Kanoru flies low over the ocean, eyes sweeping the distant horizon. The wind howls in his ears, the salty air thick with tension. His aura pulses outwards, grey fire wrapping around him like a cloak as he scans for the ship carrying his sister.
The decision to abandon the fight against the Skeleton Bird weighs on him, but the order of full retreat from the other three continents made it necessary. The situation had turned too fast, too sharply. Now, the Greyrose Circus pursues the fleeing forces, smelling weakness, eager to turn retreat into slaughter.
His fear gnaws at him—not for himself, but for the ship that carries his family. His sister is strong, yes, and a Spirit King travels with her. But strength alone means little now. The battlefield has shifted. Those who haven't formed more than ninety elemental rules—or those who haven't, like Kanoru, stepped into a new realm entirely by forming energies beyond the nine elements—are no longer equal.
What Kanoru achieved is rare. Unheard of. With only seventy-eight connected runes, he's created something superior. The grey energy—his own path.
He finally spots it—a shadow on the waves, a streak across the blue. A ship, modest in size, pushes through the waters under a canopy of protective spells.
Kanoru shifts direction and dives, not concealing his aura. He wants them to know he's coming.
As he nears, figures emerge onto the deck. A dozen or more. Most keep their distance. Only two remain near the bow.
His sister—and the Spirit King.
Even her husband and their two children stay behind the others.
He understands. When he lived in Entori, he was already known. The first genius. The one everyone spoke of in whispers and awe. His sister's husband had been just another boy, same age as her, unnoticed, unknown. Kanoru's circle then had been narrow—Asuna, Takanaka, a few others. He barely spoke to anyone else, always chasing progress. And by the time she married, he was already on the Sacred Continent.
He touches down lightly on the deck. His grey flames recede. The air stills.
His sister rushes to him without hesitation and wraps her arms around him.
"Do you have any injury?" she asks, voice tight with worry.
Kanoru exhales, placing a hand gently on her back.
"No," he says. "I'm fine."
But as the words leave his mouth, his spiritual sense spreads across the ship. He doesn't see them—his parents. Not among the group on deck. Not even a glimpse. During the battle with the Skeleton Bird, he hadn't paid attention to the details on the ship, too focused on killing, surviving, and protecting. But now… now he searches. Room by room, floor to floor, through every hallway and shadow of the vessel. Nothing.
His chest tightens.
He is eighty-four. His parents should be past a hundred now. He remembers—neither broke through to the Spirit Realm. The best they reached was high-level samurai. In a letter once, his mother proudly wrote of it. He had smiled then, and sent them contribution points to help buy the resources they needed for a breakthrough.
But he knew… it takes more than just resources. One must understand the laws. Grasp the essence of at least one of the nine elements and form an elemental rune in their spiritual space. Without that, the Spirit Realm remains a wall.
And now, he senses no trace of them. Not even their presence lingering faintly in the wood or fabric of the ship.
There's only one possibility left.
He releases his sister gently and asks, voice steady but cold, "When did Father and Mother die? And why did I not receive any letter mentioning this?"
Her face falls. Guilt and sorrow flood her features, and her voice trembles when she speaks.
"Brother… Father died two years ago. Mother, six months before him. Before the war escalated. They both made me promise not to tell you… They didn't want to distract you during battle. They feared it might affect you."
Kanoru lowers his gaze. He understands. He truly does. The battlefield allows no space for grief. One mistake, one hesitation, and it ends. But understanding doesn't soften the weight pressing against his chest.
He lets out a long, slow breath. It's heavy, but controlled.
"Everyone return to your rooms," he says quietly.
His sister's brows knit with concern. "Brother…"
"Go," Kanoru says again, his voice firmer, eyes still locked on the sea. "I don't want to talk now. We'll speak later."
One by one, they begin to leave. His sister, her husband, their children, and the others. No one question him again. Only the Spirit King remains behind, silent.
The deck grows quiet.
Both Kanoru and the Spirit King gaze westward toward the sky. From their position in the open ocean, not many would fly overhead. But now, faint shadows scatter across the sky behind them. The Greyrose Circus. Pursuers who had followed from the battlefield, but the moment Kanoru's aura flared across the ocean, they stopped.
Kanoru narrows his eyes. Grey energy begins to swirl in the air around him—silent, cold, lethal. Dozens of fine knives of grey energy take shape in the space behind him. Then, in an instant, they shoot forward like a storm of death.
Far behind, streaks of light explode. Screams echo in the wind. Some are sliced cleanly, others fall injured, but not a single one escapes unharmed.
Kanoru exhales lightly. "We need to speed up."
The Spirit King replies from his side, tone strained, "This magic boat is low-level. It's already moving at full speed."
Kanoru doesn't turn to him. His gaze stays locked on the path ahead. "You have to reach the Sacred Continent within a few hours. The situation is growing worse by the minute. Every second matters."
The Spirit King's face darkens. "If that's the case… We'll have to leave the rest behind. Only your sister's family can come—"
"No."
Kanoru's voice slices through the thought before it finishes. He closes his eyes, and a moment later, the ocean stirs.
Water surges below the hull as his spiritual energy spreads wide, commanding the sea itself to push the ship forward. Above, the air crackles—the wind elemental energy begins to shift, funneling behind the ship and pushing it faster.
The ship trembles but holds. Its speed multiplies, increasing tenfold.
