"Using will as one's body, advancing here consumes mental strength, potential, and foundation. Taken together, these three determine how far you can go."
As the man in white spoke, he had already started forward. Whenever the raging canyon wind touched his body, it was like a river striking a stone beneath the water—it immediately split in two and swept past him on either side.
Thus, he was like a shield standing in front, blocking the rushing currents so they would not fall upon Qiu Yan. Still, stray wisps of artistic conception lingered around them.
The source of these artistic conceptions was the flames, lightning, and water mist within the wind. Because of the white-clad man's obstruction, they could not reach Qiu Yan along with the gale. Yet as they were divided, specks still scattered free from the violent wind and landed on Qiu Yan, granting him a measure of insight.
It felt as though he were attached to this man in white, his vassal, accepting food handed out in contempt. Moreover, this meant the state of mind born from facing the gale directly would have nothing to do with him. Many of the truly crucial things within the wind would likewise remain beyond his reach; all he could gain would be scraps from the edges.
However, they were only at the outskirts of the ancient canyon path. Here, there were many perilous places. If they continued deeper, reaching areas that one's own will could not withstand, the situation would be different. At that point, one could enter places that would otherwise be unreachable—the implications were plain enough.
And places of that level, even their mere fringes, held sensations and insights that could never normally be touched. Compared to the scraps at the outskirts, they were elevated by an unknown measure.