Dimensional Descent

The music became something beyond just its notes and its resonance. It painted the atmosphere itself, deciding the rhythm of Leonel’s heart and plucking the strings of his emotion. It was almost like nothing else mattered but the sounds he was hearing, even what was truly before his eyes no longer mattered.

When the music stopped, Leonel sat in silence for a long while, unmoving. His blood boiled, rushing through his veins like flood dragons. The beating of his heart thrummed like the roar of beasts.

It took him several moments to calm and realize that the music he had just heard sounded nothing like a xylophone. It felt like an entire orchestra was roaring at him.

Strings, brass, wind and wood instruments. It was far fuller than a single instrument could possibly hope to replicate. He couldn’t understand how such a thing had been replicated.

When he snapped out of his daze, his brows furrowed as he tried to understand.

”Are you confused?”

”Yes,” Leonel replied without hesitation.

In return, he gained a mallet to the forehead. Only when he started rubbing his forehead again, did Montez begin to explain.

”When you create your own instrument, you can make it sound like whatever you want it to sound like. If I want it to sound like a xylophone, I simply strike.”

DONG!

Montez struck simply, allowing the metal on mallet sound to resound.

”If I want it to sound like a piano, I just have to change its form.”

The thick bar of illusory silver bronze Earth Force thinned out, becoming as thin as a string.

When Montez struck down, it sounded no different from the hammer of a piano landing, almost as though Montez had pressed a key rather than striking with a mallet.

”If I want it to sound like a flute, I simply don’t strike at all.”

The string changed form again, becoming thicker. But this time, when Montez swung down, his mallet hit nothing but air.

The rush of wind resonated with the hovering illusory Earth Force, causing it to vibrate and release a soothing whistle.

”The malleability of Force is only as limited as your imagination. If I want you to hear a hundred different instruments with nothing more than a single strike, it wouldn’t be difficult for me.”

”Then I’m guessing the mallet isn’t necessary either?”

”No, it isn’t necessary. Much like your pen, it is nothing more than a guide. When you are in your strongest battle form, bringing out a pen or a mallet isn’t possible. Though, I guess if you want to play around a bit, it wouldn’t be impossible to deal with enemies like this.

”That said, you’d have to have strong enough attainments, or else you would just end up embarrassing yourself.”

Montez chuckled to himself as though he could already imagine Leonel failing. The sight of his nephew trying to strike the air with a mallet, only to be cut in half by a sword, seemed quite amusing to him.

Toward this, Leonel could only shake his head. His uncle really was too much like his dad. If he wanted love, it seemed he could only rely on his mother and grandmother.

Montez’s palm flipped over, his mallet vanished, and a paint brush appeared after he finished laughing. Somehow, the air he gave off now was far more profound and far heavier than when he had picked up the pen and mallet.

”The pen and the words of your heart guide the stroke of your spear. Your mallet and the music of your heart guides the core principle of your Absolute Domain. However, it is the brush and dreams of your heart that guides the power of your spear.”

As Montez spoke, he dipped the brush, his gaze becoming sharper and sharper as he lowered it to the unfurled canvas.

”A single stroke sets a line. A dozen strokes sets a foundation. A hundred strokes sets a tone. A thousand strokes decides the atmosphere.”

One stroke shone. A dozen strokes caused the sounds of sharpening blades to resonate through the room. A hundred strokes forced these blades to take form, circulating around Montez. A thousand strokes made the blades sing, the canvas shimmering with a blinding gold as a spear mark appeared before Montez’s head.

When the canvas finally stopped shimmering and Leonel could stop squinting, he looked down to find a far simpler image that he would have expected to find.

It was just a single spear. In fact, it wasn’t even a whole spear, the polearm was incomplete and the blade was only about a fifth to a fourth complete judging by these dimensions. However, when he looked toward his uncle, the latter was drenched in sweat.

With a flick of his wrist, Montez caused a blade of ink to split the canvas in half, not leaving a single mark on the table beneath it.

”Trash…” he mumbled beneath his breath, shaking his head.

The canvas suddenly corroded as though it was metal before crumbling to dust. A rush of wind blew it away as though it was never there a moment later.

”Don’t even think about drawing a spear, it’s beyond you. Start with simple sceneries. I’m too tired to draw an example for you, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Also, you’re only allowed to use black and white. Give your work color through the atmosphere it gives off. Color will only distract and fool you.”

Clearly done with this, Montez stood, preparing to walk out.

His palm flipped over and a pile of paper and canvases appeared. Once he was done, he strolled out without another word.

Leonel didn’t say anything as Montez left, he could tell that his uncle wasn’t in the mood so he just remained silent. He didn’t like talking much when he was upset either, which was usually why he didn’t say anything to his enemies in battle, he just directly killed them. Things were easier like that.

Leonel looked back toward the table before him and sighed. Seems he would have to find that artistic bone he was lacking.