Chapter 297: Spirit Zone – 2

Logan sat down in a lotus position exactly where Audrey hovered, the blackened earth beneath him still faintly warm from the remnants of his tribulation lightning. The air was cold, crisp, and thin here — a place where nature felt neither alive nor dead but suspended between both.

Audrey floated silently above him, her silver blade reflecting the pale morning light.

“Focus,” she said softly, her tone firm yet calm.

Logan exhaled and allowed his eyes to fall shut.

He tried to sense the world around him, just as she instructed.

At first, all he could feel was the breeze brushing against his skin — a soft, dancing current of air that made the tips of his hair sway. The sound of the wind followed shortly after, a distant whooshing that grew louder as it curled around the scorched trees. The air shifted again, cooling one moment and then growing a touch warmer, carrying the faint scent of charred wood.

He sank deeper into stillness.

No movements. No unnecessary thoughts. No tension in his muscles. Just awareness.

Audrey watched quietly as he remained motionless, her blade glowing in quiet anticipation. She could feel his focus gathering, tightening like the moment before a bowstring is released.

Time stretched on.

Minutes slipped into an hour. The sun rose higher, scattering bright rays across the devastated land. A few birds passed overhead, circling the area before disappearing into the deeper woods.

Logan didn’t budge.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his eyes slowly opened.

And he smiled faintly. “I think I did it,” he said.

Audrey’s reaction was immediate.

Her blade trembled — the sword equivalent of a startled flinch. “What?! This fast? Impossible!”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Then how do I test if I actually managed to do it or not?”

Audrey hovered in silence, clearly thinking things through.

Finally, she spoke. “Close your eyes. I will swing myself in the air. You must tell me how many slashes were horizontal, how many were vertical, and how many were oblique.”

“Alright.” Logan closed his eyes again.

Audrey rose high into the air. A heartbeat later, she moved.

Shing! Shing! Shing!

Ten swift slashes cut through the air in rapid succession, sharp enough to slice the wind itself. Some were straight, some angled, some diagonal, each emitting a faint hum.

“Open your eyes,” Audrey said, coming to a stop.

Logan opened his eyes. “Three horizontal, four vertical, three oblique?”

“Wrong,” Audrey said flatly. “Not even close.”

Logan sighed. “…So I failed.”

“Don’t be disheartened. It’s not that easy to master. Focus again,” Audrey instructed. “You must feel the movement, not imagine it.”

Logan nodded and closed his eyes once more. And after a few hours, he retook the test, thinking he had grasped it. But just like before, he failed.

But he didn’t lose hope. He tried again.

And again.

And again.

But every attempt ended in failure.

The day faded into dusk. The next day came. And the next. This became Logan’s daily routine for the next several days.

Every morning, Logan rode to the same destroyed clearing before sunrise. Every time Audrey tested him, he failed.

He could feel the wind. He could feel temperature shifts. He could sense sound and vibration.

But the true essence of Spirit Zone, the ability to read minute changes with absolute clarity remained out of reach.

Five days passed. And he hadn’t made any progress yet. Or may be he had but there was no way to measure his progress without seeing any results.

By the sixth morning, after waking up early, washing up, and getting ready to head for the same old battlefield, Logan picked up Audrey and walked toward the door.

Before he could step out, Audrey suddenly spoke. “Wait.”

Logan paused.

Audrey hovered in front of his chest. “Do you know a place where you can go fishing?”

“…Fishing?” Logan blinked. “Yes. Why?”

“I believe the method I’m using to teach you, Spirit Zone, isn’t working. So I want to try something different.”

“What do I need?”

“A fishing rod. Grab one and let’s go.”

Logan didn’t argue.

He quietly fetched a long fishing rod, checked its line, and tied the bait. Then, climbing up on his horse, he rode toward the east instead of north.

Morning mist clung to the ground as he traveled. The wind was cold, carrying the scent of dew and river water. After half an hour, the trees parted, revealing a massive river cutting through the landscape like a winding silver serpent.

The water flowed relentlessly, its surface shimmering with rolling currents.

Audrey hovered above the riverbank, observing the vast expanse with satisfaction.

“Good. This place will do.”

“Now what?” Logan asked.

