guard. A few moments ago, they were at an advantage against the intruder, slowly consuming the intruder's inner energy.
Everything was going as they wanted it to. They were slowly and slowly consuming the intruder's inner energy, and at last, he or Asuna would kill the Intruder and then help the villagers kill the rest of the intruders.
But now the Intruder decided he doesn't want to act according to their plan. The Intruder, without caring about himself, attacks. Fighting like this, the Intruder would guarantee his death and even ahead of time.
Merin barely avoids death once when the sabre whistles past his forehead, slicing strands of hair into the air, missing his skull by inches. Another time, the blade grazes his arm. Then his chest. His thigh. His back. Cuts open and blood runs, hot against the cold snow.
But the Intruder's action made Merin's situation dangerous. He is like walking on a tight rope. It wouldn't have mattered if Merin were a middle-ranking samurai, but he is not. He was, but now is a peak low-ranking Samurai.
Unable to send out inner energy from his body to defend against the intruder's inner energy attack makes Merin does not even think about defence. When the enemy wantonly uses his inner energy to attack.
While escaping the enemy's attack by a hair's breadth again. He distances himself from the enemy, as Asuna is aware of her predicament, decides to take the risk and engage the enemy.
Merin is staring at the battle, worrying for Asuna, as the enemy, without caring about his inner energy, is attacking Asuna, who is not as strong or skilled as the enemy. But Asuna is also a middle-rank and more able to defend against the enemy.
But how the enemy is attacking her, anything can happen. If the enemy gets through Asuna's defence, then her life would be in danger, and it would be his turn.
So, Merin's thoughts run at a fast speed, ideas on how he and Asuna come out of this unscathed. He doesn't think about escaping, as he doesn't know if any enemies are outside the village.
While thinking, he is interfered with by a nagging pull in his mind, and it's growing. He tries to fight back but fails, and sees Asuna getting injured in her arm. It's a light cut, but it's on her dominant arm.
Merin stops fighting the losing battle and surrenders to the pull.
The world sharpens. He feels it—something vast and invisible, flowing all around. The natural energy of the world. It brushes his skin, sinks into his breath, and his thoughts grow heavy. His body moves before thought can catch it.
He feels natural energy surging to enter his body, knowing the danger of the natural energy.
He swings his sword.
Not at the intruder, but at the ground, overhead, away from the immediate fight. His blade cleaves the air.
A strong gust of wind swept through the street, drawing everyone's gaze toward Merin.
Above Merin, a towering, semi-transparent energy sword, like a weapon crafted from pure cloud and wind, coalesced. It vibrated with raw power, momentarily stealing light from the sky. And then, it descended.
The immense pressure it exerted paralysed the intruder. His eyes bulged as he struggled, but his body wouldn't respond. The ethereal blade sliced through him.
Merin succumbed to unconsciousness before seeing the final blow, but Asuna's gaze remained fixed.
The energy blade cleaved the intruder's head, then his torso. Blood and viscera painted the snow in an unsettling quiet. His body fell into two lifeless pieces.
Asuna quickly moved to Merin's side, catching his head just before it touched the earth.
A hush fell over the entire street. Villagers and intruders alike halted, their attention drawn to Merin's prone body and the gruesome remains of his foe. They gawked, utterly stunned.
Then, a loud, drawn-out owl's hoot broke the silence. The signal.
The remaining intruders, still reeling from the shock, turned and scattered, disappearing into the labyrinth of alleys and shadows. They left behind a village filled with the echoes of incredulity and the fading roar of power. Snow fell without cease, silently covering the crimson stains and shattered weapons. The villagers closest to Merin converged on him, their pale faces and hushed tones revealing their profound concern.
The street filled with more echoing footsteps as villagers from every corner converged, drawn by the raw explosion of power that had just rocked their world. A chorus of shouts pierced the air—"Let me through!" "Move! I need to see!" "Is he alive?"—some frantic, others awestruck, as the crowd parted. The village chief, accompanied by Xialing and three battle-worn, bloodied men, pushed their way to the front. They'd been fighting elsewhere, rushing over the moment the tremors of power reached them.
All gazes locked onto Merin, still sprawled unconscious in the pristine snow. The truth had already swept through the crowd: Merin was responsible for that incredible attack. But a single, resounding question echoed in every mind—how could he?
One of the injured men broke the silence. "That... that was an artistic conception. But how did he...?"
Asuna, kneeling protectively by Merin, shook her head. "I don't know. He's never shown signs of it before."
Xialing silently knelt beside him, placing a hand over his chest. Her eyes briefly shimmered with a soft green light. "He's stable," she announced. "In fact... he's healing better than he was. For a few crucial seconds, his body absorbed natural energy. It's mending his injuries." A low murmur rippled through the gathered villagers.
Xialing's expression clouded with concern. But if he absorbs any more... she silently cautioned, it'll become dangerous. His energy isn't condensed enough. His body isn't ready for prolonged exposure to the world's raw energy. Asuna's eyes flicked to Xialing, a silent gesture of gratitude passing between them.
Meanwhile, the villagers' whispers grew louder. "How did he comprehend artistic conception?" "He's still just a low-ranking samurai!"
"No," Asuna corrected, her voice cutting through the murmurs with quiet authority. "He was a middle-ranking samurai. He changed his cultivation technique, so he had to start over."
