A/N well guys, it's done, my exams are finished(so no more revising with me, if you know what i am talking about) which means that i am officially on holiday, yes, summer holiday in the middle of May, are you jealous?
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Chapter 28
Inside Kamar-Taj, the grand hall had transformed into a festive banquet as long tables overflowed with food and drink. The scent of roasted meats, spiced rice, and exotic fruits wafted through the air as candles flickered along stone walls, casting golden glows on smiling faces. The Ancient One sat at the center, flanked by senior masters of the mystic arts while recent graduates were called forward one by one. All eyes, however, were on Ash, who devoured food with a single-minded focus, clearing plate after plate with staggering speed. Conversations quieted as Ash leaned back and let out a deep, satisfied burp, drawing everyone's attention.
"What? I didn't eat for five days," he protested, genuinely confused at the surprised stares locked onto him from every direction. Strange, sitting across from him with a half-eaten roll in hand, blinked and said in a bewildered tone, "Do you have a dimensional pocket in your stomach?" That broke the tension. A wave of light laughter rippled through the room, even the stern-faced sorcerers grinning as the room filled with warmth and the clinking of utensils. Wine was poured, stories were exchanged, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, peace returned to the halls of Kamar-Taj, the ancient one seeing these smiled smiled herself as she though, "he really is an anomaly, changing the sacred timeline" but despite being faced with this anomaly named ash, she was not wary, no, ash has brought nothing but smiles, inspired hope in people as he got rid of the constant recurring beast, and prevented disaster, this anomaly was one that the ancient one would not mind as it benefited the greater good.
-scene change-.
Mount Everest stood as immovable as ever, its white peaks piercing the heavens with the same frostbitten pride. At the base of one of its many jagged cliff sides, snow crunched softly beneath Ash's boots as he stood still, wrapped in a flowing red robe that caught the high-altitude wind. The air was thin, freezing, and painfully silent, broken only by the gentle rhythm of his breathing. In his right hand, he held the Dragonfang sword, its edge gleaming with a cold, unforgiving luster. He inhaled deeply, grounding himself as mist escaped from his mouth into the icy air.
Ash raised the blade above his head, the robe fluttering wildly around his form, and whispered a single word, "Cut." The sword came down in a smooth, precise arc, powered not by mana or sorcery, but by raw, superhuman strength and sheer control. The moment the blade descended, the air itself seemed to rupture—an audible snap echoed outward like thunder trapped in a bottle. A razor-thin wave of compressed force tore through the wind and struck the cliffside, creating a massive, clean slash that carved through meters of solid rock as if it were paper.
Chunks of snow and ice were blasted off, scattering into the air as gravity pulled down a curtain of rock, leaving a dark, deep gash across the mountain's face. The mark was perfectly straight, smooth along the edges, a terrifying testament to the precision of the strike. Dust and mist lingered for seconds before clearing, revealing a horizontal wound so deep it seemed to reach into the bones of the mountain itself. The silence that followed was even heavier than before, as if Everest itself acknowledged the force that had just kissed its flesh. Ash stood still, exhaling slowly as the wind howled past the fresh scar he had left behind.
Seeing the damage left behind by his specialized technique, Ash stood silently, a faint smile curling his lips as snow settled softly into the deep scar. "Now then, let's see how this technique acts if mana is applied," he thought, stepping forward as wind brushed against his robe. His beach ball-sized core lit up as it began to spin rapidly, the hum of compressed energy growing louder with each second. His eyes glowed a fierce white, and a low vibration rippled out around him, scattering the nearby snow as he drew pure mana from his core into the Dragonfang blade. The sword didn't just glow—it shimmered like a star, growing sharper, heavier, and impossibly durable.
Ash exhaled slowly and raised the glowing sword above his head once more, the red robe whipping around him like flames in the wind. "Cut," he whispered again, and this time the motion wasn't just powerful—it was surgical and immediate. The moment the blade began its descent, the very air warped—first to shiver, then to scream—as a white shockwave burst forward like a flash of lightning. The motion of the slash was so fast that the Dragonfang was already embedded in the ground before the echo of its swing had finished reverberating through the mountaintop. The sky above trembled as a line of clear distortion split the world before him.
The attack hit the cliffside not like a sword, but like a divine punishment. The entire wall groaned before a massive explosion of stone and snow erupted outward, chunks the size of boulders blasted clean from their place. The slash wasn't a gash this time—it was a ravine, an open trench carved dozens of meters deep into the mountain, glowing faintly with white-hot friction. Where the first cut had been precise and surgical, this one was overwhelming, the raw mana tearing through layers of ancient rock and sending a wave of frost-drenched debris scattering across the slope. The air remained charged, tingling, a mark of power that still clung to the edges of reality as Ash lowered the sword again.
Ash stood before the gash on the mountain with a small, knowing smile, the wind brushing strands of hair across his face. His eyes lingered on the clean wound in the stone as he thought, "I've improved too quickly… whether it's my superhuman physiology, core, or shell." While rapid growth was often a blessing, Ash knew all too well the danger of shaky foundations. That was why he stood here, in the cold solitude of Everest, not to dominate, but to refine—control mattered more than power. Letting the Dragonfang rest quietly on a nearby rock, he turned toward the scarred cliff still crumbling from his previous strike.
Rocks and pebbles tumbled noisily down the slope as Ash approached, his breath misting in front of him. He planted his feet firmly into the snow and laid his balled fist against the frigid stone, feeling its roughness. Then, with calm deliberation, he wound his arm back. Before the punch was even thrown, the environment changed—the snow beneath his feet cracked in a ring, lines spreading out like spiderwebs, while the wind recoiled away from his body. The air grew tense and heavy as if nature itself knew what was coming, and the clouds above shifted, drawn to the growing storm of strength about to be released.