Three weeks into my training in the Veilroot, Jirou changed our routine.
Instead of waking me with ice water, I found him sitting motionless in the center of the training ground.
I approached cautiously, still sore from yesterday's punishment—a hundred handstand pushups that had my shoulders feeling like they'd been removed and reattached incorrectly.
"You're late," he said without opening his eyes.
"The sun just rose," I pointed out.
"It began rising seventeen minutes ago," Jirou corrected. "Tardiness indicates poor awareness."
I bit back a sarcastic response.
That was another change—I was learning when to keep my mouth shut.
"Sit," he instructed, gesturing to the spot across from him.
I complied, crossing my legs in the meditation pose I'd practiced each evening.
"Your physical foundation is developing adequately," Jirou said.
Coming from him, that was practically glowing praise.
"Today we begin Essence Breathing."
My interest immediately spiked.
"I thought we weren't training essence here," I said.
Jirou's void-black eyes regarded me impassively.
"We are not manipulating essence. We are preparing the vessel to conduct it efficiently."
He placed a hand on his chest.
"The breath is the bridge between body and essence. Most waste their potential with shallow, thoughtless breathing."
He demonstrated, drawing in a deep breath that seemed to expand not just his lungs but his entire being.
"Proper breathing stabilizes essence flow, enhances physical endurance, and maintains mental clarity under strain."
This sounded promising.
Anything that could boost my essence flow was a step toward not dying at Lyserra.
"Copy my pattern," Jirou instructed. "Inhale for eight counts. Hold for four. Exhale for eight. Hold empty for four."
Simple enough.
I followed along, counting in my head.
"Deeper," Jirou corrected. "The breath should fill from your lower abdomen upward, not just your chest."
We continued for what felt like hours, Jirou making minor adjustments to my posture and breathing rhythm.
Just when I thought we might spend the entire day sitting and breathing, he stood abruptly.
"Now we add movement."
He demonstrated a slow, flowing sequence of motions that reminded me of tai chi from my world.
Each movement synchronized perfectly with his breath.
"The form is called 'Current Through Stone,'" Jirou explained. "It teaches the body to maintain breath control while in motion."
I tried to follow along, but immediately struggled to coordinate my breathing with the movements.
"Again," Jirou said after my first fumbling attempt. "Breath leads, body follows."
By midday, I could complete the basic sequence without completely losing my breathing pattern.
Progress, however small.
"Acceptable," Jirou assessed as we finished. "Now we test under stress."
I should have known it wouldn't be that easy.
He led me to a section of the training ground with six wooden posts driven into the ground.
Each stood about seven feet tall, worn smooth from what must have been years of use.
It was only as we got closer that I noticed something odd about them.
Each post had deep grooves carved into its surface—patterns that looked almost like writing or symbols.
Some appeared to be recent, while others were weathered and faded with age.
"What are those markings?" I asked, pointing to the intricate patterns.
Jirou glanced at them dismissively.
"Old wardings," he said. "From previous training cycles. Irrelevant to your practice."
Something about his tone seemed off—slightly too casual.
But before I could think about it further, he continued with instructions.
"You will stand on the center post and maintain the breathing pattern while I test your stability."
I eyed the narrow post dubiously.
"Test how, exactly?"
Jirou picked up a long wooden staff that had been leaning against one of the posts.
"I will attempt to knock you down," he said matter-of-factly. "You will maintain both balance and breath."
Great.
I climbed onto the center post, finding barely enough surface to stand on.
"Begin the breathing pattern," Jirou instructed.
I started the measured breaths we'd practiced all morning.
Inhale for eight. Hold for four. Exhale for eight. Hold for four.
Without warning, Jirou swept the staff toward my legs.
I jumped instinctively, breaking my breath pattern.
"Again," he said when I landed back on the post. "Breath must remain stable under stress."
For the next hour, Jirou systematically attacked from every angle.
I fell dozens of times.
Each time, I climbed back up and started again.
Each time, I managed to maintain the breathing pattern for a few seconds longer.
"Your body panics," Jirou observed. "Fear disrupts breath. Disrupted breath destabilizes essence."
"It's hard not to panic when someone's trying to knock you off a pole," I pointed out, climbing back up after a particularly hard fall.
"Life will attempt to knock you down with far greater force than my staff," he replied.
As the sun began to set, my body ached from the repeated falls, but something had changed.
The breathing pattern had begun to feel more natural.
A few times, I'd even maintained it while defending against Jirou's strikes.
"Enough for today," he finally announced. "Tomorrow we continue."
I collapsed onto the ground, exhausted.
Jirou handed me a small cup of what looked like tea.
"Drink," he said. "It will help your body recover."
I accepted it gratefully, though past experience had taught me his remedies rarely tasted good.
This one was no exception—bitter and earthy, with an aftertaste like metal.
While I drank, my eyes drifted back to the marked posts.
From this angle, I could see more of the symbols.
They didn't look like simple training marks or random scarring.
They were too precise, too systematic—like some kind of binding sigils.
"Are you sure those are just old wardings?" I asked, gesturing with the cup.
Jirou took the empty cup from my hand.
"The past leaves many marks," he said cryptically. "Focus on your own training."
As usual, not really an answer.
But I was too tired to press further.
