Lancelot didn't rise immediately. He remained half-buried in the crater, the shattered earth swallowing him as he stared upward in silence. His mind wasn't clouded with rage, no, it was confusion. A single thought pulsed again and again: 'How many abilities does that boy have?'
There was a reason behind his disbelief.
Professionals gained their abilities through mastery of their Arts. One rank, one form. Rank 1 had a single Art Form, Rank 2 had two, Rank 3 had three, and so forth. That was the rule, the law that every practitioner in Pandora had lived by since the dawn of cultivation.
Yes, one could supplement their arsenal through spells or techniques, but such paths demanded years of dedicated study. Juggling multiple techniques was rare even among the most talented. Yet this boy—this rank 3—was wielding attacks as though his Arts had no limits.
