Author's Note: For convenience, Somatic Autonomy will hereafter be referred to as SA.
☽⟲✧⸸✧⟲☾☽⟲✧⸸✧⟲☾☽⟲✧⸸✧⟲☾
In the far corner of the training field, away from the chatter of recruits and the clang of metal, Ashen worked in silence.
His body moved with mechanical precision, each push-up lowering and rising with flawless rhythm.
1997... 1998... 1999... 2000.
His breath came out slowly, with no strain or tremor. The weight pressing on him was the gravity bracelet around his wrist, which multiplied Earth's pull fivefold.
For an ordinary man, this would've been enough to pin them flat to the ground. But Ashen carried the workout as if gravity had grown bored of him and simply given up.
Without pause, he shifted positions. Fingers spread, he began again—this time, fingertip push-ups.
The ground cracked faintly beneath his hands, dust trembling with each motion. Sweat traced along the edge of his jaw, glinting faintly under the sun, but his expression remained calm, almost serene.
Then, as if the world itself had gone weightless, he lifted onto one arm, and then one finger.
His body inverted, perfectly balanced. His feet left the ground, rising until he stood upside-down, supported by nothing more than a single finger pressing against the dirt.
The gravity bracelet shimmered faintly, its blue glyphs pulsing with light.
Ashen's golden eyes stayed half-lidded, calm even as the wind shifted around his inverted form. His muscles were drawn in fine definition, not swollen with excess, but honed. His body was built for precision, not vanity, after all.
Ashen kept changing from one exercise to another, each one more outrageous than the last, under the constant pull of gravity.
By the time he lowered himself back to the ground, the grass around him had long since wilted from the constant pressure.
"Phew…" He finally heaved an almost frustrated sigh as he gazed at the bracelet in his hand. "This won't be enough anymore."
Ever since he'd reached the sixth step, mundane training had quickly turned obsolete, even with fivefold gravity in play.
It wasn't because the new physical changes had suddenly given him superhuman strength.
No, following the Cardinal Sins pathway only gave more potential and "talent" on the physical level, depending on the Sin.
Everyone would get enhanced potential that allowed them to push their bodies past mortal limitations, but the more they approached the potential limit, the fewer gains they would see, eventually forcing them to rank up once more if they wanted to continue honing their physicality.
For Sloth, Ashen noticed that his endurance had been the easiest to train, and even his body's natural regeneration appeared abnormally higher than expected with every cycle of destruction and regeneration his body went through.
His agility had been the hardest to increase, though.
As for the "talent" he'd gained after merging with his sin—
He'd only noticed it recently. Whether walking down a road or weaving through the library aisles, his steps always seemed to follow the shortest path.
And it didn't stop there. Whenever he faced a task that took time or needed multiple steps, his mind instinctively pieced together the most efficient way to get it done, cutting out every wasted second.
It was almost like his concept was guiding him, telling him: if you have to do something, then you might as well do it as fast as possible so that you can go back to doing nothing.
Ashen, though, didn't seem to get the hint, as he just used the free time granted by this new sense to do even more things.
As for this new talent, he had his high compatibility to thank, since average individuals started developing their conceptual talents only after the fourth step, and they started mattering only at the third step after the first upgrade.
He, on the other hand, was already getting his at the sixth step.
Sitting cross-legged on the grass, Ashen started contemplating his current dilemma.
His abnormal natural regeneration, coupled with Vital Drift, had allowed him to recover from torn muscles in mere hours instead of days.
This led him to abuse his body as much as he liked and still get stronger from it, instead of just destroying it.
In the last fourteen days, he'd spent no less than ten hours training when combined each day.
Coupled with his already-built body, this allowed his muscles to strengthen to the limit of what normal exercise could do in record time.
Ashen added gravity right after, but even that, his body soon outgrew.
And now, no matter how hard he trained, the feedback was minimal. And it wasn't because he'd reached the potential limit of his new step, but because he'd run out of tools and ways to push his body further.
"Well, no matter. I'll just keep honing my skills instead. I'm sure the Ashbastion has a solution for this. I doubt I'm the only person with this kind of problem, after all."
…He was the only one to encounter this kind of problem in just fourteen days, though.
Ashen took a deep breath. 'Slowly… Slowly…' And triggered the skill.
