Level-two swordsmanship brought no small changes. When Zhao Cheng woke that morning, his strongest impression was that time had suddenly gained a hint of texture.
Naturally, this feeling was still worlds apart from the legendary Seventh Sense.
Yet for someone like him, once a "Muggle," it was a novel experience. The world had become different—or rather, this was what the world truly looked like. Mortals simply could not see it, constrained as they were by the flaws of life.
And this was undoubtedly where the charm of the extraordinary lay.
It was not merely a matter of how many more pounds of strength one possessed, or how sturdy and resilient one's flesh, blood, and bones became.
After all, before one had traveled far enough down the path of the extraordinary, no amount of enhancement to a body of flesh could make its strength surpass an excavator, nor its toughness surpass steel.
If one truly sought pure strength, the simplest way was not grueling cultivation, but driving an excavator or a dump truck...
Come to think of it, round those two up and they could barely count as prototypes of Gundams. Who dared call that external power?!
Time had gained weight. In that instant, Zhao Cheng felt that the entire world had acquired a flavor; he even felt that he had been wasting his days all this while.
Yet on reflection, this really was no illusion.
Even ordinary people, when they were occasionally in peak condition, could feel the weight of time for a few moments. During those moments, the world was beautiful, life had flavor, and everything was so wonderful.
But there were only ever a few such moments, gone in the blink of an eye.
Now, however, that sense of peace born from the weight of time had become