"The foundational spear techniques are divided into four offensive and two defensive forms," Zaire began, his tone steady and instructional. "We'll start with the offensive ones."
He reached into his pocket and produced over a dozen green leaves, each broad and supple, and handed them to Jabari. "When I say go, throw them into the air."
Jabari accepted the leaves and stepped back, his curiosity mounting. As he watched Zaire take three slow steps backwards and settle into position, he felt something shift.
Zaire's aura, usually calm and composed like a placid lake, had changed. It was still calm, yes – but it was the calm before the storm, tense and charged with potential energy.
"First technique: [Thrust]."
At the signal, Jabari tossed the leaves into the air.
Zaire sprang into action.
With both hands on the spear, he stepped forward and thrust. The tip of the wooden weapon pierced the first leaf perfectly at its centre, then twisted, flowed, pivoted – another thrust, then another. His entire body turned fluidly with each motion, as though his joints had been replaced by water.
Jabari watched, mesmerised.
'It's almost impossible to tell where one attack ends and the next begins,' he thought. 'There's no pause, no wasted motion. Just seamless, flowing strikes.'
By the time the final leaf had been skewered, Zaire stood once more in his original spot. Every single leaf was impaled, stacked neatly on the spear's tip like offerings on a sacred blade.
Then, Zaire turned his gaze to the sky and thrust the spear upward. The impaled leaves launched into the air in a scattered bloom, fluttering like green birds taking flight.
"The second technique: [Slice]."
As each leaf floated down into range, Zaire gripped the spear with both hands once more and began to move. His swings were neither rushed nor forceful, but precise – deliberate. The spear danced through the air, cleaving each leaf into two symmetrical halves, each cut as clean as if done by a blade of steel.
The leaves, now halved, spun back into the air, caught in the wake of the next motion.
To Jabari's eyes, it was almost as though the leaves were choosing to be cut – moving to meet the path of Zaire's spear.
Then he noticed something else.
All of the half-leaves began falling in a perfect semi-circle around Zaire.
Zaire shifted his stance, stepping into a grounded pose with his arms crossed over his body. He now held the spear in his right hand alone, his grip near the base of the shaft.
Jabari's eyes widened. In that moment, Zaire no longer looked like the composed instructor from earlier. He had become something else entirely – an unyielding general amidst the chaos of war, and the leaves descending around him were enemy soldiers charging his flank.
"Third technique: [Sweep]!"
The spear swept out in a wide, commanding arc. The halved leaves were sliced again – quartered now, clean and effortless. The motion was powerful but never forced. It was as if the spear itself wanted to move this way, and Zaire merely followed its will.
Then Zaire stilled once more, but his aura flared like a struck drum.
"Fourth technique: [Lunge]!"
He locked onto one of the quarter-leaves, now spiralling just in front of him. Still wielding the spear in a single hand, he stepped forward.
In an instant, Zaire changed.
Gone was the general. In his place stood a god of war.
The air seemed to hum around him, vibrating with momentum and intent. His left foot stayed anchored as his right foot drove forward like a piston. His torso coiled, his shoulders aligned, and his spear flashed forward like a bolt from the heavens.
Boom!
The quarter-leaf exploded into shreds – and behind it, one of the training dummies now bore a gaping hole in its chest, the wood splintered inward as though a cannonball had struck it.
To the untrained eye, it looked like a more powerful version of the technique Jabari had used to defeat Gichinga during the assessment. But Jabari's eyes weren't untrained anymore.
Without realising it, he had begun channelling his bloodline ability, enhancing his perception to unnatural levels. Every flicker of muscle, every pivot of the foot, every shift in grip – he saw it all.
'Footwork. Arm positioning. Hand placement. Timing.'
Jabari's mind buzzed as he replayed the movement over and over, noting the dozens of subtle adjustments that made all the difference.
'There are so many mistakes I made,' he realised, staring at Zaire with wide eyes. 'And so much more to learn.'
"The main differences between the [Thrust] and [Lunge], and the [Slice] and [Sweep], come down to range, control, and power," Zaire explained calmly, voice measured with the cadence of a seasoned instructor.
"The [Thrust] and [Slice] require the use of both hands. This gives you enhanced control over your spear – meaning faster, more precise attacks with greater stability. They're ideal for situations requiring repeated strikes in rapid succession."
He shifted the spear in his grip, gently rotating it as he continued, his eyes not on Jabari but on the weapon itself – like a man speaking to an old friend.
"The [Lunge] and [Sweep], however, are executed with a single hand. This frees your range, allowing the spear to move more freely across space and generate far greater power. You might be wondering how that's possible – how one hand could possibly generate more power than two."
He paused, smiling faintly.
"That answer," he said, "is momentum."
Zaire's fingers tightened on the shaft of the spear, reverence shining in his gaze.
"When used correctly, the spear is a weapon that never loses energy – it builds it. Every motion feeds the next. The [Lunge] and [Sweep] cover more distance than their two-handed counterparts, and the further your spear travels, the more momentum it gains. That's the secret."
