Dimensional Descent

In a few moments, Leonel could think of quite a few interpretations of his uncle's words, the most important and profound of which was the dichotomy between the presence of a clap of thunder, compared to the irony of the world's ignorance.

The clap of thunder was supposedly the subjects beating heart, and everyone could so clearly hear it, and yet they had no idea just what that represented.

Whatever hidden rage and fury that caused the skies to quake was still bottled away, hidden in the tip of the very pen before him.

It was a powerful imagery, and it made Leonel somewhat understand what his uncle was trying to say. The spear was a steady and controlled weapon, but that didn't mean that the intent behind it had to be. In fact, if the intent behind it was too shallow, then it also made the spear weak.

It was just like what his uncle had said about being a man. It was good if a man was willing to take on burdens and weigh down his shoulders. But, if he didn't have a good reason for doing so, if his resolve was weak and lacking, then his back would easily break.

Montez wanted Leonel's spear to be steady, swallowing up all its elegance and flare, and exploding it forth in a single strike.

"The calligraphy pen teaches the weight of words, but not just that. It teaches you how to embody the meaning and feel of those words into strokes. They're not just words, they are strikes of your spear."

Montez unfurled another sheet of paper.

"They can be FORCEFUL. They can be SUBTLE. They can be SWIFT. They can be GENTLE."

With every emphasized word, he wrote another, his strokes changing like the wind. Leonel's eyes glazed over, he could almost see the pen as a spear and the stance of his uncle, his style morphing on a whim and without the slightest pause.

The variations made what Leonel had learned from the primitive woman seem like a joke. He couldn't change like this, he lacked the proper sort of intent.

words are the ones you will start with. Until you can replicate the intent to my liking, I won't let you continue to

to

understand the intent behind single

"Words…?"

battle with Myghell. That cousin of his had the habit of speaking out

but then Myghell exposed his devour type Ability Index, so Leonel never got the answer he wanted. And,

I see. This Myghell is

his chin, smiling. He suddenly wanted to learn a bit

self-created by your grandfather. I refined it somewhat after I matured and your father always ignored it, insisting on doing things his own way. He doesn't even use his spear 90% of

head, stopping himself from

that others might not have thought of similar methods. This Myghell is quite

seem to be a bit

lip twitched.

that he was stupid, but his mentality wasn't right to think of

how important Artistic Conception is to strength in this world, I should have guessed that there was such a method. But, if it was me, I wouldn't choose poetry, painting or music. I would

was far beyond poetry, painting or music.

were the foundation of life and being. If Leonel wanted to give

picked up the calligraphy pen, ready to start. But, his uncle's palm

your head against a wall trying to get this right. The only way for you to stay sane is by switching between

the drain is far heavier than a monotonous task. It's even more important, then, that you know how to switch when

next thing I will show you is the power of rhythm