Sifi shook her head, eyes wide with guilt. "Papa and the others haven't come back yet, Elder Leaf Owen. It's all our fault. If Sifeng and I hadn't gone swimming in the ocean, Brother A'Dunce wouldn't have gone after us."
Owen's heart was a knot of frantic worry, the familiar coiling poison inside him momentarily forgotten. It had been over a year since Dunce stumbled into his isolated life, a clumsy, kind-hearted kid whose simple existence had become a balm to his tormented soul. He couldn't blame the children now. His entire being strained towards the churning sea. Every morning, Dunce stared at that damn silver bun pastry by his bed, muttering about that alchemist, Gorith. The kid's raw, unwavering loyalty… Owen prayed fiercely, *Kid, hang on! You gotta hang on!* Dunce had been gone for over an hour.
Suddenly, two figures hauled themselves onto the beach – Sizhong and Sifa. Owen surged forward. "Did you find him?"
The brothers exchanged a look of failure. Sizhong spoke, voice rough against the wind. "Elder Leaf Owen, the waves were too strong. We couldn't go deep. Dunce… he's probably been swept out. We couldn't find him."
A cold, predatory glint flickered deep in Owen's eyes. The ghost of the man he once was stirred, whispering violence – *End them all for this failure.* But he was *Owen* now. He clenched his fist, the internal barrier holding the deadly toxin in check straining. "You tried," he said flatly. "Go back. Tandor't tell Cyril for now. I'll keep looking." The words tasted like ash.
Sifa protested, gesturing helplessly at the storm. "Elder Leaf Owen, it's impossible! The waves are monstrous! Finding anyone…"
"Impossible or not, I'll do it!" Owen's calm shattered, a raw edge of desperation in his voice. "He's all I have! Do you think I'll leave him to drown? Go!" His abrupt fury startled the three men. Silenced, they herded their children back towards the lights of the coastal town. Only the massive warships of the Westwave Fleet could brave these seas now.
Owen took a deep, grounding breath, fighting the trembling in his hands. He focused inward, reinforcing the volatile cage holding the No-Second Sacred Water poison. Drawing the sea air deep into his lungs, he let out a piercing cry that momentarily cut through the storm's roar. Then he *leapt*.
He soared, a human projectile arcing high over the surging waves, landing effortlessly on the crest of another roller nearly fifteen yards out. No hesitation. He became a ghost skimming the tortured ocean surface, riding the chaos with uncanny balance. The potent Life Rockforce-Rockforce Scripture energy within him pulsed, cycling constantly to fuel his impossible journey. The shoreline vanished behind the wall of water and rain. Searching the endless fury felt like seeking a single grain of sand in a desert storm. His energy reserves dwindled alarmingly fast.
Then – a streak of impossible gold! It darted just beneath the surface, moving against the current with unnatural speed. Instinct screamed at Owen. He pivoted, channeling his fading strength into pursuit, skimming waves like a blade. Five agonizing minutes later, he spotted it: a small, dark shape tossed like flotsam in the grey chaos. *Dunce!*
Pure, desperate relief ignited Owen's core. He roared, a primal sound torn from his throat. His right arm shot forward in a blinding arc of white light. For an impossible second, the advancing mountain of water *faltered*, shoved back by sheer, condensed force. Owen snatched the boy from the sea's greedy grasp, clamping him tight against his side. A frantic pulse check – weak, thready, but *there*! The kid was waterlogged, unconscious, but alive.
Owen twisted, Dunce clutched like precious cargo, and poured his remaining life-force into the race back. The Life Rockforce-Rockforce Scripture cycled madly, but it wasn't enough. The shore appeared, a taunting promise just out of reach. His reserves plummeted past the halfway mark – the critical threshold. The poison barrier wouldn't hold. With a curse swallowed by the wind, he plunged into the furious sea.
No elegant leaps now. This was raw survival. He swam with grim desperation, Dunce's deadweight threatening to pull them both under. Sea water choked him, salt burned his eyes, muscles screamed in protest. Memories of boyhood summers were cold comfort against the brutal reality. Inch by punishing inch, fighting the vengeful tide, he dragged himself and the boy back onto solid, blessed land.
