Soul Sublimation

"Not enough, still not enough."

"I still haven't met the standard for Soul Sublimation."

Dago had already lost count of how many attempts he had made, how much pain he had endured.

Even Gugu the Mist Raven's nine mist-shadow clones had been shattered, and its true body was covered in injuries.

He recalled Gugu and returned to the center of the Grey Sun. It tilted its head and immediately fell asleep.

The difficulty of breaking through to become a Formal Wizard was tied to one's Mental Space, and so was the pain of Soul Sublimation.

Wizards with small Mental Spaces and ordinary soul aptitude probably only needed to refine a little Silver Mist to complete their Soul Sublimation naturally.

Dago was different. He could no longer remember how many Rage Demons he had killed or how much Silver Mist he had refined.

But the Grey Sun refined Silver Mist far more slowly than it consumed it. Its expenditures exceeded its gains.

Dago looked at his Soul Body's hand. It was shriveled and gaunt, its skin clinging to the bones like dried orange peel.

An immense sense of weakness and despair surged over him like a tide.

His vision blurred, and his Soul Body's pupils had long since become utterly clouded.

He could almost smell his soul rotting away.

His Soul Body, once brimming with vitality, now resembled a weak, dying candle in the wind, flickering and trembling, ready to go out completely at any moment.

Can I still reach the other shore?

Dago looked at another wave of Rage Demons about to descend beyond the Grey Sun.

Under the endless suicidal charges, the Grey Sun had already been worn down by more than half.

"Sink into the Sea of Despair... become its Chosen One..."

It was as though the Sea