Their blades clashed against one another, during the fervor of battle Nestor abandoned his fears, worries, and everything that separated him from the red flower field he was battling on.

For, right now, he only cared about defending his life. Subconsciously he knew that this wasn't real, yet the pain, the red marks, and cuts that spread through his body like a plague, the tattered clothes, and the iron-like taste in his mouth.

It felt no different than the real world. He wasn't going to lose, not anymore, this new life he had been granted was the opportunity he needed, his second wind, his last chance to become something else.

Someone that wasn't indifferent to the world, that wouldn't blindly listen to everything he was told.

Once again, he managed to deflect the quick and merciless curved tip of the enemy silver halberd. However, the charged momentum of the knight pushed Nestor a few meters back.

There was no room to breathe, a quick trust immediately followed, aiming for his neck. The strange sense of prediction he felt the day before at the training grounds, wasn't as alien anymore, now Nestor embraced it fully, as he didn't have much of a choice.

No, he wasn't simply trusting his senses, he was embracing them, letting his body be guided by such thoughts.

'Surprisingly enough, I am getting better at this, my predictions are getting more precise.'

Once again, Nestor managed to counter Cole's striking momentum, the strength behind each hit was more than double that of Nestor. He kept blocking the incessant advance of the merciless knight, however in doing so, after every attack a quick punch, kick or stab managed to slip through.

Nestor's stamina was drained to the brim, the sharp edge of the knight's polearm twinkled with the orange setting sun over the distant hills, as it was no less than a few centimeters away from Nestor's face.

'It feels like a mountain is pressing itself over my shoulders. I'm also drained from the fights, I've lost too much blood, both the extended reach of the halberd and his incessant fighting momentum are a tough match for me.

On the other hand, his combat awareness is much better than mine, Every step he takes, and every thrust of his weapon are not born from causality. But a result of the combat awareness of a seasoned knight.

The Captain definitely outmatches me from every perspective, to be fair, this was the outcome I should have expected from the beginning.

This is a fight that I couldn't win from the start. Then why didn't I think of this since the beginning, I might as well have asked him to surrender or something. Even more, though, I should ask: Why am I still alive?'

As these thoughts began to make their way into Nestor's thoughts, Cole's emotionless expression suddenly curled up into a smirk, one that screamed a sense of twisted excitement to the onlookers.

At this point, the enemy knight suddenly interrupted the stalemate. With a quick spin, the halberd went past the rusty Khopesh Nestor was clinging desperately onto.

His instincts kicked in, as he desperately tried to deviate the cold metal's inevitable trajectory. Thanks to the enhanced perception of his sixth sense, Nestor managed to slightly turn his body and deflect such a strike.

Still, he only achieved to delay the inevitable. The blade still managed to land a proper hit, a long diagonal slash dug deep from his left ear to his chin.

His teeth went flying, as his mouth went wide open, letting his bloodied tongue dangle out for everyone to admire.

Nestor gazed deep into the sunset, giving a quick final glance to the dancing flowers of the field. He was now on his knees, waiting for the moment of his execution.

"Be..autif...ul"

A small tear slowly leaked out of his tired eyes, soon enough tainted by blood.

It finally came, the pungent pain of his guts getting crushed from within, the knight's spear had straight impaled him.

Nestor felt the cold whisper of death once more, however as he was to exhale his last breath, a familiar voice interrupted the process.

"Nestor, Nestor! Get a grip damn it!"

Only a few minutes passed since Lenard left him cultivating his first mantra. It was an important procedure and required Nestor's peace, quiet, and solitude to concentrate to the best of his capabilities.

Not seeing any abnormal signs, Lenard decided to return to go check his latest research for a brief while before coming back to check Nestor's state.

'The soul scripture I gave him is a mantra, know to be the less dangerous kind. To be fair, it is also the slowest type to develop your soul.

But you can never be sure, it all depends on the characteristics of one's soul. Nestor's soul must be very adept in terms of power generation and have much lower compliance. Which is the ability of the soul to stretch and consequentially adapt to the increase in power.

The result is, it couldn't handle its progress.'

When he found him, the poor student was laying down on the floor, wriggling around with his hands tied around his neck. He was trying to strangle himself as if an unfathomable strength powered his arms to keep squeezing his neck.

Lenard rushed to his side, opposing the constricting strength of the unconscious pupil. Until Nestor finally regained his senses.

'What happened, I'm still alive? Why does my neck hurt so much?'

Nestor finally found himself in a strange situation, he didn't die. On his neck were the visible marks left by his palms, Lenard was laying down near him, copiously gasping for hair, his arms bruised and slightly bleeding in some areas as the dried skin of the scholar wasn't very forgiving during extreme physical activity.

'The curse of knowledge, to have a body as brittle as the amount of knowledge you acquired. It does indeed make me seem miserable, however, if only I have more time to recuperate my soul powers this wouldn't have been such a hassle.'

Lenard felt embarrassed to let his disciple see such an unsightly sight and happy, for he managed to help Nestor.

"Teacher, I think I need to sit down and ponder for a bit, then when I'm ready would you mind filling me in with the details?"

Lenard eagerly accepted such a proposal, as he slowly got up and drifted off the study room. While Nestor sat down on a nearby chair, his hands suddenly grasped his curly red hair. He couldn't hold himself back anymore, he screamed.

It hurt, but not so much as what he had just gone through.

'I know Teacher wouldn't set me up like this. After all, he probably just saved my life, didn't he?'

Twenty minutes had passed, as the two were sitting opposite each other inside Lenard's study.

Nestor suddenly got up and slightly bowed to the now reinvigorated professor.

"Thank you for helping me again, however, I do not wish to practice this mantra again, it almost killed me. Oh! I know you didn't mean to, but I sincerely would rather not go back there again."

Such words were a given for Lenard. Soul scriptures were deeply involved in the matters of both souls and the fabric of reality. The same one that was composed of the twelve aspects of reality one would link their soul to.

They were extremely mysterious, and some were said to refer to ancient times forever lost. Even if it was rare for a mantra to truly harm the practitioner, it was still possible, and Nestor was the living proof of that.

Nonetheless, there was no way out, soul augmentation was one of the five soul arts a soul master would need to learn. It was essential for those that walked on such a path, without it progressing to the next title was impossible, as your soul would be too weak to handle the increased affinity to the aspect of reality.

Cultivating soul scriptures was one of the core principles of this art, thus Nestor couldn't escape from it.