{Activated Path Skill: Somatic Autonomy.}
Sssst—
Unlike the first time it triggered, Somatic Autonomy didn't voraciously eat all his mana like a hungry child. Instead, it waited for him as he kept feeding it drop by drop.
'Carefully… yes… just like that…' Sweat started pooling on his forehead, while his face reddened from the intense concentration.
It took him a whole week to make the skill obey his will and not suck him dry on activation.
But from that point on, things got relatively easier, as all it took was another week to reach the point where he could make it perpetually active with just the mana he took in with every breath.
This came with plenty of downsides, of course. Chief among them was his inability to regenerate mana while the skill was active, as all generation was consumed by its upkeep.
Even worse, the skill's performance itself was lackluster with so little mana to fuel it.
Even so, after relearning how to keep his ManaForge Breath constantly active since he'd lost the Brilliant trait, he could afford to keep Somatic Autonomy active.
What he was currently doing was trying to reduce the mana consumption even further, but it was proving to be harder than he thought.
The more precisely and minutely he controlled the mana, the harder it became.
It reached a point where mere will and intent weren't enough anymore.
Ashen reckoned that going any further would require focus intense enough to be physically impossible for the current him.
The only reason he kept at it was that he'd discovered this practice was surprisingly a great way to hone his mana control and sharpen his will and concentration.
Apart from that, Ashen had gotten a taste of what this supposedly broken skill could do.
At first, it was a series of disappointments and confusion.
The first thing he noticed was his looks. His skin gradually became blemish-free, and any imperfections in his skeletal structure gradually realigned themselves perfectly.
His cheekbones sharpened, his brow drew a heavier line, and even the texture of his voice got rougher.
Despite getting "handsomer," Ashen almost wailed in fear that his skill turned out to be only a cosmetic enhancement.
Thankfully, it wasn't that.
Somatic Autonomy was like a diligent child… almost too diligent.
It constantly listened to its father, Ashen, and did its best to fulfill his wishes, even the fleeting ones.
Any common person would almost have a certain degree of vanity, no matter how small. No sane person would rather be ugly, and none would say no to becoming better-looking.
But even if those desires were buried deep within, they sometimes got brought to the forefront of thought, no matter how briefly.
When someone looks in the mirror, or when they are taking care of their looks, or just simply fixing their hair…
In moments like these, even without being aware, there were always those little moments when you notice something you were dissatisfied with and subconsciously wished it was gone, even if most of the time, you didn't even catch yourself doing that.
Somatic Autonomy caught it, though, and since fixing these things didn't require much mana or effort from the skill, by the time the thought completely dissipated, the job would be done.
And improvement in appearance was only a single aspect among countless others.
When he was bathing, Ashen certainly had the thought of cleaning himself, and SA, as the dutiful child that it was, would, of course, assist.
And since there wasn't much assistance to be had on the outside, it looked inside instead.
His organs, his blood, even his bones—all the lifetime waste from living in a polluted environment, inhaling deadly toxins, and even eating unhealthily… Everything was gradually purged from his insides through his skin pores.
And while SA did the cleaning, Vital Drift did the rebuilding.
He felt incredibly light after, and breathing became so, so sweet. It was like he was born anew.
And the only inconvenience was dealing with a bit of filth during his bathing time.
But even that wasn't enough for SA. As long as it was related to his body, and he had the will, it responded.
Muscles became more responsive during spear training.
During workouts, they developed more optimally, taking into consideration what Ashen felt he needed the most, without him needing specialized training or specific workout plans.
SA sometimes even acted on its own when its host put his body at risk without knowing.
For example, some food started tasting terrible despite Ashen knowing they were actually really tasty, while nutritious but appallingly-tasting meals suddenly started tasting heavenly.
This was all SA helping its host know which was more beneficial through taste signals.
After seeing how overpowered this skill was, Ashen decided to try something daring.
He willed it to fix his damaged mana circuits.
With fingers crossed and three days of nonstop feeding of mana to SA, Ashen nervously checked the results.
He could still remember how he jumped and clapped in the air as he desperately held himself from letting out a happy scream when he found that it actually worked.
But he soon found that he'd rejoiced too soon.
The degree of healing was so minimal that his generous estimate for complete recovery would be around two decades.
Ashen's enthusiasm wasn't overly dampened by that, since he knew more mana and mastery of the skill would fix the time issue.
The next issue was fuel.
To regrow something, it would surely need the necessary nutrients aside from the mana necessary to run the skill, and SA decided that the food he regularly consumed wouldn't be enough, so its next target became the vitality of Vital Drift.
