I staggered against the wall of the training hall, still tasting copper on my tongue. My chest rose and fell like a blacksmith's bellows, each breath dragging fire into my lungs. My knuckles ached, my ribs screamed, but the image of Joren walking away — his arm lit crimson, like molten iron — replayed endlessly in my mind.
I clenched my fists. I had fought with everything I had, and yet he left without a scratch.
A shadow fell across the doorway. I raised my head.
"Not bad," Callan said, his arms crossed, leaning casually against the entrance. His grin was lopsided, but his eyes told me he'd seen everything. "You lasted longer than I expected."
I tried to stand straighter, brushing the blood from my lip, but my body betrayed me with a sharp jolt of pain.
"You saw all of it?" I asked.
"Every second." He stepped forward, his boots echoing against the stone floor. "And I came to tell you something. Two things, actually."
I narrowed my eyes. "What things?"
He stopped a few feet away, his grin shifting into something steadier, almost proud. "I've reached Martial Master rank."
The words hit harder than any of Joren's punches.
"You… what?"
He nodded. "Stage one. Officially. And I'm not the only one. The girl you've been tripping over your own tongue for? She's Martial Master rank too."
My chest tightened. "You mean—"
Callan smirked knowingly. "Yes. Her."
I felt the floor tilt beneath me. My friends, my rivals, even the one I cared about most — all of them were stepping ahead, leaving me chasing shadows.
Callan reached out and tapped his fist lightly against my shoulder. "Don't sulk. Take this as fuel. Study the martial arts. That's what pushed me through. Techniques sharpen will, and will sharpens strength. Remember that."
His fist lingered for a heartbeat before he pulled back. "Don't waste time sulking, Zander. You've got fire in your bones — now burn with it."
He turned and walked toward the exit, leaving only the echo of his steps. My jaw tightened. His words didn't crush me. They ignited me.
I whispered to myself, barely audible. "I'll catch up. I'll surpass you."
"Will you now?"
The voice slid across the room like a blade against whetstone. Sensei had been silent until now, watching from the shadows of the far wall. His gaze was as sharp as ever, his arms folded behind his back.
"Sensei," I said, bowing instinctively.
He stepped forward, the weight of his presence pressing on me more than Joren's fists ever had. "Do you know what you faced today?"
I swallowed. "Joren. A Martial Master."
"Wrong." His voice cracked like a whip. "You faced only a sliver of what a Martial Master can do. Joren showed you his physical foundation. Nothing more. No martial techniques. No soul resonance. Only the raw body of his stage."
I froze. My fists trembled. "Then… that wasn't his full power?"
Sensei's eyes narrowed. "Seventy, perhaps eighty percent of his physical strength. And you still fell short."
Shame coiled in my gut, but I didn't look away.
Sensei's tone softened slightly, though the edge remained. "Do not misunderstand. Enduring as long as you did is no small feat. But you must see the gulf for what it is. Martial Master is not a title. It is a new existence."
He paced slowly, each step deliberate. "At stage one, a Martial Master's strike should at least reach nine thousand newtons of force. As they progress through the nine sub-stages, their power may rise toward thirty thousand newtons. That is the scale you must begin to measure yourself against."
The numbers struck me harder than Callan's revelation. Nine thousand… thirty thousand… How could flesh and bone withstand such force, let alone produce it?
Sensei stopped, turning his gaze on me with surgical precision. "And then, there is talent."
He raised a finger. "Force is not only about training. It is multiplied by the vessel, the mind, and the soul. Three pillars. Three multipliers."
I held my breath as he spoke.
" Body — the vessel. An average body can only output what its muscles and bones allow, barely one times its base force. A talented body may double it. But a genius body? Three, four, even five times. They are born with marrow like steel and veins that channel energy like rivers."
His hand shifted to his temple. " Mind — technique. An average mind wastes motion, leaks energy. But a talented mind compresses power into precision. A genius mind? Efficiency so sharp that every ounce of force lands without waste."
Finally, he pressed a hand to his chest. " Soul — resonance. The rarest multiplier. A weak soul offers nothing. A talented soul begins to amplify the body's force, perhaps doubling it. A genius soul aligns with heaven and earth, bending laws, amplifying three to five times what the flesh alone could achieve."
The words sank deep, each one etching itself into my resolve.
"And Joren?" I asked, my throat dry.
Sensei's lips thinned. "Stage one Martial Master. Fire affinity, which has gifted his body unnatural resilience and explosive strength. His body is at the level of a genius. His mind, talented. But his soul? Poor. That is why he has not yet broken into deeper resonance. Even so, he currently displays a multiplier of three."
Three times… My stomach twisted. If his base was nine thousand, that meant…
I couldn't finish the thought.
Sensei's gaze sharpened. "Do you understand now? You fought only Joren's body. And it was enough to crush you."
I didn't answer. My silence was answer enough.
Sensei let the weight of his words settle before continuing. "Yet, you did not break. That is why I will give you this."
From his sleeve, he drew a small vial. Its liquid shimmered faintly, like molten silver swirling in glass.
"This is the Vial of Iron Will," he said. "It nourishes the body and sharpens the mind, allowing you to push past exhaustion. With discipline, it will let you train longer, study deeper. Abuse it, and it will break you. Do you understand?"
I took the vial with both hands, bowing low. "Yes, Sensei."
His eyes lingered on me, unreadable. Then he turned, gesturing for me to follow.
"Come."
We walked through the stone corridors of the training hall, past doors I had never entered. The air grew colder, heavier, until we reached a reinforced chamber. At its center stood a machine of steel and stone, braced with thick columns. Its face was a massive plate with glowing inscriptions, numbers etched along its frame.
"This machine measures force," Sensei explained. "It can withstand fifty thousand newtons before failure. It will not break under you."
I stepped closer, my heart pounding. This was it. A chance to see where I stood, not in theory, but in truth.
"Strike it," Sensei commanded.
I steadied my breath, planting my feet. My fist drew back. Every lesson, every ounce of pain from Joren's blows — I channeled them into this moment.
"Haah!"
My fist crashed against the plate. The impact reverberated through my bones, a shockwave echoing in the chamber. The machine hummed, runes flickering before the number solidified.
6,047 N.
The digits burned into my eyes.
I exhaled sharply. Lower than stage one. Lower than Callan. But it was mine. My truth.
Sensei's gaze flicked to me. "Again. Your kick this time."
I nodded, shifting my stance. My leg whipped out, the strike landing with a thunderous crack. The machine shuddered before settling.
7,133 N.
Slightly higher. But still far below the standard.
I clenched my fists, forcing myself not to look away.
Sensei studied me quietly, then spoke. "To you, these numbers feel heavy. But let me give you perspective. Six thousand newtons is like the strike of a professional sledgehammer… or the weight of a truck slamming into you at highway speed. You already wield the power to shatter stone and bones with ease. But compared to a Martial Master, you are a child among titans."
The words didn't sting this time. They burned — a fire in my chest, urging me forward.
I stared at the machine, my reflection faint in its steel. My voice came low, steady, but unyielding.
"No matter the challenge… I will overcome it all."
The chamber fell silent, but the oath lingered in the air like a brand.