Kanoru doesn't look up. "You go to the sky. Be the lookout. Alert me if anyone approaches."
The Spirit King nods and shoots upward, rising above the ship, his eyes scanning the distant ocean sky.
Kanoru walks to the centre of the deck and sits cross-legged. His hands rest on his knees, and his breathing slows. He draws in the spiritual energy around them, moulding it, wrapping the ship in a shimmering energy barrier to shield it from pressure and friction.
Then, without speaking, he devotes 70% of his thoughts to controlling the ship's movement—waves shifting to pull the boat faster, wind pushing from behind, barriers protecting all sides. The ship groans with the sudden acceleration, but it doesn't break.
What should have taken twenty-five days will be crossed in a single day.
It won't be enough to arrive in just a few hours.
But this… this is all Kanoru can give them now.
With seventy percent of his mind focused on propelling the ship forward, shielding it from collapse, guiding its momentum across the vast ocean, the remaining thirty slips inward. Into thought. Into himself.
He had begun to dominate the Skeleton Bird. Not because he had surpassed it in power, but because it was new to this world. Its strength suppressed by the rules of this land. The natural order resisted its presence, dulling its full force. That was the only reason Kanoru held the upper hand.
But now… he had lost the chance to kill it.
And he knows—he will not get another.
As time passes, that creature, like all invaders, will adapt. It will learn the laws, shape itself to fit them, and the world's grip on its strength will loosen. Slowly. Inevitably. The next time they meet, there will be no advantage of suppression. No mercy of imbalance. If Kanoru does not grow—no, 'evolve'—before then, defeat is certain.
He breathes deeply, his thoughts spiraling inward toward the power that now defined his path.
The grey energy.
He's already taken the first step: learning to shape it. In battle, he succeeded in manifesting the grey element through wind, fire, and water. This fusion, this alien element, is born from combinations—wind-water, wind-fire, and water-fire. Together, the three unions birth the grey form. Six interwoven connections, all bound to the core elemental trio.
So to master the grey energy… he must master their fusion.
He closes his eyes tighter, focusing past the sea, past the wind, into the quiet pulse of energy moving through his veins.
The goal is clear. Complete mastery means two things:
First, to directly convert his chakra into grey energy.
Second, to control the spiritual energy of the world itself and mould it into grey energy.
When he achieves both, then he can begin forming grey runes—true runes—until he reaches the ultimate number.
But before any of that, he needs to understand 'which' element enhances the grey energy's strength the most.
Which fusion leans toward offence?
Which defends?
Kanoru's thoughts deepen. The first step—shaping grey energy into the forms of fire, wind, and water—was only the beginning. The core of the grey form stems from six alien energies: explosive wind-fire, devouring water-fire, freezing wind-water, and the other hidden triads born of their fusions.
But he still can't 'directly' combine raw fire, water, and wind into the grey form.
Not yet.
Instead, he still needs to go through the six alien intermediaries. So he thinks: the second step to mastering grey energy must be 'simulating' the nature of those six. Not just their elemental combinations, but the unique powers they hold.
The explosiveness of explosion energy.
The devouring trait of devouring water.
Each carries a trait beyond basic fusion.
To master grey, he must 'simulate' all of them.
He doesn't stop moving the ship. That part of his mind remains fixed, pushing waves and wind. But the rest begins working—refining.
He starts with the one he knows best: explosive energy. It's volatile, wild, powerful.
He's used it for decades.
It's second nature to his battle style.
He focuses now on its structure—how the explosive alien energy is formed. Not just from wind and fire, but from the precise 'ratios', the 'flow', the sharp turbulence created when their spiritual cores rub violently against each other.
Kanoru lifts his palms slightly—one swirling with grey wind energy, the other with grey fire.
He doesn't combine them. Not yet.
He studies their patterns.
Then slowly, delicately, he begins to simulate the tension, the instability, the friction.
He's not aiming for chaos.
He's aiming for a 'copy' of explosion energy,
but made from grey wind and grey fire.
The energy between his hands begins to tremble.
If he can succeed—if he can make grey energy mimic the six alien forces—then step by step, he'll shed the need to use six types.
He'll control the grey form directly.
Effortlessly.
The road will be long. But this is the path he's chosen.
And he will walk it—until the grey energy becomes his true strength.
But just as the unstable swirl begins to twist tighter between his palms, Kanoru halts.
He opens his eyes.
This is a ship.
A single misstep—one flawed simulation—and the blast from grey energy mimicking the explosive trait would ripple through the deck, tear the hull, and reduce everyone aboard to ash.
He exhales slowly. 'If anything goes wrong,' he thinks, 'I'd kill them all myself before the Greyrose Circus even arrives.'
That's not a price he's willing to pay.
So, with a quiet flick of his wrist, the growing pulse of unstable energy fades. He shifts focus, choosing a different path.
Not explosive—too dangerous.
Instead, he turns to the vibration trait of the Wind Chimes elemental energy. A subtle fusion of wind and water, it doesn't detonate. It 'resonates'. Soft, harmonic, rippling like invisible soundwaves through the water.
A safer practice. Controlled.
He reforms the grey energy in his palms, tuning it carefully. Not to erupt—but to hum, to echo, to 'vibrate'.
The ship continues to sail forward at impossible speed, wind and sea bent to his will.
And beneath the deck's silence, the grey in Kanoru's hands begins to sing.