In the third month after leaving Fenlai City, Linley and Wharton entered the Mountain Range of Magical Beasts.
The mountains were hot and humid in summer. Towering ancient trees blotted out the sky, and a thick layer of humus cushioned their steps, giving off the smell of earth and rotting vegetation. Insects chirped on all sides, occasionally accompanied by the distant growl of a magical beast.
The brothers did not travel quickly. Wharton led the way, swinging Slaughter from time to time to cut through vines and shrubs. Linley followed with Mountain Suppressor in his left hand, ready to strike at any moment.
"Which way, Bro?" Wharton stopped at a fork and wiped away his sweat.
Linley looked up at the daylight filtering through gaps in the canopy. "Deeper in. The magical beasts on the outskirts are too weak. We won't get any real training there."
Wharton nodded and chose the more treacherous-looking path on the left. It was indeed difficult, running almost flush against the mountainside, with a rocky ravine more than ten meters deep below. But a path like this was safe-most magical beasts traveled over gentler terrain, so there were fewer on dangerous trails like this.
After more than two hours, they heard water ahead.
It was a mountain stream, about ten meters wide, with a swift current and water clear to the bottom. On the opposite bank was an open area dotted with low shrubs, with dense forest beyond it.
"Camp here tonight?" Wharton asked.
Linley surveyed their surroundings. With the mountainside at their backs and the stream ahead as a natural barrier, they had a clear view to either side and were unlikely to be ambushed.
"All right."
They divided the work. Wharton went to gather firewood-or rather, a few sturdy dead branches. He dragged them back, sharpened them into stakes with his sword, and planted them in a circle around the camp as a makeshift warning barrier. Linley went hunting and returned fifteen minutes later carrying two plump mountain rabbits.
As darkness fell, they lit a campfire. The rabbits roasted over the flames, fat dripping and sizzling as their aroma spread.
Bebe crouched beside the fire, staring longingly at the rabbits and making a rumbling sound in his throat.
"What's the hurry?" Linley tore off a hind leg and tossed it to him. Bebe caught it in his mouth, darted up a nearby tree, and gnawed it clean in a few bites before jumping back down to stare again.
Wharton poked at the fire with a branch. "Bro, how do you think the church is doing now?"
"It's taken a severe blow, but its foundations are still intact." Linley turned the rabbits over. "Dylan only took half its territory. He didn't wipe it out. The church will surely retreat to its stronghold and lick its wounds, then plot a counterattack once it recovers."
"Then we need to hurry," Wharton said. "Once they recover, they'll definitely investigate how Clayde died. Things were chaotic at the time, but if we left any clues behind..."
"That's why we need to get stronger." Linley tore off a piece of meat and blew on it repeatedly. "Strong enough that the church won't dare move against us lightly."
Wharton was silent for a moment. "Bro, how strong do you think we need to get?"
Linley looked into the campfire, its light dancing in his eyes. "Saint-level at least. If one Saint-level isn't enough, then two. If two aren't enough, then three. The Baruch Clan has five thousand years of history behind it. It can't end with our generation."
He spoke calmly, but Wharton heard the weight in his words.
Staying in the Mountain Range of Magical Beasts to train was the plan they had discussed.
And battles to the death deep in the mountains were the best whetstone.
Their first real battle came on the seventh day.
That afternoon, the brothers were making their way through a pine forest when Wharton suddenly stopped, holding his heavy sword across his body.
"There's something here."
Linley sensed it too. At some point, the insects around them had fallen silent, and a faint, musky stench hung in the air. His right hand went to the throwing knives at his waist.
Deep in the pine forest, two red lights appeared.
It was an Ironback Azure Wolf, a magical beast of the eighth rank, nearly two meters tall at the shoulder. Its gray fur stood on end, and drool dripped between its bared fangs. It stared at the brothers, scraping the ground with its forepaws and growling deep in its throat.
"I'll take it," Wharton said.
Linley nodded and stepped half a pace back, holding throwing knives between his fingers-not because he distrusted his younger brother, but in case other magical beasts were nearby.
Wharton stepped forward, his heavy sword trailing behind him. He walked slowly, planting each foot firmly, his gaze fixed on the wolf's eyes.
The wolf moved. It lunged like a streak of gray lightning, leaving an afterimage among the pines. Its enormous jaws opened, snapping straight at Wharton's throat.
