Rage, Warrior's Advancement

Azar and Falco discovered that the Power of Fury was not naturally occurring; it could be cultivated through specific training. Once the foundational training of combat techniques reached a level of proficiency, one could mobilize the primary Power of Fury within by learning to control their emotions. It could be understood this way: combat techniques are finite, but the spirit is infinite. When a person's spirit reaches a higher level, their combat techniques can unleash greater lethality and possess more endurance. This spirit requires self-development, which can be understood as a person's willpower.

However, Azar was not satisfied with this Power of Fury because he knew it carried significant side effects. It was a manifestation of one's vengeful emotions—negative and uncontrollable. Why were other tribes stronger? Because they were more barbaric! In truth, the flawed development of the Power of Fury was the primary reason. There is nothing wrong with the power of faith, but power should not be bloodthirsty, furious, or chaotic. Just because you are strong and you won, you shouldn't go around eating the corpses of others, nor would you gain someone else's power by eating their heart; there is no scientific basis for this. (I was wrong; this is Azeroth, there is no science). Thus, our exploration began to take a new direction: how to make the Power of Fury within us orderly and beneficial? We spent a great deal of energy but remained stumped, so we had to temporarily halt our inquiry and turn to perfecting our combat technique training instead.

One day, while Falco was writing a manual, Azar sat alone on the pier, deep in thought. How to turn chaos into order? How to better control the Power of Fury? By relying on the spirit? Where does the spirit come from? What is the origin of the warrior's path? What do warriors believe in? A warrior? A warrior, a person who fights—did the fight come first, or the person? Without clarifying this question, the contradiction of fury could never be resolved. He believed that the early development of all living things was for survival, a desperate struggle to stay alive; therefore, all their skills were meant for slaughter, for the struggle to claim the right to exist. The fight came before the person, or else they could not have earned the right to survive. Combat techniques—skills realized in battle—allowed for better slaughter. The Trolls of the past were combative, bloodthirsty, and barbaric because of this need for survival. Why, then, did he feel such disgust for it now? Yes, because of civilization! The intuitive manifestation of civilization is that all things are orderly and have their own path. Bloodthirst and barbarism are not inherently bad or evil, but because he believed deep down that they were, they became symbols of backwardness. The great migration of this tribe was also for this reason; the people within the tribe did not approve of bloodthirst and barbarism, nor did they approve of cannibalism. They believed Trolls were uncivilized while they themselves were civilized, so they chose to leave, to not be such people, to distinguish themselves from the Trolls. Broadly speaking, no one was right or wrong; they simply chose different directions. This direction was the culture they believed in. In their eyes, it was civilization. There is no right or wrong, only different choices. All things have spirits, all things have paths, and all things have the right to survive and choose. Order was Azar's choice, his civilization, his path. Order was Azar's faith. With faith came the source of power; he would fight for survival, and even more so, he would fight for his faith!

Azar did not notice that as he pondered, the water of the Well of Eternity beneath his feet was actually responding to him! Indeed, she is the blood of Azeroth; the blood of a Titan must contain the most primitive, dense, and pure Power of Order. Although she was only a Titan spirit and not yet a full Titan, and she had been tainted by the Old Gods, she was, after all, a future Titan. Thus, the Power of Order in her blood was responding to Azar, acknowledging his path. He felt a sense of total comfort as strands of strange yet powerful energy coursed through his body. Ah! It felt so good. He groaned softly, feeling himself slowly lie down and then gently float upward. At this moment, he felt as one with heaven and earth, moving now up, now down, now left, now right, tracing circles and squares. As the saying goes, "Without rules, one cannot form a square or a circle." At this moment, Azar was swimming in an ocean of order. Order was reshaping his body and attempting to reshape his thoughts. It did not succeed; his mind held its own path. It was not entirely of order, for it also possessed its own wildness, so they were not compatible. Azar believed that going too far is as bad as not going far enough; there is nothing perfect in the world. Or rather, perfection is itself a form of imperfection, as it is always ready to veer toward the other extreme, which is also undesirable. Only by constantly learning, progressing, and maintaining your own style can you be a true hero. I admire you, I believe in you, but I do not blindly follow you.

Azar's combat techniques did not improve, but his power did, because he had faith and a source of power. He had gained complete control over the power brought by his rage; the Power of Order made this energy orderly, controllable, and stronger. Azar could be angry at any time, even furious; the more intense his rage, the greater his power would become. Azar had mastered a powerful force that came at his call and went at his command.

Azar began to control his body, letting it move according to his will, and it obeyed him. Azar regained control over his own body. He could feel that the energy of order was also obeying him, adapting to him. Azar and it were equals, mutually supportive; it strengthened Azar's body and will, and Azar offered his faith in return. They slowly merged; Azar was it, and it was Azar. They were like lovers on their honeymoon; it took Azar to see the world of order, and it was reshaping him, transforming his every cell. It was enjoying—yes, it was enjoying the sensation of being worshipped by a living being, enjoying the thrill of creation. Although it had no mind and could not think, that did not prevent it from perceiving. All things have spirits, and its joy was its vitality. It moved joyfully—horizontal lines, vertical lines, square on the outside and round on the inside; every stroke and every line had its own law. You could say that order is rigid, but you absolutely cannot ignore its beauty—the beauty of rules, the beauty of order. It came, it entered, and it delved into every one of Azar's blood vessels and every cell, guiding them, managing them, making them orderly, making them disciplined. Azar seemed to see his own body; scars were being smoothed over, imperfections were becoming perfect. This was the power of order. It took over his body, washing it over and over, organizing it again and again, soaking into it repeatedly. Its temperament was gentle, not furious; it was like a gentleman speaking eloquently before you, or a lady whose every movement, every smile, and every glance was just right.

He had found it. Azar had found his own warrior's path and his faith. He fought for survival and for his tribe; everything that threatened them was the object of his battle. He refused to be oppressed, refused to be a slave. Slavery presses upon the heart, causing rage; rage leads to struggle, and struggle must seek victory. One roar splits mountains, one roar topples the blue seas, one roar leaves a trail of corpses for ten thousand miles. Order is to release and then retract, to stop at the right moment. If rage is chaotic and irrational, then order is what teaches the user of rage when to stop. Controlled rage, orderly rage, rage that serves him. Using rage, and also using order, he was the midpoint between them. He was neither biased nor extreme; he was Azar!

"Sir, can you hear me?"

Azar heard Falco's voice. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Falco, Koral, Yalik, and Muru, as well as his sister and the Chieftain. What had happened?

"Child, do you know how long you have been asleep? A full month."

Truly, there are no years in the mountains, yet a thousand years have passed in the world.