CHAPTER 146: PRESSURE 2

Lucas was suddenly more thrilled than he had been in weeks, his heart pounding with excitement as if it were in sync with the ink marks forming on the parchment before him. He quickly reached for the small chest at the corner of his table, sliding the Core of Dominion and Saint Raph’s notes carefully into it. The box was shut firmly and pushed aside, leaving him with only his tools, his parchment, and his mind set ablaze with determination.

He began by sketching out the intricate formations of arrays, weaving geometric symbols across the page with a precision that betrayed how deeply his focus had become rooted in the task. Lines intersected with runic sigils, circles overlapped with delicate points of contact, and numbers spiraled in calculated harmony, each one representing a layer of theory that might bring him closer to stabilizing the impossible, instantaneous spatial transfer. His brow furrowed, his lips moved without sound as he whispered calculations to himself, and his hand rarely paused even to dip the quill in ink.

As the hours passed, his concentration only deepened, his mind straining under the weight of possibilities and contradictions. He would stop suddenly, push his notes aside, and begin scribbling anew on a fresh sheet, as though a fresh revelation had just broken through the barriers of logic. Then he would sit back, close his eyes for a brief second, and see the arrays in his mind’s eye, glowing and shifting as though the world itself was presenting him a puzzle that begged to be solved. His temples began to ache, and he could feel the heaviness building in his head, the unmistakable strain of a mind that was running at the edge of its own limits. Yet he ignored it, for his spirit was too fired by the enormity of what was at stake.

Teleportation was no small feat. It was more than a curiosity of the ancients or a legend whispered among scholars; it was the very key to rewriting the foundation of war, trade, and power across the continent. If he could stabilize it, if he could make the theoretical into reality, then no army would ever march in the same way again. Distance would lose its meaning. Borders would collapse into irrelevance. Fortresses would crumble before they could even be defended.

Lucas knew full well the consequences, he understood that to unleash such power without restraint would be to hand the entire world a weapon greater than any blade or spear. But he had already resolved in his heart how this should be controlled. The Kingdom of Valerion and the Lechia Empire would be the only ones to wield it. Together, they would rise above the rest of the world, their influence unrivaled and their authority unquestionable. The alliance would not be dictated by others, nor would it be bound by petty treaties or hollow promises. No, this time, the terms would be their own, forged from strength and secured by the secret of teleportation itself.

With each calculation Lucas wrote, with each symbol etched into the parchment, he was already envisioning that future. He imagined armies stepping through arrays and appearing behind enemy lines before the foe even knew an attack had begun. He imagined caravans of supplies moving effortlessly across vast distances, strengthening their forces while others languished in delay. He imagined envoys and kings trembling at the thought of being outmaneuvered by an enemy who could vanish and reappear at will. The thought only fueled his hand further, driving him to push past the growing fog in his mind.

By the time he looked down, sheets upon sheets lay scattered across the desk, each filled with dense notations, diagrams, and sequences of numbers that only he could make sense of. His candle had long since burned low, the wax pooling thick at the base, yet he paid it no mind. His head throbbed, his eyes were heavy, but his spirit burned brighter than ever. Lucas leaned back at last, exhaling heavily as though he had been holding his breath for hours, and a faint smile touched his lips. He was closer now than he had ever been, and he knew with absolute certainty that once this breakthrough was achieved, the world would never again be the same.

He pressed his palms against the edge of the desk, steadying himself as the weight of both exhaustion and exhilaration pressed against his chest, and whispered to himself with quiet resolve, "This will change everything."

Lucas buried himself in the work as though nothing else existed. The moment the idea of bending the principles of space and time had taken root in his mind, it consumed him entirely. For three days straight, he didn’t leave his chamber. Parchments, scrolls, and scraps of paper covered every available surface, each filled with intricate diagrams, runes, and endless lines of numbers and symbols. When the desks and tables could no longer hold them, he spread them across the floor, arranging them in sequences only he could understand. Soon even the walls bore the marks of his obsession, calculations written in chalk and ink, forming patterns that stretched from corner to corner like a map of the heavens itself.

He worked without pause, his hair disheveled and his robes loose around him, his quill scratching furiously against parchment until his fingers ached. He muttered to himself constantly, half-formed theories tumbling from his lips, challenging and correcting himself as he went. "No, no... if the boundary layer overlaps with the dimensional fold, then the strain becomes infinite... but if the compression runs parallel to the axis of time... then maybe... yes, yes, maybe it stabilizes..." His eyes shone with a feverish brilliance, and though his body cried out for rest, his mind would not allow it.

Lira came often, slipping quietly into the chamber with trays of warm food, her face drawn with concern. Each time she found him hunched over his work, too engrossed to notice her arrival. She would set the food beside him, hoping he might eat, but he never touched it. The meals grew cold, untouched and forgotten, only to be replaced by new ones the next time she came. "Master," she whispered more than once, standing at the door with a worried gaze, "you have to rest... please." But he did not answer her. At most, he would wave a hand absently, as though brushing away a distraction, his eyes never leaving the flood of ink and symbols before him.

The only thing he allowed himself was water. Occasionally, in the rare moments he stopped to gather his thoughts, he would pour himself a cup and drink slowly, staring into the ripples as though they held the secrets he was searching for. Then, almost as if struck by lightning, he would set the cup aside and seize his quill again, frantically sketching out whatever revelation had seized him.

Day and night lost meaning inside that chamber. The windows were veiled, the candles burned low only to be replaced by fresh ones, and the silence was broken only by the scratch of ink, the shifting of parchment, and the low hum of his muttering voice. His body grew thin from neglect, his face shadowed by exhaustion, but his determination burned brighter than ever.

By the end of the third day, the chamber had transformed into something almost otherworldly. Equations filled every surface, forming vast, interconnected webs of theory that seemed less like mere writings and more like the framework of a great design. Lucas stood in the center of it all, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths, his eyes bloodshot but focused, his mind still unyielding. He had not eaten. He had not slept. He had not spoken more than a handful of words in three days.

It was no longer work. It was obsession, and he had no intention of stopping until he had succeeded in it.

Yes, he was obsessed with it now. He thought about how it could change the course of his life: the ability to appear anywhere within a distance.

The core of dominion still lay in the box, but compared to teleportation, it felt almost secondary. Dominion offered absolute control of Qi within an area, yes, but without freedom, it was a cage of its own. Teleportation, on the other hand, was liberation.

He poured over diagrams, his mind never straying far from the principles of space and energy. He imagined how Qi might fold itself, how meridians could bear the strain of being torn from one point to another, how the body could survive the instantaneous rift between places. He traced lines in the air, as though drawing maps of invisible pathways. Each time he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the pull of unseen currents, whispering of a world that stretched and bent, waiting for him to learn its secret.

Still, he knew this path was perilous. Cultivators in the future had perished attempting what he now sought before it was successful, their bodies torn apart, their souls scattered across the void. That thought might have frightened another, but for him, it only deepened the obsession. If the risk was so great, then the reward must be immeasurable.