“Now,” she said, “you will do fishing. But not by relying on sight or luck. You must feel the movement of the water. The river has strong currents. To distinguish the natural flow from a fish’s subtle movements will be difficult.”

Logan nodded.

“That difficulty,” Audrey continued, “is exactly what you need. Spirit Zone isn’t about sensing loud changes — it’s about noticing the difference between similar sensations. Water currents. Tides. Vibrations. Everything blends together. But the slightest abnormal change… that’s the basic to learn Spirit Zone.”

Logan stepped toward the riverbank.

He cast the line.

And waited.

The river roared around him.

He felt the rod vibrate constantly due to the natural current, making it impossible to determine whether anything had touched the bait.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Twenty.

Nothing.

Logan frowned. “…Is this a joke?”

“No,” Audrey said sharply. “If you can differentiate between these movements, Spirit Zone will be second nature to you.”

Logan inhaled deeply.

He closed his eyes and focused.

’Feel the water… feel the currents… feel the tension… feel the pull of the rod…’

Something tugged.

He yanked and lifted the rod to find nothing.

“Wrong,” Audrey said.

He tried again.

Another hour passed.

Then another.

And another.

Every few minutes, the rod shook… false signals, fake pulls, the natural tide confusing his senses. Logan misread almost all of them. Sometimes he pulled too late. Sometimes he pulled too early. Most often, he didn’t pull at all because he doubted what he felt.

By noon, his quarry count was a clean zero.

Logan rubbed his forehead. “Fishing wasn’t supposed to be this hard…”

“For normal people, no,” Audrey answered. “But as you are trying to focus on the smaller movements, it will seem very difficult at first. But don’t worry. Just keep trying.”

Logan gritted his teeth and inhaled deeply, centering his focus.

He cast the rod again.

The wind picked up. The river churned.

His fingers tightened around the handle.

Seconds passed.

A faint tremor — too faint to be the current.

Logan didn’t react.

He waited.

Another tremor. Slightly stronger.

’That’s not the tide.’

His eyes opened.

He yanked the rod.

SPLASH!

A fish soared into the air, silver and sleek, flailing in surprise.

Logan blinked. “…I caught one.”

Audrey hummed approvingly. “Good. Again.”

Logan smiled faintly and reset the hook.

He sat down and threw the line once more.

Time passed faster this time.

He caught another fish.

Then a third.

Then a fifth.

By late afternoon, he was pulling them out almost instantly, each movement fluid and precise. His arm reacted before his mind fully processed the tremor — his body recognizing the difference between current and a living stir.

Audrey hovered closer, blade gleaming in the fading light.

“Now do you understand how to feel subtle changes in your surroundings?”

Logan nodded.

His expression was calm.

But his eyes were shining.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I think I do.”

The evening light shimmered across the river, gilding the water in molten gold as Logan reeled in his final catch. The river’s relentless rhythm had become familiar now, each wave, each swirl, each whisper of motion weaving into his senses like a delicate tapestry.

Audrey hovered beside him, silent for a while. Then she spoke in a tone that carried both approval and expectation.

“Now you have to feel the air in the same way,” she said. “Not just water. The air, the temperature, the sounds — everything. You must treat every shift as you treated the river’s movements. Distinguish what’s natural and what’s not.”

Logan let the fishing rod rest against his shoulder and nodded slowly.

“Got it,” he said. “Let’s get back to that barren land again.”

They packed up, Logan mounted his horse, and Audrey returned to her sheath in a smooth motion — though not before giving the river one last assessing glance, as if marking it as a place of deep insight.

They rode back through the wilderness as the sun dipped toward the horizon. Shadows stretched long, trees shook gently in the chilly breeze, and insects began their nightly chorus. By the time they reached the scorched clearing, the sky had turned a darker shade of blue, speckled with early stars.

The land looked just as lifeless as the day of his tribulation — cracked, blackened, and quiet.

Logan stepped off the horse, tied it loosely to a sturdy stump, and walked toward the center of the barren field.

He sat in a lotus position.

The ground was cold beneath him.

Audrey hovered at eye level in front of him, glowing faintly in the dusk.

“Begin,” she instructed.

Logan closed his eyes.

And the world opened.

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