The Wheel Of Samsara

Like that, master and disciple formed a bond that would not be broken, at least not until one of them accomplished his goals. This was the kind of relationship they had, but neither of them were bothered by it. They were both smart people and they both were profiting from it. It was a fair trade.

Reynard looked at the vast mountain range in front of him with an annoyed look on his face. The breeze blowing on his back messed his dark-brown hair, and made his yellow clothes flutter. His hands were empty, but not long ago he had been holding an incredibly powerful sword in them.

Reynard naturally knew that the sword would not last. The moment he glanced at the treasure trove, he knew it was related to the Trial of the Mind in some way. Nevertheless, losing it so soon left him disappointed.

The moment he looked at that sword in particular, he could not help but take it away. The moment he saw the beast, he could not help but slash at it. With a glance, he knew what the beast"s purpose was. That being the case, he did what his master had taught him to do.

Reynard Stark used his sword to draw a line.

A line was meant to divide. A line was meant to cut. Under a line, everything would be split.

The world itself was split, when one thought about it.

Everything had more than one side to it. What his master had taught Reynard was to simply use his sword to seek these lines.

If anything was truly whole, it would never be able to be cut down, would never be able to be split. Therefore, when Reynard saw the beast in front of him, he saw an obstacle, and, like all obstacles, Reynard could use his sword to split it and get past it.

It was a simple logic, a simple way to look at the world. Nevertheless, it still had its nuances and complexities. Furthermore, to apply such logic, to live that way, there was a single requirement: strength.

Reynard Stark was strong. Far stronger than any of his peers in the sect, and most likely stronger than all of the inheriting disciples, as the ones most likely to succeed their sects were called.

Reynard had defeated Alden Bren from the Southern Flame Sect when Alden challenged him to a duel. He had also defeated Jake Meyer when Reynard himself issued the challenge.

Reynard never fought with Anna Hale and never intended to do so and, no matter how much he tried, Derek Tyrell always avoided his challenges. Therefore, he could not proudly say he had indeed defeat all of them.

Nevertheless, Reynard was confident that he could defeat them all if they ever fought. All he had to do was to draw lines. All he had to do was show them that they were not whole. All he had to do was show them that they could be divided, that there was a weakness Reynard could exploit in them.

They did not matter in the end. There was only one person that Reynard was worried about defeating, and he did so day after day.

The only person Reynard Stark cared in defeating was himself.

As he was the strongest, surpa.s.sing his own limits would make him even stronger. It was as simple as that.

Reynard walked for what seemed to be hours until he finally saw himself close enough to the mountain range to get a proper look. The mountains all seemed to have the exact same size, but all of their peaks were hidden in the white vortex formed by the convergence of the clouds and winds.

They hulked over the horizon, so ma.s.sive Reynard could feel pressure by simply looking at them. The mountains were smaller than h.e.l.l"s Keeper Mountain and the Roaring Mountain that served as headquarters to the Sacred Sect of the West, but seeing so many of them so close to each other in the mountain range gave a feeling that no lone mountain could give.

He smiled lightly as he continued moving forward. He emptied his mind as he walked, in silent meditation. He always did his best to maintain his peak state, no matter the occasion. It was also a good way to make use of the time he had to spend travelling to the mountain range.

Allowing himself a break would be unforgivable. It meant that, even if he wanted to continue, his body or at least part of his mind wanted to stop. There would be a division, a line between those parts of him. There would be a weakness.

As such, Reynard always moved forward, never looking back. His eyes were also never on the ground or on the horizon. He walked with his head held high, always gazing at the peak.

He would not, he could not accept anything else. That place was his alone. It did not matter how many years it took, how many times he would have to defeat himself to reach it, or how many more times he would need to defeat himself to stay on it. The peak was his, and no one else"s.

He patted his Bottomless Pouch, taking a new sword from it. It certainly paled in comparison to the sword he got from the treasure trove, but it was still a high-grade artifact. Its blade was slightly curved, and gave a cold, metallic l.u.s.ter as the light reflected on it.

It was a single-edged sword, wielded by a single-minded person. Reynard only knew of one more person that used a sword like that, and he was certainly an obstacle Reynard would have to draw a line on eventually.

Reynard could not help but give a cold smile as he thought of him. The time would surely come, and it would not take too long.

As he got ever closer to the mountain, Reynard saw a building in the distance. Its red walls glowed with a bright light, contrasting with the darkness of the mountains under the perennial shadow of the vortex of clouds. It shone like a beacon of light in the shade, and so Reynard knew that he had to go there.

It was a simple building with a single floor. Compared to the mountains behind it, the building was like a speck of dust. If it were not by its bright light, Reynard would probably have missed it entirely.

He walked to it, standing in front of a simple door made of wood. It was a plain door, but had no flaws at all. It seamlessly aligned with the frames, and the frames seemed to somehow meld in the red walls of the palace. It was a simple design, but the artisanship used was certainly not ordinary at all.

Reynard, however, did not bother. He simply opened the door and got inside the building.

He was greeted by a s.p.a.cious, and empty, hall. There was nothing on it but the dark tiles of the floor, the glowing red walls and the ceiling. Snorting loudly, Reynard walked to the center of the hall with an annoyed face.

"Do you mind explaining?" He asked in a clearly impatient tone. His voice echoed through the hall, turning fainter and fainter as it repeated itself many times over.

He might seem like a crazy person for asking a question to an empty hall but, surprisingly, a voice answered. It was a crisp, chilling voice that pierced the ears.

"You will have to wait for the others." The voice said in a cold tone. "The third Trial will start when everyone gathers."

The hall sank in silence again and the voice did not speak anymore. Reynard did not bother complaining. It would be a waste of his time and a waste of the Guardian"s time. He might as well keep silent and meditate.

He sat in the center of the hall crossing his legs. He took a deep breath, adjusting his mind. As he was about to enter a deep meditative state, however, he heard the door opening again.

He opened his dark eyes, and saw a slender and elegant figure entering the empty hall. Her silky black hair fell behind her shoulders like a waterfall, and her blue clothes gave her an air of elegance that could not be hidden.

It would certainly make for an extremely beautiful figure, but Reynard never had the pleasure to confirm it, because his vision had always been blocked. The face of the young woman that just entered was shrouded in a white mist, shielded from prying eyes, as it had ever been.

He stood up, patting his yellow clothes and dusting them before slowly approaching the young woman, not hiding his satisfaction at all.

"How have you been, dear?" Reynard Stark, the inheriting disciple of the Roaring Mountain Sect asked with a smile as he faced Anna Hale, the inheriting disciple of the Noan River Sect.