NOVEL WEB Chapter-42 Ryvia
Ewan, Frost, Toast, and Iris stood around Orange as he winced on the floor after drinking the first half of the potion. The Fire-Anima raged around him, the air distorted, and scorching wind blasted against the four. Embers flew about, sparks hopped around. Toast clawed his way up on Ewan’s shoulders and snuggled and whimpered as his fur singed, while Iris bundled herself in his hair. Ewan consoled his little kitten and his little lotus and stared at Orange, gulping to wet his throat. Frost remained still and eyed the monkey, ready on Ewan’s orders to help in case something went wrong.
Soon Orange reached the boundary of Level-2 and a few moments later blasted through the layer. The flickering fire on his forehead erupted for a second with ribbons of blue flames reaching twice his height then calmed down and turned back orange. The fiery wind also settled down and the abundant Fire-Anima scattered. Before giving in to the glee of success, Ewan checked Orange from head to toe for any injuries. His pulse raced but remained under normal levels. There were no injuries mentioned in the <Identify> spell either. His connected senses also gave a green light.
Ewan heaved a sigh of relief, crouching on the floor with his head down. Orange opened his eyes and screeched at Frost; the little imp glared back.
“Not yet,” Ewan said and pushed the two apart. The other part of the potion remained.
…..
Ewan toiled for the next week and brewed one potion after another. The experience of each brew nudged his proficiency and increased his success rate. But not before he spent almost all his Novas on the trials. He still had Anima Crystals though, a lot of them, so the spending didn’t worry him much.
Red for blood, white for ice, and brown for wood—he had three types of Anima Crystals. Brown was useless to him while he didn’t need as many reds and whites. Converting all browns and most reds and whites through the hub-connector netted him 296 Novas, an amount that could last him a long while. Sustenance before sourcing the earnings was not a problem with such numbers.
….
‘The higher the soul essence the violent the breakthrough. It’s better to not have your Astylinds around.’ Ewan fiddled with the page while rereading the sentences he’d already read several times. His leveled up and upgraded Astylinds—both Frost and Orange joining the ranks of Iris in Grade-C—trained on their own as he skimmed the journal in the basement corner. The cold wall chilled his back at first then his body warmed the wall.
Third awakening, he had the butterflies when he thought of it. It was the threshold he’d been waiting for. The increased feedback from his Astylinds pushed him to the boundary, 4.9, now only a thin layer stopped him from moving forward. Only the ‘violent breakthrough’ part in the journal worried him. Nonetheless he had to cross the bridge, there was no other way around.
After a long deep breath, he put the journal back in the claw-ring, his Astylinds went inside the runes, and he sat in the middle of the basement. Cross-legged and his eyes closed, his palms stacked at his navel, he focused on his soul space. ‘Spirit like ripples’, once again he plucked the pool of spirit, creating waves after waves. The pool surged and roared; the oscillations rampaged in his soul space.
The barrier crumbled under the constant barrage, it tore the layer down, and his spirit thrashed around before calming down. Yet, it was only the quiet before the storm. He’d completed his third awakening, but he didn’t dare relax. The violent part had yet to happen. With the intense sweet smell and the feeling of liberation came the initiation of the new innate skill, Ryvia—the spirit interference.
Ewan bloated. His spirit ran amuck throughout his body. It expanded, tearing his skin and muscles from inside. His body tingled, and the itch just wouldn’t go away, not that he had the leeway to scratch them. Ryvia would extend his spirit outside his body, so he had to tolerate the pain if he were to advance. He groaned and gritted his teeth. The agony had him moaning and chuckling at times. The tickling sweat drops rolling down his temples and cheeks snatched his attention and irritated him. But he bore through it all.
A thread of spirit finally popped out his forehead. It busted the dam and his spirit exploded away.
He growled and floated up in the air, his invisible spirit hurled the table away and it shattered at the wall. His pain toned down, and the sharp buzz muffled the world. Ewan looked down; he was hovering several feet above the floor. Some dispensable Potioneering tools he’d left on the table drifted around him, crunching, chipping, cracking, and snapping as his spirit distorted them, gravity giving them free rein.
This was Ryvia, the watershed that separated him from the Kyrons, and he crossed it.
The initial outburst kept him floating for a minute then eased him down. His eyelids were heavy, his limbs felt weak, the breakthrough and the initiation of the skill emptied him. The unending stairs to the surface then the prolonged path to the bedroom—the everyday distance had never looked this impervious before. He had no one who would scold him for where he slept anyway, so he took out a thick quilt from his claw-ring and lay where he stood, drifting off to the world of dreams. Only the echoes of his soft wheezes meandered in the basement.