Though he faced away, there was a light in his eyes that could be felt more than seen – a raw, unfiltered passion. In that moment, he wasn't just an instructor lecturing a student – he was a true Wielder in his element.
"Next are the two defensive techniques: block and parry-"
Zaire turned back to face Jabari – and froze.
Jabari wasn't listening.
He wasn't moving.
He wasn't even present.
He stood completely still, eyes unfocused, staring into the distance as if beholding something far beyond the walls of the training hall.
"Is he-?"
"Quiet!" Aziz snapped from the side, not taking his eyes off his disciple. "He's experiencing a bout of sudden enlightenment."
Zaire blinked, stunned. "A what-?"
"Quiet. Just watch!" Aziz said again, barely above a whisper, as if raising his voice might break whatever delicate thread was connecting Jabari to this moment.
Without a sound, Jabari crouched, raising his wooden glaive to chest height with both hands. His posture settled into a textbook [Thrust] form – though it was anything but deliberate.
There was no performance in his movement. No conscious effort. He was in it.
Minutes passed. Ten… then fifteen…
Jabari didn't move. He didn't speak. He hardly breathed. His entire body trembled with an unseen energy, as if each muscle fibre was vibrating with truth.
Zaire and Aziz watched, spellbound, as subtle adjustments occurred in real time. A tilt of the wrist. A lowering of the shoulders. A narrowing of the stance.
Slowly, inevitably, Jabari's form transformed.
Perfect.
He had become a reflection of Zaire himself.
No. More than that. He was becoming something beyond imitation – a convergence of comprehension and expression. A child of insight born not through repetition, but revelation.
Then, without warning, Jabari closed his eyes.
And still, he did not move.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
He remained frozen as if branding the sensation into the marrow of his bones.
Then, snap.
His eyes jolted open.
And something in them had changed.
Aziz narrowed his eyes, a rare glimmer of awe flickering in his usually unreadable gaze. He could feel it – Jabari's aura had shifted. It no longer pulsed wildly with unrefined energy. No, it had become something else entirely.
Unbending… heavy… sharp…
Like the very glaive he held.
"First Form: [Thrust]!"
Jabari's voice rang out, steady and resonant.
His glaive moved like lightning chained to purpose. The training dummies barely had time to register the strikes as the weapon tore through their wooden frames again and again – each thrust flawless, fluid, and devastating. They resembled a meteor shower – fierce and relentless, a storm of spears falling upon the earth.
"Second Form: [Slice]!"
The gleaming arc of the glaive swept forward, and limbs flew.
Arms. Necks. Cleanly severed.
The weight behind each strike was measured, the motion refined – yet it flowed just as Zaire's had earlier, if not more naturally. Each slash led to the next, an elegant dance of destruction that left nothing untouched.
"Third Form: [Sweep]," Jabari whispered.
The glaive spun low, cutting cleanly through the dummy's midsection. There was no resistance – just motion, a hot blade gliding through wax.
Zaire's eyes widened. He recognised the mastery behind the movement. This wasn't imitation.
It was embodiment. Then the air grew heavier.
"Fourth Form…"
Jabari's voice deepened, not with effort, but with presence – as though a slumbering presence had awoken within. The ground beneath him seemed to tense as his aura expanded like an invisible storm.
He planted his left foot, and with a pivot that mirrored Zaire's own technique, lunged forward.
"[LUNGE]!"
The glaive roared through the air, striking the centre of the dummy's chest with terrifying force. The wooden construct didn't just break – it exploded, hurled backwards as though struck by a siege weapon, a gaping hole torn through its core.
Zaire stood frozen, his jaw slack, his spear nearly slipping from his grasp.
"This… this is… How is this possible?!"
His gaze shifted—not to Jabari, but to the faint, flickering white aura that now laced itself around the boy's glaive. It was faint… but it was unmistakable.
Battle Force.
A breath later, Jabari stirred, blinking in confusion.
"That feeling…
How did I…
What was that?"
He remembered every movement. Every strike. Each one had come from his hands – but not his mind. If he tried again now, he wasn't sure he could repeat any of it.
"It's called sudden enlightenment," Aziz said from the side, his voice carrying the weight of experience.
"Sudden enlightenment?"
Aziz nodded. "An incredibly rare state of mind – one most cultivators only dream of. While in that state, your ability to comprehend what you're focused on increases a hundredfold… sometimes a thousandfold. For that short time, your body and spirit understand things your conscious mind could never grasp."
"But then… why do I feel like I've already forgotten it?"
"That's normal," Aziz said with a shrug. "Your mind forgets. But your body… it remembers. Not perfectly, and the sensation will fade with time. That's why it's crucial you work hard to transform that fleeting understanding into true mastery. Before the memory slips through your fingers like sand."
He turned to Zaire, who was still staring at Jabari like he'd just seen a mythical beast hatch from an egg.
"I'm trusting this brat to your capable hands now," Aziz said with a chuckle. "Don't be afraid to rough him up if he slacks off."
With that, he turned and strode away, leaving behind a shell-shocked Elder and a disciple still reeling from the awakening of something far greater than he'd ever imagined.
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