One of the men frowned. "Even so, only high-ranking samurai can comprehend artistic conception..."
Every head turned to the village chief, who then looked expectantly at Xialing—the only one among them whose knowledge stretched far beyond the ordinary, the only one who truly knew her identity. "Xialing," he began carefully, "is it truly possible?"
Xialing rose, brushing snow from her robes. Her ancient eyes were calm, unwavering. "Realm and artistic conception are distinct," she explained, her voice resonating with quiet wisdom. "Realm measures sheer power. But artistic conception is born from profound understanding. Even a common person—if their comprehension is deep and their soul truly resonates with the concept—may awaken it."
Her words settled into the hush like individual snowflakes: unfamiliar, yet utterly undeniable. Around her, villagers slowly nodded, perhaps not fully grasping the complexity, but finding an absolute truth in Xialing's tone.
The snowfall intensified.
The village chief turned to Asuna. "Take your husband home." She nodded. With surprising ease, she lifted Merin into her arms. His body, though bloodied and heavy, rested gently against her. As she walked, villagers silently parted, a few trailing behind.
They reached their house. The door hung broken, shattered during the fight. "We'll fix it," a man quickly offered. "Just take care of him." Asuna nodded again, nudged the ruined door aside with her foot, and stepped inside. She carried Merin to the bed and laid him down with meticulous care.
Then, without a word, she sat beside him, a silent sentinel, waiting.
Outside, the snow continued to fall.
Merin stirred awake, his body stiff beneath warm blankets. Something heavy rested on his arm, and his other hand gripped something soft and warm. Before the mental fog cleared, a familiar voice spoke beside him.
"You're awake," Asuna said quietly.
"Yes," Merin replied without thinking.
"Then take your hand away."
His brow furrowed. The room was dim, only thin light filtering through the wall cracks and the broken door. Still disoriented, he squeezed his palm slightly. Soft. Warm. His eyes widened in the dark, and he quickly yanked his hand away. "Sorry," he muttered, shifting his arm.
Asuna sat up, her expression unreadable in the dim light. "Are you okay?"
Merin stared at her, then looked away, his breath catching. The warmth of her body lingered on his arm, and his heart thumped once, hard. He closed his eyes, centring himself, then shifted his senses inward.
His injuries—dried blood clung to his skin, but the wounds had sealed. The deeper damage, the tears in his energy veins, were mostly healed. The largest were now just slight cracks.
Then, something else: a steady flow of energy. He was back in the Middle-Ranking Samurai realm.
He frowned. The last thing he remembered was following a strange urge, a building pressure in his mind. To release it, he'd swung his sword with all his strength. Then everything went black. But before the darkness, he recalled a flash of white light.
He turned back to Asuna. "What happened?" he asked.
Asuna raised an eyebrow. "You don't know what you did?"
Merin hesitated, confused. Then his eyes widened slightly as a thought flashed through his head. Is she talking about...? He stammered, "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put my hand there... and subconsciously... squeeze it. I didn't mean it. Really. And why am I even on the bed? The bed's too small, so... that must've happened."
Asuna's lips tightened. "I'm not talking about that," she said, her voice low. "And never mention this to anyone. Or I'll kill you."
Merin sat up quickly, hands raised. "Alright! Alright! What are you talking about then?"
Asuna stared at him for a few seconds before sighing. "What did you do out there? That attack... When did you comprehend an artistic conception?"
Merin blinked. "Artistic Conception?" Pointing at himself, he added, "I'm comprehending Artistic Conception? When, and why didn't I know?"
She exhaled sharply, then explained what happened after he lost consciousness: the massive energy sword, how it cleaved the intruder in half, how the air trembled, how the remaining intruders fled in fear, and how villagers and even Xialing were stunned silent.
Merin listened in silence, his brows furrowing deeper with every word. Then he closed his eyes. In a moment, he found it. That familiar pressure. The urge. It swelled quietly in the back of his mind—but this time, he was calm. In control.
He also noticed something strange: his soul power had left his sea of consciousness, hovering somewhere just outside his body. He opened his eyes and lifted his palm. Around him, he felt the natural energy of the world—wind whispering, clouds stirring above. A thin, misty blade began to form, spinning gently in his hand.
Asuna gasped, eyes wide with awe, and reached out a finger.
"Don't," Merin warned as the blade vanished the moment her finger neared. "It's dangerous."
She pulled back and exhaled. "How did you comprehend the Artistic Conception?"
"I don't know," Merin said honestly. "I was fighting, using both the low-level Wind Sword Technique and the middle-level Cloud Sword Technique. I started mixing the moves, and in the pressure of battle, they just... blended. And then that pressure built in my mind. I let it out. You saw what happened after."
Asuna watched him, amazed. "You understood the Wind or the Cloud artistic conception?"
Merin nodded slowly. "Both." He closed his eyes briefly again and felt it clearly—the wind flowing around him, alive, and above, the heavy clouds laden with snow, answering his awareness.
"Woah..." Asuna breathed. " Then can you help me comprehend them?"
Merin scrunching his face with a thoughtful look. He thinks about Asuna's question and answer." I don't know, and you are trying to master a different sword technique."
Then a knock came at the door. And their conversation comes to an end.