Ronan felt a stir of emotion.
He had no intention of subjecting himself to any detailed psychological analysis. He simply felt that the heart beating in his chest was driving him to act, to do things somewhat different from what he had planned before.
They seemed closer to those vast yet indistinct, illusory yet magnificent events within the visualization spacetime assembled from the Ritual Ancient Script.
What did that count as?
An ideal? A desire? Ambition? A life goal? Or simply an instinct to climb higher?
Ronan touched his hair, unconsciously breathed out, then pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the faint tremors in the structure of his body and spirit.
Even the most natural movements supported by Earth Local Time-Space required powerful internal rules to sustain them in the Fog Maze. Otherwise, his very existence would rapidly be worn away to nothing.
Snake Language had once faced precisely that desperate predicament.
Ronan, however, had relied on his mastery of Spacetime Configuration to treat that pressure as nothing. He had designed traps in the maze, ambushed Gong Qi, assembled the Lens, and built Tree Hole Space, before finally mapping the Relay Station's spacetime structure to establish Battlefield Spacetime... After accomplishing all that, he had come to consider himself somewhat accomplished in this field.
But after reading vast quantities of historical texts, his perspective had changed. By comparison, he understood just how fragile and laughable the source of his root nature was beneath his barely commendable Spacetime Configuration skills. It was, in fact, far inferior even to the "grains of sand" he casually picked up beside him to use as building materials.
It was hard for people to recognize where they stood. Even if they did, accepting it was difficult. Striving to change it, let alone achieving results, was harder