Chương 251: Song, Sculpture, Calligraphy, or Painting?

She closed her eyes and began to sing, her voice clear and pure, carrying a melody that seemed both ancient and somehow familiar, as if I'd heard it in a dream." Kenertti ed noiilro, foarema eti veeta En Mlulcem nescarius, sphirotus eti aneena Palvoos ameecis, cavre tremspis vievrenis Ludiom merones, cantequim srediuris."

Thanks to the system's translation abilities, I understood her words perfectly: From nothing you come, form and life Into light you are born, spirit and soul Little friend, living for time Bringing joy, before you return. As she sang, motes of blue light gathered before her, swirling in rhythm with her melody. They began to coalesce, taking shape, and then in a final flash as her song concluded, the light vanished completely.

There stood a small creature that looked exactly like a cross between a rabbit and a squirrel, with long ears and a bushy tail. This wasn't a construct of light or energy, it was a real animal in every sense. Its soft gray fur had white patches, its nose twitched as it sniffed the air, and its chest rose and fell with actual breath. It blinked, dark eyes focusing on its surroundings with unmistakable curiosity. The creature hopped once, then twice, before scampering over to me.

It sniffed at my boots, then looked up, whiskers twitching. I reached down cautiously, and it showed no fear as I gently stroked its head. The fur was soft and warm beneath my fingers, exactly as a real animal's would be. There was nothing ethereal or magical about its physical form. Had I not witnessed its creation, I would have assumed it was a strange woodland creature that had somehow found its way into the pavilion.

"This is remarkable," I said, genuinely amazed as I felt the creature's weight when it hopped onto my palm.

"It's completely real." Thara nodded.

"Yes, that's what makes Lightweaver arts so profound. We don't create representations or illusions, we bring actual living beings into existence. The method differs, but the result is the same: reality shaped by our will through the blue sun's energy." I gently ran a finger along the creature's spine, feeling the solid bone structure beneath its fur, the warmth of its body, the quick beat of its tiny heart. It responded to my touch by leaning into my hand, just as any tamed animal might.

"The drawbacks of Song, however, are also significant," Thara continued.

"You need proper vocal or instrumental training, you can't expect to magically become a good singer or musician overnight. Sound-based techniques can be countered by silence fields or similar disruptions. And maintaining these creations requires continuous energy, which can be draining." I felt a flush creep up my neck at that. Apart from some particularly horrendous singing I used to do in the shower back on Earth, I had never developed any musical talents. That method was definitely out.

As I was admiring the creature, it suddenly froze in my palm, its ears perking up as if hearing a distant sound. It began to tremble, then to my surprise, let out a frightened squeak, a sound indistinguishable from any normal animal in distress. The creature looked down at its own paws with what could only be described as confusion and fear. It tried to hop away, but found its movements becoming uncoordinated. Its solid form didn't fade or become transparent.

Instead, it started to break down in a far more disturbing, organic way. Fur began to shed, its breathing became labored, and its eyes clouded over. The little animal turned to Thara with a pleading expression, its very real pain evident in every aspect of its being. It squeaked once more, a sound of genuine terror, before collapsing in my palm.

Within seconds, its body rapidly aged and deteriorated before my eyes, decomposing at an impossible speed until nothing remained but a small pile of dust that scattered in a sudden breeze through the pavilion, leaving no trace it had ever existed. I stared at my empty palm, still feeling the phantom weight of the creature. Thara's face flushed with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry about that. I'm not advanced enough to create permanent life forms yet." She sighed heavily.

"What you just witnessed wasn't an illusion dispelling or a construct falling apart, it was a living creature experiencing its entire lifecycle in minutes rather than years."

"It was afraid," I said quietly.

"It knew it was dying."

"Yes," Thara nodded solemnly.

"That's one of the profound ethical questions surrounding Lightweaver cultivation. When we create true life, not approximations or simulations, but genuine living beings, what responsibility do we bear toward them? Are we justified in bringing sentient creatures into existence knowing they're doomed to such a brief span?" She looked at her hands thoughtfully.

"The highest level masters can create permanent life, beings that continue to exist indefinitely, with normal lifespans. But most of us can only grant brief existence, compressing an entire lifetime into minutes or hours. Some scholars argue the joy of existence, however brief, justifies the creation. Others believe we should only create simplified beings without true consciousness until we master techniques for permanent manifestation."

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. An intriguing philosophical debate with parallels to discussions of bioethics and artificial intelligence from my original world. But as fascinating as it was, it wasn't immediately relevant to my current need to choose a cultivation path. Thara gestured toward the other Lightweavers who had been quietly waiting.

"Now, let's see the other methods demonstrated. I should mention that since these practitioners are Rank 2 Lightweavers, their demonstrations won't be quite as lifelike as what I've just shown you. At their current level, their creations will retain some qualities of the blue sun's energy rather than manifesting as completely physical beings. But this actually works well for instructional purposes, you'll be able to better observe the structure and technique behind each method."

She smiled encouragingly at her colleagues.

"The principles remain the same, though. With sufficient advancement, all these methods can achieve the same level of reality creation." The first to step forward was the woman among the three Lightweavers.

"This is Adept Lea, one of our sculptors," Thara introduced. Adept Lea moved to the sculpting station. She was tall and slender, with strong hands that looked as if they had spent years working with clay and stone.

"Sculpture, or Material Harmonization, involves shaping blue sun energy with your hands to create three-dimensional constructs," Thara explained as Lea demonstrated.

