On countless nights waking from meditation, Ronan gazed alone at the starry sky, questioning himself—besides the character panel that crossed over with him, comparing to those dazzling native Wizard geniuses, what unique qualities does he have that others do not?
The answer was always the same.
He could not be considered wise, and the so-called perseverance and courage came from a bit of nurturing over time. Along the way, he stumbled through by sheer luck.
The only thing worth mentioning, it seemed, was the practice of "Ascetic Body Refinement," the threshold of pain tolerance far beyond ordinary people brought by countless painful tortures.
Yet.
The only advantage he could pride himself on was now, like the foam left by the retreating tide, dispersed by the slightest breeze.
He had never experienced such long and unremitting pain.