This effectively made Vital Drift completely stop supplying vitality to his body and direct every last drop to regrowing the fried parts of his circuits.
But even then, Ashen still felt that it was a worthwhile trade.
What really stumped him, though, was the other side of the circuits.
Mana circuits didn't solely exist on the physical plane. They only manifested alongside veins when proactively used; otherwise, they stayed in an ethereal state.
This made them effectively half physical, half something else.
And when Ashen reverted them to their ethereal state, he noticed that the healed parts reverted back to their previous state.
He didn't know how this would affect him, but he knew for sure that this was definitely not a good development.
'Perhaps the circuits need to be healed in both states simultaneously,' he mused. 'Or maybe there's a threshold—once enough physical healing occurs, the ethereal damage will naturally align. Either way, I'll need to consult the library again.'
Sigh—
After what felt like forever, Ashen finally let go, letting his concentration on the mana provided for SA slip back to something more manageable.
He got up and lightly stretched before heading back, but the path he took didn't lead to his quarters.
"I guess it's time I talked to Alice again. It's about time."
This wasn't the first time he'd visited her after their fight at their reunion.
⛧⛧⛧
The Sinclair Estate sat in the eastern quarter of Ashbastion, where the air carried less ash and the buildings stood with a dignity reserved for those who'd earned their place through merit rather than birthright.
Alice's residence was a modest manor by the standards of the wealthy, but it spoke of taste—clean lines, dark stone walls traced with faintly glowing circuit patterns, and a garden that somehow thrived despite the wrath domain's hostility to life.
Ashen approached the iron gate, hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed despite the significance of the conversation ahead.
The guard stationed at the entrance looked up from his post. Recognition flickered across his face, followed by something like resignation.
"Mr. Hart," the guard said with a nod, not bothering with formalities anymore. He'd stopped asking questions after the third visit.
"Afternoon," Ashen replied casually, stepping through as the gate clicked open.
The second guard, a younger woman with sharp eyes and a spear strapped to her back, gave him a once-over before smirking faintly. "She's in the study. Again."
"Figures." Ashen's lips quirked. "Thanks."
He walked up the cobblestone path, past the garden where crystalline flowers pulsed with soft blue light. The front door opened before he could knock—a maid in a dark uniform with silver trim stood in the doorway, her expression professionally neutral but her eyes warm.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Hart," she greeted, stepping aside. "Lady Sinclair is expecting you."
Ashen raised an eyebrow. "Is she now?"
The maid's lips twitched in what might've been amusement. "She always is, sir."
He stepped inside, the familiar scent of clean air and faint ozone washing over him. The interior was as he remembered; elegant, efficient, with no wasted space.
Everything served a purpose, much like Alice herself.
Another maid passed by carrying a tray of tea, offering him a polite nod. "Mr. Hart."
"Clara," he acknowledged, having learned her name on his fourth visit.
She smiled faintly before disappearing down the hall.
Ashen made his way through the corridors. The house was quiet, save for the distant hum of machinery—Alice's workshop, no doubt, buried somewhere beneath the manor where she could tinker without interruption.
He climbed the curved staircase to the second floor, his hand trailing along the banister. The study was at the end of the hall, its door closed but not locked.
He paused outside, his hand hovering over the handle.
'Every time I come here, she lets me in. Every time, we end up circling around what really needs to be said.'
Today felt different.
Maybe it was the weight of the past two weeks settling in.
Maybe it was the exhaustion from training, from digging through history, from pretending he had his shit together when he barely understood what he was doing anymore.
Or maybe it was simpler than that.
Maybe he was just tired of the distance.
Ashen took a breath, turned the handle, and stepped inside.
The study was bathed in afternoon light filtering through tall windows.
Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with technical manuals, historical texts, and notebooks filled with Alice's handwriting.
And there, seated at her desk with her back to the door, fingers flying across a holographic interface, was Alice.
She didn't turn around. But her fingers paused.
"You're late," she said quietly, her voice even. "I was starting to think you wouldn't come today."
Ashen closed the door behind him with a soft click.
"Would you have preferred that?"
Alice's shoulders shifted slightly.
Then, slowly, she turned in her chair to face him.
Her golden eyes met his—calm, but beneath it lingered something achingly fragile.
"No," she admitted. "I wouldn't have."