Cold Shoulder

Horrifying laughter rings out in his soul, drenched with evil. Unwilling to back down, Prol laughs back, even louder, and even more evil! Well, he didn't know what qualified a laugh as evil, but he tried to be as intimidating as he could. He could feel vague emotions in the laugh, and he tried to push his laugh even farther in that direction.

Seeming provoked, the laugh of the unknown figure got even louder.

…

Loud coughing fills the air, before two figures sit drinking tea to calm their throats. "Ah, I haven't laughed like that in a long time. It reminds me of the time I met my two hundred and thirty second wife," says the figure across from him. Unlike the shadow from before, this one was an immense, devilish figure, with curled horns framing his face. Despite his towering figure, he sat in the tiny seat and drank from the puny cup of tea.

"Indeed," Prol says, an amused expression on his face. He had determined the figure wasn't a bad person, even if they were truly a wretched, evil soul.

After a moment of enjoying the tea, the devil speaks. "You possess a great affinity in darkness, souls, and even time and space. I'm certain my repertoire of techniques will allow you to build a great dungeon. The more followers you gain, the more powerful you will become. In my prime, I was known as the Great Demon Lord. I had vast armies, countless wives, and many were jealous of my good looks. In fact, I firmly believe the reason for my demise was not my conquest of the world, but instead, my devastatingly good looks. Be careful not to become as handsome as I, or it could become your downfall," the figure warns, before vanishing, not having any more to say.

It felt like a common theme, one inheritance after another, figures would leave after saying what they had come to say. At least, among darkness magicians, that would be the case. They all seemed to be odd people, with a variety of abilities. In addition to darkness magicians, Prol met soul magicians, who were almost even weirder. Then, there were the space and time magicians, who were the most normal. However, their techniques were strange and without reason. Prol could barely make sense of the ones he glimpsed at, so he left everything to Rin.

…

After a long period of time, he had gathered countless techniques. At least, it felt like it. Many of them were strong, but a lot more were weak, or just strange.

("Rin, any progress on understanding the situation?")

[No, Master. It seemed like they were competing for disciples. Many of them would leave behind marks I had to clean up. Fortunately, I discovered I could absorb them to replenish our energy, or we never would've finished acquiring all their techniques, my beloved Master.]

("Eh? Perhaps, were we not supposed to get so many techniques? That might make more sense. Perhaps some sort of inheritance ceremony. Still, many of them said they weren't compatible with any other technique, so it's no surprise. Still, this should be a method of getting stronger. Run analysis on all of the techniques. Try and gain as much data as you can. Use that data to correct any flaws in the techniques. Put the only and new ones in separate locations. Run analysis on the new ones, and try and combine them as much as possible, with priority on functionality for overall strength and survivability. Once you've generated a framework for strength, double check for flaws and requirements, before notifying me.") he orders, giving Rin a massive workload. Still, her specialty was analysis, and now that all the instances had returned to him, he should have a surplus of power.

[Yes, my Master.]

(Lina POV)

The white, angelic figure watched over her as she sat, and attempted to cultivate her soul. Of course, she could only focus her cultivation on Prol. She truly didn't have anyone else. She could only risk everything in her belief he was alright. That he was so strong he would never die or leave her.

As she focused on the technique, horribly cold, dark energy flowed into her. It truly wasn't the original technique anymore, having been adapted for her by the spirit. Untouchable Poison Ice technique. It was much more deadly than the original, which should only increase its power. She felt happy with it. Perhaps, she wouldn't have been able to withstand such cold, poisonous energy if not for the warmth building inside of her. She could feel Prol slowly becoming more and more important to her than he already was. Unnaturally so.

Because of the technique, just the thought of her spirit made it as if the energy was warm and comforting. The energy rapidly accumulated inside of her, and she felt her soul consolidating at level zero after a while full of energy.

"Cultivation is essentially forming one magic spell. Or at least, the best cultivation. A multi-tiered spell is the core of any good technique. After tracing the first level of the spell into your soul, you can fill it with energy, and consolidate the framework. Then, you can fill it full of energy. When you've filled it, you work on the second layer. This is the essence of all cultivation. At least, as far as Magicians are concerned," the angelic figure instructs.

Lina nods her little head, and slowly looks over the spell in her mind. Normally, such a thing should've been done when she summoned her spirit but it was interrupted. Now, she had to diligently work to rebuild what was taken from her. She could only believe it'd be better this way.

…

After long hours of focus, she starts drawing out the complicated symbol into her soul. The core of a massive formation, the runes that start her very career as a magician. It seemed to take forever, but she devoted herself completely to carving the formation into her soul. A long time passed, before, under the guidance of the icy angel, she finished the core. Sitting in the center, she starts meditating once again drawing in energy, and slowly consolidating the formation as part of her soul.

As the energy filled in the formation, it got a dark tint to it, glowing in a deep blue. As the glow gets brighter and brighter, she can feel her very body changing. The icy being focused energy into her guiding her as she gains the foundation of the Untouchable Poison Ice body.

Normally, it would take a very long time to cultivate a technique. However, after inheriting a technique, one would be blessed with the energy necessary to reach the first level on it. This enabled elders with talented disciples to start training them much sooner, as well as providing a solid foundation for those disciples. However, it was also something that added to the immense cost of activating the stone.

…

After a couple days in the room, Lina finally stood up. She had reached the lowest level of soul level one, and made the formation for further improvement. For a while, it would just be a matter of gathering energy, and practicing her skills. She looks over herself, but she doesn't particularly feel or look any different.

Walking to the door, she pulls the release lever, and the massive block slides open, revealing her waiting mentor.

"I see you succeeded," the dark-eyed beauty says, as she evaluates her disciple. "As promised, I'll take you as a disciple," he says, before giving her disciple a simple smile.

"Oh. Someone who said they were your fiance wanted to see you when you were done. Should I give you some time?" she asks, being a bit thoughtful for her disciple.

Immediately, she shakes her head. "That marriage wasn't my choice. I hate that person. I never want to see them," she says, her voice even more icy than usual. Unlike before, she had the confidence to state her opinion, now that she had a powerful mentor, and a unique technique. She wouldn't let anyone but one person near her. Just the idea sounded unpleasant.

Her master blinks her eyes a couple times, before nodding her head in understanding. "I can't help but wonder who you gave your heart to, then. Still, it isn't important, as long as they don't betray your feelings." She watches her disciple, before speaking. "Let's go home."

She follows behind her Master as they leave the building, but they'd barely gotten down the street, when around the corner step out an old swords man, and a figure at about 5'9". There is a stunned silence between all parties.

Marth stares at her, almost not recognizing her. Perhaps he could feel the coldness of her aura, but he seemed unwilling to approach. Seeming to understand something, anger enters his eyes, but he doesn't dare risk touching the her.

"My disciple. Annul the marriage," her master says coldly, before leading her ahead, and leaving behind the stunned pair of swordsmen.