Chapter 338: Trying Something New

Another morning.

Amon was once again near the river.

The gray sky stretched endlessly above him, dull and lifeless as always. The black trees stood silently along the riverbank, their twisted branches unmoving in the still air. The river flowed quietly, its dark surface reflecting the colorless world around it.

Amon sat cross-legged on the ground. His eyes were closed. His breathing was slow and controlled. He was again trying something new. Well, he had actually been practicing it for a while now.

On his right hand, something unnatural moved.

A thin layer of shadow clung to his skin like liquid smoke. It shifted and crawled across his fingers, slithering between them, coiling and uncoiling as if it were alive.

At the same time, faint strands of darkness began to gather in the air around his palm, appearing from nowhere, as if the space itself were leaking darkness.

He focused on both of them. His abilities. The shadow on his hand slowly extended outward.

It stretched into a narrow line, trembling slightly. The darkness in the air responded, wrapping around that line like a shell. The two forces—shadow and pure darkness—were different. Shadow was flexible, fluid, obedient but unstable. Darkness was heavier, denser, and far more difficult to control.

He was trying to combine them. “Take form…” he muttered under his breath. Sweat dropped from his forehead.

The shadow lengthened further, thinning into the rough outline of a blade. It wavered like a flame disturbed by wind. The darkness in the air began compressing around it, condensing layer by layer.

Amon gritted his teeth. The shape started to resemble a dagger.

First came the spine, thin and straight. Then the edge sharpened gradually as the darkness hardened around it. The tip formed last, trembling violently before stabilizing into a sharp point.

The air around his hand felt colder.

He could feel the strain in his mind. Controlling shadow was instinctive for him. But forcing darkness to solidify.

The outline flickered once. Then again. Then it stabilized slowly.

’This time… you can do it, Amon,’ he encouraged himself.

In his hand rested a black dagger.

It was not polished. Its surface was matte and slightly uneven, as if carved from condensed night itself. But it was solid. The blade was sharp. Sharper than normal daggers.

Unlike how he made walls out of them, or spikes on the ground, constructing a perfect dagger that could actually cut like a blade was much harder.

Amon opened his eyes. For a moment, he simply stared at the dagger in his hand.

Then his lips slowly curved upward. “I did it…”

He rose to his feet and gave it a light swing through the air.

It cut cleanly, making a faint slicing sound. The blade did not disperse. It held its form.

A grin spread across his face. “Yes!”

Excitement rushed through him. He tightened his grip and felt the weight. It was lighter than a real dagger, yet balanced enough.

“I created a dagger… now I might be able to make a sword. Damn, I can’t wait for it.”

After a few seconds, he relaxed his focus.

The darkness dissolved first, breaking apart into drifting particles before fading into the air. The shadow collapsed inward, slipping back into his palm, then remained on it.

The dagger vanished. Amon exhaled deeply. “That worked better than before…”

But his expression soon shifted. A dagger was small. A dagger was smaller, more simple and compact.

A sword would be different. He sat down again. This time, he raised both hands.

’Let’s give it a try.’

Shadow poured from his palms more aggressively than before. Well, it actually came from beneath him. Spreading like ink in water. It gathered between his hands, stretching outward in a longer shape. The air around him darkened slightly as loose strands of darkness were pulled toward him again.

He focused harder. “A sword…”

The shadow elongated to the length of a short blade, but it trembled violently.

He tried to thicken it, to give it width and structure. Darkness wrapped around it, compressing along the edges. The pressure in his head increased immediately.

Unlike the dagger, this required far more control. The longer the structure, the harder it was to maintain stability across its entire form.

The lower half of the blade solidified, making it sharper. The upper half flickered.

Amon clenched his jaw. Sweat began forming on his forehead.

“Hold…”

The darkness thickened around the middle section, sharpening one edge. For a brief second, the sword had a recognizable shape; hilt, guard, partial blade.

Crack.

A fracture ran along the center. A crack appeared on it.

’No!’

The upper half shattered into fragments of darkness that evaporated into the air, while the shadow broke like glass, forming into a shadowy liquid-like form.

The lower portion collapsed immediately after.

Amon’s breathing grew heavier. “Tch.” He clicked his tongue.

He wiped sweat from his brow and tried again.

This time, he poured more shadow out at once. It surged forward aggressively, forming a thicker base. Darkness followed, wrapping tighter, compressing harder.

The strain hit him faster. His head began to throb hard. Veins bulged faintly along his temples.

The shadow blade formed halfway again. Longer than before. He managed to sharpen the tip slightly.

But maintaining the density across the entire length was like holding a massive weight with his mind alone.

His hands trembled. Sweat rolled down his neck and soaked into his clothes.

“Don’t break…”

The darkness at the upper half suddenly destabilized.

The edges warped. The blade bent unnaturally. Then the upper section exploded outward in a silent burst of shadow.

The force pushed his hands apart. The remaining half of the sword cracked and dissolved seconds later.

Amon took in a sharp breath. His chest rose and fell heavily. He felt a dull ache behind his eyes. His vision blurred slightly for a moment before clearing.

But he did not stop.

“One more time.” His eyes still had more will.

He steadied his breathing again. Once more, shadow gathered. Slower this time. They were now more controlled.

He shaped the hilt first. Then the guard.

He built the blade upward inch by inch, compressing darkness layer by layer instead of all at once.

’Good going.’ His dark eyes were extremely focused on the task, not like his usual carefree self.

The process was painstaking. His body shook slightly from the strain. Sweat now poured freely down his face and arms. His shirt clung to his back.

The blade reached halfway. Then three-quarters. It was going well. If he continued like this, he could form a sword out of shadow.

For a brief moment, it almost looked complete. His eyes widened slightly.

But that moment of distraction was enough. The concentration wavered.

A crack appeared near the center, just like before.

“No—”

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