"These can range from simple shields to complex animated guardians." Lea placed her hands together, then slowly drew them apart. Between her palms, a small blue sphere of light formed, which she then molded with precise gestures into the shape of a miniature bird. The level of detail was impressive, I could make out individual feathers and the glint of tiny eyes.

"The primary advantage is durability," Thara continued as Lea worked.

"Sculptures tend to last longer than constructs created through other methods. They're also excellent for defensive techniques and can be particularly effective if you have a tactical mind." The bird in Lea's hands fluttered its wings, looking remarkably lifelike despite its glowing blue composition. It took flight, circling the room once before landing on her outstretched finger.

"But sculpting during battle is too slow to be practical," Thara added as Lea allowed the bird to dissolve back into motes of light with a respectful nod.

"Most sculptors prepare their constructs in advance or focus on environmental manipulation rather than direct combat. And while the constructs are durable, they typically lack the versatility of other methods." Next, one of the male Lightweavers stepped forward, an older man with spectacles and ink-stained fingers.

"Adept Gerrard is a calligraphy specialist," Thara introduced him. Gerrard bowed slightly before moving to the calligraphy station.

"Calligraphy, or Word Binding, uses written language as a medium for blue sun energy," Thara explained.

"Practitioners infuse meaning into written characters, causing the concepts they represent to manifest in reality." Gerrard picked up a brush, dipped it in ink that glowed with a faint blue luminescence, and wrote a single character on a sheet of parchment. His brushwork was fluid and confident, each stroke perfectly balanced. The ink shimmered as he completed the final stroke, then lifted off the page, forming a three-dimensional representation of the concept "shield" before us.

"Calligraphy is incredibly precise," Thara noted.

"There's no ambiguity in written language, when you write 'fire,' you get exactly fire, not heat or light or something approximating fire. This makes it excellent for complex effects that require careful definition." Gerrard set the brush down with a respectful bow before stepping back.

"However," Thara continued, "it's also a dying art. It's too limited and relies too much on the creator's will and ability to infuse meaning into their words, which is much more difficult than it sounds. You're also constrained by your vocabulary and writing speed. And in the heat of battle, there's rarely time to write out complex phrases." Finally, the third Lightweaver approached, a young man with vibrant energy who seemed barely older than me.

"And this is Adept Miran, who specializes in painting," Thara introduced him, her tone carrying a hint of special appreciation. Miran grinned as he took position at the painting station.

"Painting, or Brushwork Manifestation, is the most modern and advanced method," she explained as Miran prepared his materials.

"It combines elements of all three previous approaches: the flow of Song, the dimensionality of Sculpture, and the precision of Calligraphy." With quick, confident strokes, Miran painted what appeared to be a simple lotus flower on a canvas. His movements had a rhythm to them, almost dance-like, each brush stroke flowing naturally into the next. As the final stroke connected to the whole, the flower seemed to gain depth and dimension, lifting slightly from the canvas surface.

"A skilled painter can incorporate calligraphy directly into their works," Thara explained as Miran added a small character within the flower that caused it to bloom more fully.

"They can suggest three-dimensionality through technique, mimicking the effects of sculpture. And the rhythm of brushwork itself can create a kind of visual music that resonates with the blue sun's energy." The demonstration was impressive, even through the lens of someone who had seen far more dramatic displays of power.

"If painting is so versatile," I asked, "why doesn't everyone choose that method? It seems to offer the best of all worlds." Thara laughed at what must have seemed like naivety on my part.

"Because painting is difficult enough if you only focus on painting. If you want to incorporate elements from other methods, you need to learn at least portions of those disciplines as well. A painter who wants to add calligraphic elements needs to study calligraphy. One who wants sculptural effects must understand three-dimensional form." She gestured to the lotus Miran had created, which was now slowly rotating above the canvas.

"It's the most versatile approach, but also the most demanding. Very few mastered it in generations past. But in recent years, it's gained popularity due to some exceptionally talented practitioners demonstrating its potential."

"Like who?" I asked, sensing an opportunity to learn more about the power dynamics within the Academy.

"Like Kal," she said, a complex mix of emotions crossing her face.

"He's particularly skilled at incorporating calligraphy into his paintings, creating works with layers of meaning that unfold as the viewer interacts with them. His technique of embedding different characters that activate sequentially has revolutionized combat applications of painting." I nodded, thinking that did indeed sound powerful. No wonder Kal had risen to the rank of Elder and was able to fight against the elders by himself.

His time-looping advantage, combined with a genuinely versatile cultivation method, would make him nearly unstoppable. Professor Thara seemed to notice my impressed expression and frowned slightly.

"Don't take after him too much," she cautioned.

"Talent is important, but so is responsibility and respect for tradition." She turned away, muttering under her breath, "Thinking he can just miss the ceremony where he is being instated as an elder... as if the entire Council doesn't have better things to do than reschedule around his whims..." I pretended not to hear, but inwardly smiled at the confirmation of my suspicions. Kal had probably sat through that particular ceremony dozens if not hundreds of times during his loops.

After experiencing the same events repeatedly, even something as significant as one's own elevation to elder status would likely lose its luster. He probably had far more important items on his looper's checklist to attend to. After the demonstrations were complete, Thara thanked the three Rank 2 Lightweavers with a nod. The three practitioners bowed in unison, first to Thara, then to me, which felt strangely formal given my supposed background as a village boy.

"Now, Tomas, it's time for you to make your decision," Thara turned to me once we were alone.

"Which approach calls to you? Song, Sculpture, Calligraphy, or Painting?"