Wharton did not dodge.
His heavy sword swept upward, the wind of its passage drowning out the wolf's roar. There was nothing fancy about the blow, only the simplest, most direct application of force-a turn of the waist, a thrust of the shoulder, an extension of the arm, and the sword struck.
Clang-!
The blade struck the wolf's forehead. An Ironback Azure Wolf's skull was its hardest feature; ordinary blades would not even leave a white mark on it. But Wharton's blow split it open.
It did not sever the skull, but cleaved into it. The edge sank three inches into bone, which cracked as sharply as a snapping branch. The wolf's lunge came to an abrupt halt. Its massive body crashed to the ground like a stone, twitched twice, and went still.
Wharton pulled out his sword, shook the blood and brains off it, and looked at Linley. "Not bad, right?"
"Enough power, but rough technique." Linley came over and crouched to examine the carcass. "You used seventy percent of your strength on that blow to break its skull. If you'd held back thirty percent and stabbed its eye socket with the sword tip, or cut the side of its neck, thirty percent would have been enough. You could use the strength you saved to deal with anything unexpected."
Wharton thought it over and nodded. "Makes sense."
He crouched beside Linley and watched his older brother expertly skin the wolf and retrieve its magicite core. An eighth-rank magicite core was worth several thousand gold coins, and an intact wolf pelt could fetch some money too, but they were in the mountains now and could not carry it away. They could only take the core and cut off a few pieces of meat for provisions.
"Bro, when you said 'anything unexpected' just now-did you mean this?"
Wharton suddenly raised his head and looked deep into the pine forest.
Linley sensed it too. There was more than one-a great many more. The musky stench was strong enough to sting their noses, and in the shadows among the pines, pair after pair of red lights appeared.
A wolf pack.
Ironback Azure Wolves lived in packs. The one they had just killed had been a sentry.
"Retreat?" Wharton tightened his grip on his sword.
"We can't." Linley stood, all twelve throwing knives held in his hands. "We're surrounded. At least thirty of them."
Before he had finished speaking, the first wave attacked.
Five wolves sprang out at once from different directions, working in perfect coordination to cut off every avenue of escape. Linley moved-not away, but toward them. He stepped half a pace to the left, slashing Slaughter at the leftmost wolf with his left hand while sending three throwing knives at the eyes of three others with his right. At the same time, he leaned back, narrowly avoiding the fifth wolf's lunge.
Blades flashed, and blood sprayed.
Two wolves died. One rolled on the ground, blinded and howling, while the other two missed and immediately turned after landing, ready to attack again.
But Wharton was already upon them.
His heavy sword swept across like a swinging iron pillar, smashing both wolves away. Bones audibly broke, and the wolves struck pine trees and slid limply to the ground.
More wolves pounced.
The battle erupted in full.
Linley darted through the pack, his saber and throwing knives working together flawlessly. He cut down those nearby and shot those farther away, felling or severely wounding a wolf with every move. His footwork was strange, seemingly casual, yet he always found a gap between claws and fangs, like a leaf drifting in the wind, untouched.
Wharton's fighting style was the complete opposite. He stood his ground and swung his heavy sword, turning the area within three meters into a forbidden zone of death. Any wolf that dared enter had its bones crushed and its organs smashed by the heavy blade. His movements were not fast, but every blow carried the pressure of a mountain, and the wind from his sword sent pine needles cascading down.
Bebe was not idle either. A black shadow darted through the pack, attacking their lower bodies-biting through leg tendons, tearing open bellies, and pulling out bloody entrails. He was too small and fast for the wolves to catch.
The battle lasted about fifteen minutes.
When the final howl died away, forty-seven wolf carcasses lay in the pine forest. Blood soaked through the humus, and the air was thick with its stench.
They cleared the battlefield. Forty-seven seventh-rank magicite cores were a considerable fortune. Linley put the cores into his interspatial ring and buried the rest on the spot.
At nightfall, the brothers found a cave to sleep in. They blocked most of the entrance with a boulder, leaving only a gap for ventilation.
A campfire burned inside the cave, with wolf meat roasting over it. The meat was tough and had a strong gamey smell, but when they were hungry, anything tasted good.
"Bro," Wharton said, gnawing on the meat, "that footwork of yours today... was interesting."
