FREE USE in Primitive World

He closed his eyes, sinking into his Sun Core. Instead of just flooding the blade with golden yang energy, he applied the principle of a high-pressure vortex.

Compression: He forced the golden essence to wrap tightly around the sapphire edge, spinning it at a terrifying, hyper-accelerated rate, like a miniature tornado.

Vacuum Shear: He used the Dreadwing’s natural “air-cutting” property to create a localized vacuum pocket directly in front of the blade’s path.

Molecular Rupture: By combining the two, he wasn’t just “cutting”; he was creating a molecular chainsaw effect. The high-speed essence vortex would literally vibrate the molecules of the target apart before the blade even touched them.

Sol opened his eyes and exhaled sharply and moved.

The first swing was clean and silent, just like the Dreadwing Blade was supposed to behave. But when the edge bit into the iron-bark…

Thud.

Only a shallow cut. No explosion. No pressure collapse. Just an ordinary slash that barely sank two inches into the dense wood.

Sol frowned. “Alright… that was the baseline.”

He tried again. And again.

Poing.

The theory was good, but reality was far more stubborn.

The vacuum pocket refused to form properly. Sometimes the blade hummed too aggressively and scattered the pressure differential before impact.

Other times the energy pulses were too uneven, causing the low-pressure zone to collapse prematurely in mid-swing, resulting in nothing more than a weak puff of displaced air.

Hours passed.

Sol’s body glistened with sweat. The scar on his stomach throbbed faintly with exertion. He had failed dozens of times… fifty, maybe sixty.

Each failed swing chipped away at the tree but delivered none of the devastating implosion he had envisioned. Frustration simmered, yet he refused to quit.

This is feasible. I know it is. If I can make this work, it won’t just be a stronger slash… it’ll open the door to combining science and magic in ways no one here has ever considered.

He wiped sweat from his brow and adjusted his grip. Another swing. Another disappointing thud.

“Damn it.”

Sol closed his eyes and took several deep, measured breaths. He stopped forcing the technique. The frustration drained away as he centered himself completely.

He focused on the essentials.

The blade’s nature.

The Dreadwing Blade was not merely a weapon… it was an essence-forged weapon. In this world’s terms, it possessed a living will, the remnant soul of the Lord blood Dreadwing.

His own energy flow.

His Layer 2 foundation was not just raw power. It was energy… pure, convertible, malleable. In his past world, energy was neither created nor destroyed, only transformed. Here, his essence could be shaped like electricity, like heat, like vibration.

He didn’t need to push it aggressively into the blade. Instead, he could guide it like a tuning fork, syncing his pulses with the blade’s natural high-frequency resonance.

Then there was the invisible behavior of air itself.

Air wasn’t empty space.

It was a dense ocean of molecules constantly colliding, exerting pressure in every direction.

Modern science had taught him that pressure differences could move mountains, lift airplanes, or crush submarines.

Cavitation… whether in water or air… was violence born from sudden imbalance.

Create a void, and the universe rushes in to punish it.

He contemplated deeper, merging both worlds in his mind.

In their primitive knowledge, essence blades command the elements through intent and harmony. The warrior becomes one with the wind, or dominates it. But what if I don’t command the air… what if I trick it?

Sol’s lips curved slightly. He felt that it was the key.

He didn’t need to overpower reality.

He only needed to create the right conditions, then let physics do the rest.

He visualized it clearly now:

The Dreadwing Blade sliding through the air like a ghost, leaving behind a corridor of extremely low pressure.

His essence gently modulating the vibration to control exactly how fast that vacuum formed and how violently it would collapse. Like a controlled sonic boom, but inward. Like a microscopic thunderclap focused at the edge of his blade.

Slowly his breathing deepened further, heart rate steady. For the first time, the technique felt… inevitable.

When he finally opened his eyes, they were calm and razor-sharp. The overthinking was gone. Only clarity remained.

He shifted into a loose stance, eyes locked on the tree trunk. The blade began to vibrate faster as he poured his foundation energy into it… not brute force, but precise, controlled pulses. In his mind, he visualized the airflow.

By eliminating drag, I can create a vacuum pocket ahead of the blade. Rapid pressure drop. Then, at the exact moment of impact, the surrounding atmosphere collapses inward.

Aerodynamic cavitation… on a macroscopic scale.

Sol exhaled sharply and moved.

He raised the Dreadwing Blade once more.

No longer trying to brute-force the physics with raw power, he let the vibration of the Dreadwing Blade guide him. He pictured the airflow not as something to dominate, but as a partner…something to shape gently.

He swung.

This time the motion felt different. Smoother. Almost instinctive.

The swing was deceptively smooth, almost lazy. No thunderous whoosh accompanied the blade. The air simply parted in eerie silence.

For a fraction of a second, a faint shimmer formed along the cutting edge… a pocket of extreme low pressure.

ZIIING.

It wasn’t the sound of a sword hit. It was a high-pitched, crystalline zing… the sound of the air itself being violently parted.

There was no resistance. It felt like cutting through a ghost.

Sol stood on the other side of the tree, his blade already back in a resting position. For two full seconds, the massive tree just stood there, looking untouched.

Then, with a slow, grinding groan that sounded like a building collapsing, the top eighty feet of the petrified titan simply slid off its base.

It crashed into the jungle floor with a deafening boom, throwing up a massive cloud of dirt and rotting leaves.

Sol stared at the cut. It was as flawless as it could.

Perfectly flat, smooth as polished glass, and slightly charred at the edges from the friction of the essence vortex.

“Science, bitch,” Sol muttered, a dark, exhilarating grin splitting his face.