The explosion in midair brought light shrapnel down on recruits, a chaotic shower of splintered bits with residual Qi, jagged shards of stone tore through the training ground with force. A violet-gold flare seared Wuhlou's eyes. The training yard with wooden runes and stone became a pock of pits and dirt. Recruits screamed as they choked on dus, a shard grazing Wuhlou's cheek, blood trickling but he stood firm.
His own allies were covered in most of the debris, coughing and staggering as ash settled over their training gear, their faces etched with shock and exhaustion. Tsera hit her knees, a plank in her thigh, face grit-streaked. Another recruit dragged himself up, arm limp, sleeve shredded with cuts. Wuhlou watched, cold and calculating, noting who rose.
Able to avoid the blast, Wuhlou only had a few light scratches on his arms and legs. A well timed lunge behind the nearest boulder had spared him, the scratches like faint maps on his skin. He flexed his fingers, pride flickering —he was still in it. His decision to take the jacket earlier had been a good one, now shredded, now proof of that. Around him, the cracked terrain of the training ground smoldered. Gray vapor, burnt moss and charred stone mingling as pebbles were still hot to the touch. His boots crunched debris, sharp against the groans around him.
Sergeant Foris threw a talisman out once the explosion was had ended, it healed everyone with a flare of green light that scattered across the yard, knitting flesh and fading burns as the recruits straightened upright, their bellyaching replaced by an uneasy silence. Foris cut through the chatter, boots thudding. Emerald light washed over them —Tsera's wound closed, cuts sealed, Wuhlou's scratches faded. Silence found it's way among the group but their eyes turned in unison to the corner.
The conviction sharp in their fixed gazes —Klairmon, who knelt shackled and chained to the training ground target posts, head bowed low as his chains clinked, lost his composure and began to scream wildly. His chains sounded softly at first with each shift, the defiant sneer wiped clean by his defeat. The chaos he'd unleashed moments before —just another of his many sins, the smugness, now gone.
Wuhlou's lip curled —this was justice.
"We take betrayal and attacking your allies seriously, there are no exceptions. Creating an explosion and taking out your teammates is not acceptable. You don't attack your allies. I would not have allowed anyone to die but tokens like that are unpredictable," Sergeant Foris said, his voice like steel. Foris's words hammered down, his gaze settling on Klairmon. "This isn't a game." He shook his head at the dead teenager sprawled across a charred patch of earth, caught too close to the blast's epicenter, then turned his sharp gaze back to the group. The boy lay twisted, skin blackened, face frozen. "That's on you, Klairmon," Foris said, then louder, "Discipline isn't optional."
The training continued throughout the day, an unrelenting gauntlet under the suns' watchful glare, their light now painting beyond in shifting shades. Twin suns blazed, sweat stinging Wuhlou's eyes as Foris drove them through sprints across cracked earth, moss sinking underfoot. He outpaced the pack, legs burning, their gasps fading behind. Wuhlou felt his body tighten with each step but in the next moment, nothing. Liberating, he kept his pace, separating himself from those around him.
The recruits' exhaustion soon turned to resentment, their fatigue sharpening into hostility. A burly recruit glared at Wuhlou during their training run. "Think you're untouchable, huh?" he snarled.
Wuhlou ignored him, eyes fixed ahead but Torv shoved him hard, nearly sending him sprawling into the moss. "Watch it," his blood pumping faster as he circulated Qi and concentrated on the path before him, he didn't even bother looking back, he knew what was to come. Torv grinned, a challenge gleaming on his slug-slick face. "Prove you're worth something," he taunted and tried to block Wuhlou's path. The others behind them slowed too, forming a loose circle, their breaths ragged but eager.
Wuhlou tightened his fist, he wouldn't back down like others and then regret it. With a quick shift, he sent his momentum into a serpentine run, no different from his run, like a snake through grass to dodge Torv's lumbering shove. Torv stumbled, off-balance and Wuhlou seized the moment. He drove his fist forward, channeling Qi through his knuckles. The punch landed on Torv's ribs with a crack, the impact shuddering through bone. Torv grunted and staggered back but his eyes showed his pain was more than that of a glancing blow.
Another recruit with a scar on his lip, rushed a kick at Wuhlou's legs. Wuhlou pivoted, kicking up a tangle of roots and dirt blinding him momentarily. As the boy shielded his eyes, Wuhlou landed a sharp jab to his jaw, sending him reeling further into a tumble.
Torv recovered, his weapon raised. He swung it in a wide arc aiming to crush Wuhlou's guard. Wuhlou raised his arms, the blow from the Hammer rattling his bones but he held firm. With an enemy showing a moment of weakness before him, Wuhlou drove his knee into Torv's gut, the impact doubling him over.