That night, as I lay on my now-customary stone bed (Jirou still refused to provide actual bedding), I practiced the breathing pattern.
It helped distract from the discomfort, at least.
Inhale for eight. Hold for four. Exhale for eight. Hold for four.
My mind drifted to those strange markings on the posts.
Something about them seemed familiar, though I couldn't place why.
Maybe they'd been mentioned in the novel?
So much of my memory of "The Infinity Hero" remained frustratingly vague.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed me, and I fell into dreamless sleep.
The next morning, Jirou introduced a new element to our training.
"Today we add resistance," he announced.
He stood in the center of the training ground, holding what appeared to be two ordinary stones, each about the size of a baseball.
"These are Pressure Stones," he explained. "They absorb and reflect essence flow, creating resistance against your breathing pattern."
He handed them to me.
They felt heavier than they looked, with a strange warmth that seemed to pulse in opposition to my heartbeat.
"Hold one in each hand while performing Current Through Stone," Jirou instructed. "Maintain the breathing pattern no matter how difficult it becomes."
I soon discovered why they were called Pressure Stones.
As I began the sequence, the stones grew progressively heavier.
Each breath became more labored, as if the air itself was thickening around me.
"The stones respond to essence flow," Jirou explained, watching my struggle. "Even with your flow sealed here, they sense and resist the patterns."
By the third repetition of the sequence, my arms burned from the strain.
The stones now felt like they weighed twenty pounds each.
"Don't fight the resistance," Jirou advised. "Flow through it. Like water around stone."
Easy for him to say.
But I kept going, focusing on maintaining the breathing pattern above all else.
Inhale for eight, no matter how my lungs strained.
Hold for four, even as my chest burned.
Exhale for eight, controlled and steady.
Hold for four, preparing to start again.
Something strange happened during the sixth repetition.
As I moved through a particularly challenging transition, everything suddenly felt... easier.
The stones lightened.
My breathing deepened naturally.
A warm sensation spread from my core outward.
"Good," Jirou said, actually sounding pleased. "You've found the current."
I continued the sequence, this new sense of flow making each movement more fluid.
"What's happening?" I asked between controlled breaths.
"Your essence pathways are beginning to align," Jirou explained. "Even sealed, they respond to proper breath and movement."
For the first time since beginning training, I felt like I was actually making progress.
Not just building muscle or improving balance, but connecting with something deeper.
We trained with the Pressure Stones for hours.
Sometimes the flow would vanish, and the stones would become unbearably heavy again.
But with Jirou's corrections and my increasingly stable breathing, I could usually find that current again.
"Enough," Jirou finally said as afternoon approached. "Return to the post training."
Back to getting knocked down repeatedly.
But this time, I brought the breathing pattern with me.
Standing on the center post, facing Jirou's strikes, I maintained the rhythm.
Inhale for eight. Hold for four. Exhale for eight. Hold for four.
I still fell—many times.
But not as often.
And each time I climbed back up, I found the breathing pattern faster.
"Better," Jirou acknowledged. "Your recovery improves."
As we finished for the day, I noticed him watching me with a slightly different expression.
Less dismissive. More... calculating.
"Tomorrow we add the final element to your foundation training," he said.
"What's that?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager.
"Pain endurance," he replied simply.
Of course.
It couldn't all be breathing exercises.
Later that evening, during our meditation session, Jirou expanded on the day's training.
"Essence Flow is like a river within you," he explained. "Most users have rapids and eddies—turbulence that wastes energy."
He traced a pattern in the air.
"Proper breathing smooths these disturbances, allowing greater efficiency with the same capacity."
"So even with my pathetic Flow rating, I could do more?" I asked.
Jirou nodded once.
"A master with 50 Flow can outperform a novice with 200," he confirmed. "Efficiency matters more than raw capacity in most situations."
That was encouraging.
My 15/100 Flow rating still made me cannon fodder, but at least I might become slightly more efficient cannon fodder.
"Rest now," Jirou instructed, rising to his feet. "Tomorrow will test your limits."
As he walked away, my eyes drifted back to those marked posts.
In the fading light, some of the symbols seemed to shimmer slightly.
Just a trick of the dying sun, probably.
I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing.
Inhale for eight. Hold for four. Exhale for eight. Hold for four.
The rhythm followed me into sleep.
When I next checked the outside world, a full day had passed.
I took the opportunity to check my status window again.
Name: Zensalem Holloway
Race: Human
Innate Essence: [Shadow]
Essence Rank: F+
Essence Flow: 18/100
Essence Mark: None
Vein Stability: 99%
Known Techniques: None
Affiliation: None
My Flow had increased again, and my Vein Stability was now nearly perfect.
Still F+ ranked, but I could feel the difference in my body.
The training was working, even if progress was slower than I'd hoped.
I returned to the Veilroot with renewed determination.
Jirou was waiting, a new set of training implements arranged before him.
"Your foundation strengthens," he observed. "Now we build upon it."
I nodded, ready for whatever came next.
"Begin your breathing," he instructed.
Inhale for eight. Hold for four. Exhale for eight. Hold for four.
The pattern now came naturally, like a second heartbeat.
And as I breathed, I could almost feel something flowing through me—waiting to be released.