"I worked it out myself," Linley said. "It combines the wind-style magic spell 'Acceleration' with a warrior's way of applying force. It's something of a shortcut."
"Can you teach me?"
Linley glanced at his younger brother. "Your path is different from mine. You rely on overwhelming strength. Nimble footwork would only keep you from making the most of it. What you should practice is being 'immovable as a mountain': no matter how your opponent attacks, you break through with a single sword strike."
Wharton thought for a moment. "Makes sense."
"But," Linley said, tearing off a piece of meat, "you can train your Momentum."
"Momentum?"
"Yes." Linley chewed his meat and spoke slowly. "I watched you use your sword today. You had enough strength, but something was missing. Your sword is dead; you are alive. The sword follows the person, and the person follows the sword, but that still isn't enough. You need to become one with your sword and imbue every strike with your will, your killing intent, your resolve-that's Momentum."
Wharton fell into thought. Momentum was the foundation for breaking through to Saint-level, but the way he had thought since transmigrating had always held him back.
Linley continued, "Making something heavy seem light is a technique. It means wielding a heavy sword with the speed of a light one. But Momentum is a realm of understanding. It makes your opponent afraid before they even meet your attack. Take those wolves today. If your sword had carried Momentum when they pounced, half of them might have shrunk back halfway through."
"How do I train it?"
"I don't know." Linley was frank. "I've only just touched the threshold myself. Grandpa Doehring once said that Momentum comes from insight, not practice. It's easiest to grasp in battles of life and death."
Wharton nodded and asked no more.
That night, he leaned against the cave wall with his eyes closed, replaying the day's battle over and over in his mind. Every one of his sword strikes, every step his brother had taken, every lunge from the wolves...
The sword was dead; the person was alive.
Person and sword as one.
Momentum.
The days passed one by one.
The brothers traveled deeper and deeper into the mountains, encountering ever stronger magical beasts. A ninth-rank Ironarmored Rhinoceros had skin so thick that Mountain Suppressor left only a white mark when it struck; Linley finally killed it by sending a throwing knife through its eye and into its brain. A ninth-rank Jade-Eyed Thunderhawk could fly and use lightning magic. It chased the brothers for more than five kilometers, and they finally killed it by setting a trap.
Battle after battle.
Three months later, the look in Wharton's eyes grew brighter and brighter. His sword strikes were still as heavy and direct as ever, but they gradually began to change. Sometimes, when he struck, fallen leaves around him would stir without wind and drift in the direction of his sword's force. At other times, when he stood still, passing low-level magical beasts would go around him.
Linley saw it but said nothing.
Half a year later, the brothers encountered their first Saint-level magical beast-a Crimsonflame Giant Python.
They were in a volcanic region, where black basalt covered the ground and the air was so hot it scorched their throats when they breathed. The python lay coiled beside a lava pool. It was more than thirty meters long, with scales as red as fire and a single horn on its head. When it opened its mouth, it spat flames rather than venom.
"This thing..." Wharton swallowed. "It won't be easy to deal with."
"You take the lead; I'll cover you," Linley said. "It's afraid of water. There's an underground river nearby. Lure it there."
The plan was simple, but carrying it out was deadly.
Linley attacked first, sending all twelve throwing knives at the python's eyes. It closed them, and the knives struck its eyelids in a shower of sparks without penetrating its defenses. But it was enraged and opened its mouth to blast out a column of fire.
Linley retreated rapidly, the column of fire pursuing him and melting rock wherever it passed. Wharton charged in from the side and struck the python's body with his heavy sword. Sparks flew, but he left only a shallow cut.
"Its hide's too thick!" Wharton shouted.
"Aim for its vital point!" Linley twisted out of the way of a sweep from the python's tail. His saber flashed, opening a bloody wound on its belly-but it was shallow, little more than a scratch to the giant python.
The battle reached a stalemate. The python had powerful attacks and formidable defenses, and the brothers could not break through, so they could only fight it on the move. But human strength had its limits, while a magical beast's stamina was almost inexhaustible.
After two hours of fighting, Linley slowed for an instant. The python's tail struck him in the chest, sending him flying into the rock wall, where he coughed up a mouthful of blood.
"Bro!" Wharton's eyes turned red.
The python turned its head and lunged at Linley with its enormous jaws. Linley tried to dodge, but the impact had broken his ribs, slowing him down.