The recruits lunged again, fists swinging wildly. Wuhlou ducked low, sweeping his leg out -tangling the boy's ankles and sending him crashing to the ground. Torv roared, charging with a lowered shoulder —Bull Rush. As he charged, a the faint image of a bull appeared to tackle Wuhlou into the dirt. Wuhlou sidestepped then spun, slamming an elbow into Torv's back. It was like a taunt of his, driving him face-first into the moss.
The fight ended as quickly as it began, with Foris's shout cutting through the chaos.
Then, came the climbs on jagged cliffs, moss oozing, air thinning as Wuhlou ascended, his hands bleeding and muscles screaming, reaching the top just as the suns began to set.
The training session came to an end.
Twilight softened the sky, the moon rose. Wuhlou's breath fogged as he exhaled, resolve stirring beneath fatigue.
Sergeant Foris checked everyone's progress and was surprised, despite Wuhlou's efforts he showed no growth during training, his body enduring but his cultivation was stubbornly stagnant. Foris's brow furrowed—Wuhlou's energy flat while others flickered with Qi. "Wuhlou, come over here," he called, voice sharp.
Calling to Wuhlou after the class had ended typically meant punishment or penalty among those who had been in the sect, Wuhlou had no concept of that -his concious was clear and firm. Sergeant Foris' orders were only slightly difficult. Wuhlou approached, steady and clear, his chest still bouncing lightly from the day's exertion. Wuhlou met Foris's gaze, unbent.
"Kid, you were exceptional today but do you think you gained anything from it?" Foris asked, his tone unexpectedly mild, a rare softening that caught Wuhlou off guard. Foris leaned forward, curious.
"I learned that everyone is an asshole. Treat most of them like they need to be wiped out," Wuhlou didn't mince his words, his voice rasping from spores and fatigue, blunt as the edge of a training blade. His glare swept the recruits, truth raw on his tongue but also a provocation.
Foris barked a rare laugh, a rough sound that echoed off the stone walls to break the tension like a crack on ice. His jagged laugh showed it was not a lie, a grin tugging his scarred face.
"Don't let it get to your head, there are a lot more powerful people in this world. You'll make a fine soldier. Those schmucks behind you haven't been able to keep up no matter how hard they try but, they all gained some momentum today while you were a bit stagnant. I can't have that either." He pulled an booklet from his robes, "Here." "Take this and study it. Your fighting style is probably suited for it," it's cover faded and edges frayed, the Training Manual was lightly etched with runes -the leather barely visible even under the light. Foris pressed the Glazed Fist manual into Wuhlou's hands, a challenge wrapped in faded leather.
Wuhlou accepted it while a translucent flicker appearing in his vision, Whispers read the name aloud: Glazed Fist. The Black Bell hummed, "an interesting choice," as Wuhlou felt its promise.
"It takes time but it's worth it. I spent three years mastering it, I wonder how long you'll take," Foris laughed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he turned to leave. His gentle nudges lingered, light with camaraderie.
"Oh, and don't forget to pick up your salary. Regardless of your rank, everyone gets paid their first month. Those are all the cultivation resources you'll get from us until you advance." Sergeant Foris tossed the words casually, a pointed reminder. He waved his hand and was swallowed in a flash of light, leaving Wuhlou clutching the manual with his own resolve searing at it's cover.
Wuhlou opened the book, dozens of hand exercises and a medicinal recipe caught his eye at first glance —diagrams of stances flowing into strikes, sketches of herbs he vaguely recognized from the cliffs and forest, and an odd description of an elusive burning weed he couldn't quite place. Pages crackled, showing fists in motion and herbs —bitterroot, glowcaps, the jagged weed were teasing his memory.
He couldn't read any of it as the ancient script twisted gently in front of his eyes. The pictures and ingredient lists were clearly written but wholey inadequet in his hands. The pictures however, spoke a language of motion and potential, he could feel the Qi in his foundations pump harder as the runes danced.
Back in the dorms, Wuhlou sat to cultivate. The cold stone floor grounded him as he crossed his legs, the Glazed Fist manual laid open beside him. The bare walls and icy floor calmed his mood and centered his focus, the manual splayed in dim light.
Hundreds of Spiritshards orbited the room, small crystalline fragments pulsing with faint Qi, their soft rythmn filled the silence with energy that seeped and clawed. Shards spun, glinting, their vibrating Qi tugging at the space around him, a flush spiraled to envelop him. Spiritshards quikly depleted, others replaced them just as fast, a steady cycle that bathed the walls in patterns like phantoms.