"Owen!" Cyril's urgent shout pierced his exhaustion. The old fisherman, alerted by his terrified sons, had rushed down with them. They saw Owen collapse onto the sand, Dunce beside him. Sizhong scooped Dunce up; Sifa and Albus hauled Owen to his feet.
"Owen… are you…" Cyril grasped Owen's shoulder, voice tight with fear.
Owen gasped for air, feeling the precious Life Rockforce-Rockforce start its natural, potent restoration. Dunce was safe. The poison settled, dormant once more. "Cyril… I'll be… fine." He gestured weakly towards Sizhong. "The kid swallowed… half the ocean… get it… out of him." He managed a tired look at Cyril. "Tandor't… blame the little ones. Stupid kid… charged in… beyond his skill." He saw the simmering anger in Cyril's eyes.
Cyril whirled on his sons. "Your offspring caused this mess! That boy… he's got a heart too big for his own good!"
* * * * *
Dunce drifted into consciousness. His mouth tasted like salt and bile. Every muscle screamed; his stomach felt hollowed out. "Am… am I dead?"
Owen's voice, warm and solid, answered from the side. "If I'd been a few minutes later, you'd be feeding the crabs. Leaping into a maelstrom when you swim like a rock… seriously, kid?" He helped Dunce sit up, pressing a warm mug to his lips. "Drink this ginger tea. Warm you up."
Seeing Owen, the nightmare crashed back. Tears welled up. Dunce threw his arms around Owen's neck, sobbing uncontrollably. "WatanaOwen! WatanaOwen! Dunce died! Dunce died!"
Owen felt his own throat tighten. He gently pushed the mug aside, holding the boy's trembling form. "Hush, kid. You're safe. *Safe*. Drank a lot of saltwater, is all. Come on, sip the tea." He smoothed Dunce's damp hair.
Dunce pulled back, blinking tears away, searching Owen's face for reassurance. "Really… not dead?"
Owen managed a shaky smile, pinching Dunce's arm gently. "Feel that?"
"Ow!" Dunce flinched.
"See? Pain means alive. You scared ten years off me, you know that?" He helped Dunce drink the pungent, fiery tea. Warmth bloomed inside the boy, pushing back the chill and the fear. The fierce concern in Owen's eyes did something else – it melted the last barrier in Dunce's heart. In that moment, he truly *loved* this stern, complicated man who kept saving him.
Once the mug was empty, Owen eased him back onto the bed, tucking the blankets tight. "Too damn close, kid. If your life-force wasn't… stubborn… like a damn weed…" He shook his head, the fear still raw. "Never do that again. Courage is good. Stupid sacrifice is just… stupid. You need to weigh the fight."
Dunce struggled upright, eyes wide with renewed panic. "WatanaOwen! You have to go back! Sifi! Sifeng! I couldn't find them! They're drowning!"
Owen pushed him firmly back down, exasperated. "Kid, for a supposed genius with runes, you're dense sometimes. They swim like dolphins. They washed up an hour ago. Rest."
The fear drained instantly from Dunce's face, replaced by profound relief. "They're okay? Okay… good… good." He sank back, murmuring the reassurance to himself, tension dissolving.
Owen sat back down. "One other thing. What the hell happened to your leg? Looks like something speared clean through your thigh."
Dunce recounted the terrifying encounter – the dive, the rescue, the bizarre golden fish with its deadly dagger-spike, the weird energy transfer, and finally, letting it go free.
Owen's brows shot up. "Golden light… *that's* what guided me to you! So… the damn thing you saved *saved you*." He chuckled, a sound tinged with wonder. "Guess the universe pays debts, even to the naive." He paused. "It give you anything besides a puncture wound?"
Dunce's eyes lit up. He held out his left hand. "This!"
Owen leaned closer. Nestled on Dunce's finger was a simple ring, carved from pure white jade. Its surface was flawless, unadorned. But Owen sensed it immediately – a potent, pulsating energy humming within the stone. He carefully removed it. Warmth radiated from it against his palm. Channeling a thread of his Life Rockforce-Rockforce into it, he felt a distinct, swirling resistance pushing back, guarding its own inherent power. After a long moment, he slid it back onto Dunce's finger. "That's… something else, kid. Keep it safe. Power like that… it'll have purpose someday."