Wharton raised his heavy sword.
This blow was unlike any he had ever struck before. There was no roar, no burst of power. He simply raised his sword in perfect calm and brought it down just as calmly.
But as the sword fell, the air throughout the entire space congealed. The churning of the lava pool slowed for a beat, rising sparks froze in midair, and even the python's lunge faltered for an instant.
The blade landed on the python's head.
There was no tremendous crash, no shower of sparks.
Like a hot knife through butter, the blade cut unhindered through its crimson scales, split its skull, and cleaved into its brain. The sword's force did not stop, continuing downward to split the thirty-meter python in two from head to tail.
The two halves of the carcass fell to either side, blood and entrails spilling across the ground and staining the black basalt red.
Wharton leaned on his sword, gasping for breath. That blow had drained all his strength, leaving his arms too limp to lift. But his eyes were frighteningly bright.
He had felt it.
That power which made space congeal, time slow, and all things submit-Momentum.
Linley came over with a hand pressed to his chest. He looked at the python, split in two, then at his younger brother, and smiled. "You did it?"
Wharton grinned. "Seems like... I did."
"What will you call it?"
Wharton thought for a moment. "The sword is Mountain Suppressor, so let's call it Mountain Momentum."
Simple and direct, like his sword.
Linley nodded. "Good name."
The brothers rested beside the lava pool for seven days. Three of Linley's ribs were broken and needed time to heal. Wharton practiced his sword against the rocks every day, consolidating that feeling.
He could not use Momentum every time. Perhaps only one strike in ten could bring out that profound state. But once there was a first time, there would be a second and a third.
Seven days later, they continued on their way.
Three years was neither a long time nor a short one.
The brothers traveled who knew how far through the mountains and killed who knew how many magical beasts. Wharton's Mountain Momentum grew increasingly refined. From one strike in ten, to one in five, until finally even a casual swing carried the pressure of a mountain.
Linley progressed even further. The advantage of cultivating both magic and warrior skills fully manifested itself: his magic broke through to the eighth rank, and his warrior level also reached the threshold of the eighth rank. More remarkable still, he comprehended a Momentum of his own-not the weight of a mountain, but the agility of wind and the viciousness of a saber. He named it Drifting Blood Momentum, for the image of "blood drifting when the saber strikes, no trace left where he passes."
In the autumn of their third year, they encountered a Black-Striped Cloud Leopard.
It was in a mist-shrouded valley, its floor covered in exotic flowers and plants, a faint sweet fragrance in the air. Haeru-the name the brothers later gave him-was dozing on a slab of blue stone. He was larger than an ordinary cloud leopard and black all over, save for several silver-gray markings on his back that resembled drifting clouds.
Linley knew at first sight that this magical beast was no ordinary creature.
He possessed two elements, darkness and wind, and was at the peak of the ninth rank, only a step away from Saint-level. More importantly, there was a glimmer of intelligence in his eyes-not a beast's instincts, but an intellect approaching that of a human.
"Want him?" Wharton understood from the look in his brother's eyes.
"Yes." Linley did not deny it. "Bebe needs a companion, and I need a mount."
"Then go on."
The fight went unexpectedly smoothly.
It was not that Haeru was weak; he simply had no intention of fighting to the death. Linley exchanged thirty moves with him, saber flashes and leopard shadows moving too fast to see clearly. Finally, Linley used Drifting Blood Momentum and touched the tip of his saber between Haeru's eyes, without stabbing him.
"Do you submit?" Linley asked.
Haeru stared at him for a long time, then gave a low growl and lay down.
The Master-Servant Contract went smoothly. Linley traced the magic formation with his spiritual energy, and Haeru accepted willingly. The moment the contract was formed, a vague consciousness appeared in Linley's mind-Haeru's consciousness.
After subduing Haeru, the brothers did not leave the mountains immediately. They stayed another three months, helping Haeru consolidate his peak ninth-rank cultivation and gathering the rare medicinal herbs in the valley while they were at it. Spiritual energy was abundant here, and countless treasures rarely seen outside grew there.
In the winter of the third year, when the first snow fell, the brothers decided to leave the mountains.
"We'll head north, to the O'Brien Empire," Linley said. "They value martial strength there, so it suits us. And it's far from the Holy Union. The church's reach won't extend that far."