A shard faded, another flared —shadows twisted.
"This is going to be interesting," Whispers watched intently, his voice a soft echo. Indeed it is, it mused.
Wuhlou sank deeper, the energies swirled in waves. As he began to cycle his breathing techniques the colors bloomed, richening their distinct traits almost visibly —crimson blood, azure rivers, golden threads, all pulsing with his breath.
The next morning arrived with a damp chill, sweat still struggled to form on his brow when the first bits of mist that clung to the sky. Dawn crept, heavy, this horizon smudged in gray, "Rain?" Wuhlou was sure to bring his tattered jacket.
Foris led the recruits to the edges of the forst where giant mushroom towered overhead, their caps glowing faintly.
"Today, you navigate blind," Foris declared, his voice cutting through the rustling leaves and distant chirps of unseen creatures.
"Find last week's clearing using only Qi Sensing. Pair up —one guides, one follows. Switch halfway. Move." Foris's challenge landed, he left no room for discussion as the recruits pairied off tensely.
Lira, her sharp eyes matched her posture well, gestured, pointing, You're with me."
Wuhlou chose to nod.
"You guide first," she said, tying a rough blindfold over his eyes with a knot that dug into his skull. The cloth scraped, knot pressing his vision into darkness swallowed his surroundings.
He reached out with his senses. Darkness, then faint Qi threads felt scattered in every direction. The forest Qi was overwhelming, a chaotic symphony of life. It roared, wild, threatening to drown his fragile senses. Mushroom trees lit like beacons, their energy steady but the path was a tangle of roots, fungi and faint flickers beneath the soil —small creatures, hidden streams, the heartbeat of the earth itself.
His first step caught a loose root, nearly pitching him into the spore-choked muck. He lurched, Lira's "Steady!" merely annoyed him.
"Left," Lira snapped, her voice void of sympathy and he adjusted, coughing as spores clogged his throat. He swung left, spores burning, wrenching a cough while she giggled from behind.
By the time they switched, Wuhlou guided Lira with confidence —"Step up, root ahead. Right, slow." Blindfold off, he led, voice firm, senses sharpening, reaching the clearing ahead of most.
Foris stood waiting with his arms crossed, his face carried the scent of crushed glowcaps that signaled their arrival. Sergeant Foris nodded.
"Well done," he said simply, turning to look for the stragglers still emerging from the mist.
"Next trial.." Foris wasn't going to wait, he postured to move.
As dusk settled Sergeant Foris led them deeper to a secluded grove where giant mounds formed a natural circle, their hills were imposing with ethereal light that bathed the mossy ground.
"Sit," Foris instructed, his was voice low, soft but firm. "Clear your minds. Feel the Qi —let it flow through you." He urged them to open up their senses.
Wuhlou sank into thought, he decided to open the manual and take another peek. Restless energy gathered inside of him as moonlight streamed through the openings in the canopy above, the silver pages caught the moonlight. He flipped through the manual, studying, looking for anything that seemed like he could recognize.
"You haven't opened your meridians, this technique will destroy your cultivation if you try it now. You're not even in the manifestation realm, you should absorbing spirit shards. Learn how to sense it as you go, don't blindly absorb random energies either. Manage them within your body. Forcing it will only lead to disaster," Whispers didn't need any problems this in Wuhlou's cultivation, he reiterated his words, assuring clarity. "One misstep.." his voice an echo cutting through Wuhlou's frustration.
The Mossy circle was charged with Qi, it's linger thick and visible. Sergeant Foris stood after his demonstration, "There are a lot of differnt kinds of Qi. The more familiary you are with them, the better off you'll be. Continue with your cultivation and don't skip the effort."
Whispers wanted Wuhlou to return to the dorms, it was easier to conceal his development alone.
"I'll go inside in a minute, I just want to stare at the sky," Wuhlou understood what Whispers meant even when lost in his own thoughts, he gazed upward through the space in the Mushrooms, eyes stuck on streaks that passed in the heavens —meteors or signals?.
Each Morning's twilight seemed to arrive faster and they were running, again. For almost a Month, Wuhlou had spent everyday running. Unlike the other trainees, he never wavered in his pursuit of bettering himself and yet he could hear the words clearly from a distance away pushing him into greater potential.
"Keep up or drop out," Wuhlou could hear Sergeant Foris' words echoing about a hundred meters in front of him as the midmorning suns beat down from above, his voice booming across the training grounds like a war drum. Foris's shout jolted everyone but Wuhlou, if the students kept sight of his trail they were worth training, if not, then they were told to go home. Most of the student's had already dropped out of the Military entrance training.
