Chapter 251: Persistence in Resistance
Mud splattered onto Coop’s cheek, adding a fresh layer to previously dried stains that decorated his face. His lunge carried him forward, through the spray, and he pierced the metallic head of an Ancient Vanguard with all three prongs of his ethereal trident, firmly gripped with both hands. A crunching sound reverberated through the thin fog bank as he struck the monster and followed through. The fiery red-orange glowing weak points hadn’t been something he looked for in a long time, but target practice had become a part of his grind for no reason other than precision training.
The Primal Construct cracked as Coop leveraged his momentum and drove himself forward, pinning the monster onto its abdomen before it started to disintegrate. The water kicked up by Coop’s footsteps finally splashed back down, like the delayed applause for an extremely brief but dramatic exhibition match.
Mana smoke wafted into the misty domain that had been gliding across the Everglades until the sun set. The grind continued into the dark of the night with the haunted mists lingering above the shallow waters that defined the environment. They were the type of mists that would cause the more vigilant to lock their doors to keep the chill away, and anything else that might be lurking outside.
Coop didn’t stop moving, his expression frozen in concentration with just a hint of the smile that couldn’t be suppressed. He let the notifications of his progress wash through his consciousness, absently assigning his attributes as he redistributed his weight to the side, already flowing into the next movement while the initial giant ant monster disappeared.
[You defeated Ancient Vanguard (Level 207)]
[+378 Basic Credits]
[Quest Complete! Defeat Ancient Vanguards IV]
[You have a new quest!]
[Congratulations! You have leveled up!]
His intense aggression persisted, unceasingly, as it had for the last 16 hours, occasionally punctuated by the glowing spotlight of a level gained. Grinding was meditation and it had become one of his more reliable therapeutic tools. Sometimes he just needed to put his head down and let physical actions drown out all the thoughts and worries that piled on. Beneath a universe of stress, Coop had a dependable way to center himself.
The trident’s prongs melted into mists, reforming into a flat blade, plainly dangerous with its excessively sharp edge, and the grip of the shaft followed suit, morphing to match the new weapon. Coop’s hands shifted with the change as if his body and the weapon were in perfect alignment. He was a simple weapon and the ethereal weapon was an extension of himself.
The mists resolidified in the brief moment it took for Coop to flex his abs and twist his arms, lashing out, and slicing the lingering droplets of water with a powerful strike that wouldn’t have been as devastatingly effective with the trident. The blade sang as it cut through the misty and humid night air, letting the droplets add faint percussion.