Dunce nodded, closing his hand protectively around the cool stone. He already cherished it.
"Rest now," Owen ordered. "Stomach needs settling. Rice porridge in the morning." He stood, blowing out the oil lamp. The storm had passed. Dunce was alive. A fragile peace settled over Owen.
Dunce's voice stopped him as he reached the door. "But… WatanaOwen… I didn't meditate tonight." For three years, deep meditation had been his constant anchor. Skipping it felt fundamentally wrong.
Owen turned back, a weary smile softening his face in the darkness. "Kid, one night off won't kill your progress. You need rest more. We'll start fresh tomorrow." He left, closing the door softly behind him.
Alone, Dunce gritted his teeth. Pain flared in his thigh. He knew Owen's hopes rested on him. He couldn't fail him. Clumsy or not, he owed Owen everything. He pushed himself upright, ignoring the screaming protest of his body. *Focus. Can't disappoint WatanaOwen.* Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he began the intricate process of gathering and circulating his depleted Life Rockforce-Rockforce energy. His mind drifted back to Owen's lesson earlier that day… *Focus the power… like a spear point…* The concept – **Point Impact Strike** – consumed his thoughts as he sank into the healing trance.
* * * * *
It took a brutal ten days for Dunce to fully recover. He felt the distance now; Sifi and Sifeng avoided him, blaming him for the scolding Cyril gave them over the reckless swim. Only Albus remained vaguely friendly. Rejection stung, but Dunce accepted it. His world shrunk again to meditation, textbooks on languages and geography Owen supplied (he was surprisingly fluent in Common Tongue, Imperial Gold, Westerlyn Basic, and the Free States dialects now), and the relentless pull of the Life Rockforce-Rockforce Scripture. Anger sharpened his focus.
Three years blurred past. Spring, summer, autumn, winter – cycles marked only by Dunce's growth (towering over Owen now at nearly 6 feet, lean but wire-tough) and the deepening well of power within him. His Life Rockforce-Rockforce Scripture energy breached the Fourth Layer – a feat Owen hadn't achieved until he was twenty-eight. Although Owen said true transformation began at the Fifth Layer, tangible power now coursed through Dunce. When he meditated, a faint white aura, like sea mist, clung to him. His 'sparring' dummy was the sea itself. Blue flames, hot and controlled, danced reliably at his fingertips. Secretly, he'd practiced **Fire Shower** – his blue orbs now small but fiercely bright, packing significantly more punch. He learned about kingdoms, wars, borders, and customs during stolen moments. Owen was a harsh, demanding mentor, pushing him constantly. And every morning, the silver bun on the bedside table was a silent tribute, a reminder of Gorith. But Owen filled the void, becoming the anchor, the demanding, indispensable pillar in Dunce's life. Gratitude burned bright, matching the lingering worry for his first teacher.
Spring, 992 A.S. (Age of Splendor).
"Come on, Dunce. Time for somewhere new. Lessons start now." Owen's voice held the familiar edge of challenge as Dunce finished breakfast.
Dunce blinked. "You mean… the flying jumps? Like you do?"
Owen cracked a rare half-smile. "Not flying. Just jumping efficiently. You'll get there. Three years here… you've moved faster than I dared hope. Fourth Layer Life Rockforce-Rockforce gives you a real foundation. Now… we build resilience. True resistance." A glint of anticipation shone in his eyes. "I had an idea. Spent days getting it ready. Let's go."
Dunce grinned. After years of meditative solitude and academic focus, the prospect of action – even punishing training – was exhilarating. "Alright!"
Leaving the cottage behind, Owen led Dunce south along the rugged coastline. After half an hour, they reached a jagged landscape of treacherous, wave-battered rocks.
"Found this place," Owen gestured. "Perfect. Nature provides the best training ground. Come." He wrapped an arm around Dunce's waist, effortlessly leaping them onto the largest central rock. The boom of ocean colliding with stone was a constant drumbeat. Today was sunny, but here, the waves still raged with primal fury.