Wuhlou followed Sergeant Foris' movements closely, legs pumping, lungs full in the open wilds —Wuhlou ran, Foris his beacon. Tens of kilometers away, the center of the field was filled with waist-high grasses, Wuhlou pushed himself, the only one to reach the clearing —the others lost or too exhausted.
"Not bad, kid," he said, his voice carrying over the rustling grass. Sergeant Foris's praise landed flat, grudging.
"Is this where we're supposed to fight or something?" Wuhlou asked, wiping sweat from his brow with a sleeve already damp and streaked with dirt, his breath settling from the run.
"Here's where I test your combat effectiveness. After a run like that, you've got pent-up energy. Use it." Foris drew his blade and postured his stance. Though it would seem arrogant from another's perspective, Wuhlou understood that there were things he needed to face and some things would be stronge. Just when he was about to pull Ellinger's Rot from his back, Sergeant Foris stopped him cold.
"Don't attack or infuse any Qi. Just trace my movements and pay attention to my footwork," he instructed, his steps erratic but precise, a challenge eager students couldn't resist. Foris wove a wild pattern, daring him.
Mimicking the steps with his own blade heavy in his hands, dragging out his movements slightly, Wuhlou's sword was much light as he followed, even when his blisters began weeping it couldn't break his attention, tracing the dance.
"Glazed Finger," Lifting his hand to point, a the rock exploded into dust some distance away, a burst of force that left Wuhlou squinting. Foris turned his hand lightly, rock shattered some distance away —a glimpse of power. "I was never any good at this but I didn't start learning till I was much older than you are now. We won't meet for another week so keep up the training. Get what you want out of this or you'll have nothing but regrets." Foris's tone softened, a nudge.
"Sir," Wuhlou said, clasping his hands in respect, the weight of the lesson settling into his bones before he bowed.
A few days later, restless and driven by a need to test hisself, Wuhlou ventured far off the paths he'd usually take into the forest alone, the academy's spires piercing the mist behind him as he moved deeper—spores pulsing faintly as he approached, distant and distinct sensations bled through the tangled undergrowth but beast cries lured him.
From the shadows, a Spore Stalker crashed through the thicket, lithe and agile, its body a patchwork of growths that clung to its sinewy frame like armor. Large tendrils of ick trailed from its limbs, tipped with barbs carrying venom. It burst forth —lean, swift, tendrils swaying in it's wake.
Wuhlou's pulse quickened, he had seen wildlife and strange beings a few times in his life. The plague regions he grew up in were a dangerous place but it was nothing like what he was seeing, his adrenaline surged. The rush sharpened him, no Qi —just instinct that forced his mind into the situation. His curiosity fell away, replaced by a resolve to fight something unexpected.
The Stalker circled, its movements erratic as if to study him, darting steps that blended into the backdrop. It toyed with him, elusive, testing. Then, with a hiss that split the silence, it lunged, claws slashing in a blur. It's hiss cut like claws in a storm.
Tendrils whipped forward —barbed tips sliced through the air.
Wuhlou ducked, rolling across the loamy ground, the damp earth, mud smearing across is body. He sprang up, blade in hand, tracing Foris's footwork in a less than graceful manner. He shifted his steps, weaving side to side, evading the creature's strike. His blade came down in a forceful arc, biting into the Stalker's shoulder, dark fluids splashed from the wound.
The creature recoiled, releasing a cloud of spores that blistered his skin. Wuhlou gathered Qi in his throat while he exhaled sharply -dispersing the cloud enough to see through the haze. He charged, slashing at the Stalker's flank, the blade sinking deep. The creature thrashed, tendrils flailing but Wuhlou pressed on, driving his sword into its chest with a roar.
The Stalker wasn't done.
With a guttural screech, it reared back, its claws slashing in a wide arc in a fungal frenzy —Wuhlou to leap aside, his jacket tearing further. No longer a jacket, it became a rag that caught on everything. He countered with a sweeping motion wit Ellinger's Rot, his leg hooking a root to yank it toward the beast, tripping its stance. The Stalker stumbled, and Wuhlou lunged, piercing its exposed neck, ichor sprayed but the creature lashed out with a final Lash, grazing Wuhlou's arm with a stinging barb.
Another wound he could have avoided, Wuhlou grit his teeth, shaking off the venom's burn and shifted his weight again, circling the wounded beast. The Stalker snapped its jaws, releasing a burst of toxic mist. Wuhlou ducked low, holding his breath, then slashed through an opening with Ellinger's Rot into the creature's skull, cracking its armor-like growths. The Stalker staggered and Wuhlou finished it, plunging his sword deep into its core with a guttural yell.
