Day Two: Physical Arts – Foundations of Movement and Defense
He began with Iron Body Flow, running his energy through his muscles. At first, it hurt—his body rejecting the density. But with each repetition, his muscles began to adapt.
He layered energy in flows: first his arms, then legs, then full-body coating. He tested it against falling stones and blunt weapons, feeling the resistance improve as he synchronized breath and energy control.
Moving on to Phantom Step, Aamon cleared his mind. The key wasn't speed—it was precision in timing.
He took a breath, then burst forward. A blur left behind a faint afterimage. Too faint. He tried again—his body flickered, then stabilized ten meters away.
He practiced navigating tight footwork while blinking between positions, weaving through illusions of himself, eventually mastering combinations with basic attacks to confuse imaginary opponents.
Midday, he approached Breaker Palm.
He struck a slab of stone. It cracked, but didn't break. He focused on not just hitting—but letting the energy lag behind the palm. He trained by striking suspended boulders and metal plates, using slow-motion practice to coordinate the release. After several hours, he managed to deliver a strike that caused a metal plate to ripple with internal shock—cracking from within.
Day Three: Weaponisation Arts – Mastery, Rhythm, and Intent
Aamon stood before a target field, sword in hand.
He began with Moonshadow Draw, focusing on synchronization between blade and spirit. He breathed in deeply, concentrated… then unsheathed with explosive speed.
The first few draws left only faint streaks. But after multiple refinements, he began to leave behind a silver arc of delayed energy—a crescent that erupted half a second later. He practiced quick re-sheathing, chaining the delayed attacks into combinations.
Next came Echo Cleave. Aamon practiced striking targets in rapid succession—light cuts, each imprinting kinetic memory into his weapon.
With the final slash, he released the built-up energy, and all previous strikes echoed out in a shockwave that devastated the row of dummies ahead. He trained rigorously on pacing—learning not to waste strikes or overload.
Finally, he moved on to Gale Spiral Slash. It demanded rhythm—controlled motion and footwork.
He spun low, blade arcing in sync with his pivot. The winds gathered into a vortex around him, flinging away training dummies. He trained the flow repeatedly—slow, fast, wide arcs and tight spirals—until he could create a whirling zone of control.
By the end of the third day, Aamon stood on the training field, his chest heaving.
His movements were sharper. His techniques, fluid. More importantly—he had options. Range. Control. Counters. Area Denial.
He looked at his reflection in the training mirror rune and whispered, "Next time… we'll win."
The corrupted spirits would not catch him off guard again.
As Aamon emerged from his final training session, drenched in sweat and suffused with focused resolve, he found Alexia and Yue waiting outside the sparring dome within his territory. Both had clearly been training as well—Alexia's breath was steady but shallow, and Yue's usually calm expression was laced with a subtle fire.
Aamon tilted his head. "You two look like you've been through a gauntlet."
Alexia smirked, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "Let's just say… we're not planning to run away next time."
Yue nodded in agreement, her eyes glinting faintly with an aura Aamon hadn't seen before. "We've made our own preparations. If the spirits come again, they won't be the only ones terrifying the battlefield."
Aamon's gaze narrowed with curiosity. "What techniques did you pick?"
The silence that followed was unusual.
Alexia stretched her arms overhead, then turned toward the direction of her private chamber. "That's for us to show when the time is right."
Yue added softly, "You taught us to think and grow for ourselves, Aamon. Let us surprise you."
He blinked, then laughed lightly—not out of mockery, but out of pride. "Alright. I trust you two."
Still, even as they parted ways, a part of him itched with anticipation. They had walked through the same vast halls of the library, chosen their own paths through Elemental, Physical, and Weaponisation Arts—and yet had told him nothing.
Whatever they had chosen, one thing was certain.
They wouldn't be the same girls who fled with him three days ago.
They would return as warriors.
The moon hung low over the ruined streets as Aamon, Alexia, and Yue stood once more before the crumbling villa.
Its silhouette loomed like a broken monument—silent, decayed, and yet strangely alert, as if the house itself remembered them. It was here they had first encountered the corrupted spirits… and where they'd nearly lost their lives.
This time, they were different.
Three days of relentless training had sharpened their bodies and minds. Each of them now held power born not just of desperation, but of preparation. Even so, an air of unease clung to them like ash. No matter how strong they had become, this place defied reason.
"I've kept the return portal tethered to the territory," Yue murmured, fingers tracing a rune in the air. A shimmering vertical line flickered to life behind them—an escape route, ready to be activated.
Aamon gave a short nod. "Good. Let's move."
The gates creaked open beneath his hand, rusted iron moaning like a dying breath. Inside, the villa lay dormant beneath a veil of dust and rot. They stepped over the threshold, boots crunching on shattered tile and fragments of broken furniture.
The cold hit them instantly.
Not the crisp kind that bit at skin, but a suffocating chill that seeped into the marrow. The kind that whispered of things long dead.
They moved through the entrance hall and up the stairs. Third floor. Second. Then back down again. The whole place felt like a decaying loop, as if the building itself resisted any attempt to map or understand it.
Then they descended to the ground floor—the place where it had all begun.
It was silent.
Too silent.
The air became viscous, thick with a palpable wrongness. Shadows lengthened unnaturally, curling across the floor like spilled ink. Walls that were once bare now seemed... occupied.
And then, they saw them.
From the floorboards, walls, and ceiling, figures began to stir—first as glimmers, then as shapes. Grotesque forms peeled away from the darkness, limbs bending at impossible angles, faces frozen in expressions of twisted grief and rage.
Dozens of eyes opened across the room—blank, hollow, yet seething with intent.
Alexia tightened her grip on her halberd. "They remember us."
Yue's breath hitched. "They're not just corrupted… they're waiting."
Aamon stepped forward, the pressure rolling off the spirits pushing against his skin like a rising tide.
"They're drawn to blood," he said, voice steady. "They want to feed."
The corrupted spirits remained motionless—hovering, watching.
Aamon met their gaze.
And without a word, the spirits began to move.