Wuhlou's patience wasn't paying off, he was poisoned and it took to long for him to spot an opening, the spore stalker moved a lot more than he thoguht it would in the struggle. He gripped Ellinger's Rot, lunging forward with a desperate swing. He struck its skull, cleaving a portion away to ensure it was dead..
Wuhlou stood over its corpse, chest heaving, blood and spores mingling on his skin, still alive. His breath bellowing —proof that he had tested himself but the poison was leaving him little choice, he limped back to the Academy and stumbled into the alchemy lab, passing out in it's doorway.
A feeling of Cold washed over Wuhlou, a splash of water to the face forced his awareness into the present. He awoke and looked around. Three women stood over him annoyed, they threw towels and told him to sit up. "Teacher will be back in a moment." one of them said, though Wuhlou couldn't quite decide which one had spoke, his eyes still burned from the fight and his arm -grabbing his arm, he noticed it was bandaged.
Fresh medicinal scents wafted over from a doorway, a Wealthy Man in fine robes stepped forward. His eyes scanning over Wuhlou still sitting on the bed, "Well, come over here."
Wuhlou let go of his arm and stood up, a few feet away the man held out his hand, Qi ementaing in light waves. He looked pained when he looked over Wuhlou's condition "..it doesn't seem like there's anything wrong with you, I found it difficult to find any traces of the poison on your body but the spores covering you were a tell tale sign. I've given you some antidote and looked at you again, you should be fine to go back to training in a day or so." Handing Wuhlou a bill for his treatment, the man stood and left.
"A bill?" Wuhlou scratchd at his head. He paid the bill in spiritshards and went back to his dorm.
That night, he spent the evening performing breathing exercises, his exhausted mind finally clearing as energies surged in his body. Meditation helped clear his thoughts and Qi began to rise. Subtle at first and then a flood, a flash of light followed, wreathing his body, the energies sent a wave of force outward.
"You've broken through," Whispers said, hovering silently. He observing the shift in Wuhlou's energy, "There it is. Describe it." Tell me, his own interests piqued.
"Lots of types. Colorful, moving everywhere," Wuhlou's senses looked around in the room trying to find a way to explain, he struggled to find the words, the chaos swirling within him, his voice rough with awe.
"Reach out to one," Whispers instructed patiently. "Pick one," it urged. "Imagine it drawing into you —don't force it. Let it pass into you as you cultivate that's the Breathing Phase."
Wuhlou's gaze kept returning to a crude carving in the wall —a broken ship etched by some forgotten hand, its energy tugging at him, faint but insistent, brighter than the other wisps in the room. The rough ship carving pulled, calling. The stone cracked as soon as he made contact, revealing a bead that fit nicely into his hands, a Sea Dragon Core, heavy with latent power.
Shocked, Whispers showed incredulence and stopped himself from asking if the boy was a love child of the gods, "Refine it later —at the Transformation Stage. Store it for now," Whispers ordered. He could not afford to have Wuhlou falter at such an early stage.
Wuhlou didn't quite understand why but he slipped it into his storage ring and resumed cultivation, letting the energies flow, building his foundation breath by breath. A fierce pang lanced loose a meridian when he pushed too hard —a reminder of his limits that lingered from the night before, pain stabbing —a sensation he would have to overcome.
Walking the academy's stone halls, Wuhlou's path crossed a lean figure —Kael, tall and sharp-featured, his eyes glinting with a smug edge. "Heard you took down a Spore Stalker," Kael said, voice smooth and loud enough to turn heads. "Not bad for a scrappy kid."
Wuhlou didn't break stride. He glanced at Kael —another flashy type, all talk and no substance —then kept moving. "Strength matters. Not your opinion," he said, flat and final, his boots echoing on the stone. He was unsure how Kael found out but the news had spread fast. Kael's smirk faltered, Wuhlou was already past him, focus locked on the training yard ahead.
Kael called after him, "Keep that attitude —it'll make enemies!" Wuhlou didn't turn. Enemies were nothing new and Kael wasn't worth the effort. Just another loudmouth in a world full of them.
In the barracks, the gossip grew louder —snatches of talk about the Water Dragon Clan's siege on the Fuchsia Sect, a conflict far from them, its happenings commonplace in the world.
Wuhlou overheard the mention of a "Sea Dragon Core," a relic tied to the clan's ambitions and his hand brushed his finger, the ring cold to his touch, its secret within humming.