"See that channel?" Owen pointed towards a chaotic gap amidst the reefs. Water surged through it, forced by surrounding rocks, gathering terrifying force before crashing into the cliffs beyond. In the heart of the maelstrom stood a thick post, maybe three feet wide, seemingly immune to the relentless assault. "That's your spot. I'll secure you to the pole. Arms are free. Your job: use Life Rockforce-Rockforce energy as shield energy, manifest it outward. Block those waves. Bare minimum – don't let them smash you flat. Channel power like I taught you: Three parts gather force internally, seven parts explode outward. Understand? Builds toughness *and* refines the Scripture. See?"
Dunce peered down at the churning hellscape. "How… how did you even get the pole *in* there?" It looked like an act of defiance against Poseidon himself.
Owen just smirked. "There's a bigger rock submerged beneath. Life Rockforce-Rockforce Scripture doesn't just flow *within* you, kid. You can *project* it into the world. Forged and drove it deep. Solid as bedrock." He assessed the pounding waves. "Today… it's baptism by seawater. Do your best. If a wave gets through… you're taking a beating. Two hours." With terrifying efficiency, Owen lifted Dunce, navigating the treacherous rocks to the pole. A small ledge provided a perilous foothold. Ropes, secured earlier, wrapped around Dunce's torso, binding him fast. As he worked, Owen's hands flashed like striking snakes. A shimmering, semi-translucent field of white light flickered around them. Despite the tons of water crashing nearby, not a single drop penetrated the three-foot barrier Owen held effortlessly. "Remember the principle. Observe the flow, adapt." He tapped Dunce's shoulder sharply. "See you in two hours." Without another word, Owen kicked off the pole, soaring gracefully through the spray to land on a distant outcrop. He vanished into the maze of stone.
**CRUNCH!** A monstrous wave slammed into Dunce like a runaway carriage. Saltwater choked him. Instinct kicked in. He threw up his hands, unleashing Life Rockforce-Rockforce energy in a desperate, unfocused blast. The energy dispersed like smoke, slowing the wave's impact but failing to stop it. Water hammered him, driving the air from his lungs. *Pain.* Waves weren't constant; monstrous surges alternated with deceptive lulls, giving him scant seconds to gasp for breath before the next onslaught. Each impact threatened to crush bone. Time stretched into an agonizing nightmare. He channeled furiously, but his bursts of energy were wild, inefficient – powerful sprays against an ocean. Sweat mixed with seawater on his brow. He remembered Owen's lessons on efficiency, on **Point Impact Strike**. *Focus!* He tried visualizing the power condensing, piercing. Progress was agonizingly slow. The **Point Impact** principle felt impossible amid the chaos. Hour one bled into hour two. His body felt like one massive bruise. His inner reservoir drained alarmingly. Finally, he gave a ragged gasp. Exhaustion won. His arms dropped, heavy as led. The shield vanished. He braced himself, curling inward, becoming nothing but a target. The waves seized their victory, pounding him relentlessly against the unyielding pole.
Owen hadn't left. He'd watched from a concealed vantage point, hidden amongst the rocks. Dunce's struggle was painfully clear – power wasted, reflexes slow. The kid had potential, but lacked natural fluidity, the instinctual efficiency of a true practitioner. Frustration warred with a reluctant admiration for Dunce's sheer, bullheaded endurance. He sighed. *The hard way it is.* He moved.
Leaping back to the pole, Owen cut the ropes with swift motions, catching the semi-conscious, trembling Dunce before he could crumple into the frothing channel below. He hauled his ward over his shoulder and bounded effortlessly to a sun-warmed, flat section of rock higher up.
Owen eased the sodden boy down. The sun blazed overhead. He positioned himself behind Dunce, powerful hands settling onto his shoulders. Warmth – potent, controlled Life Rockforce-Rockforce energy – flowed into Dunce's battered meridians like an electrical current. It shocked Dunce back to lucidity.
"Focus," Owen commanded, his voice resonating with power. "Center yourself. Gather energy. Cycle through the pathways!"
Dunce felt like wreckage. Muscles screamed. He hung limp in Owen's support. Only the powerful influx of energy kept him from collapse. Painstakingly, he reached for the frayed threads of his own depleted Life Rockforce-Rockforce, guided and amplified by Owen's surge. Gradually, the world narrowed. Pain receded. Awareness dimmed as he sank into a deep, healing trance.
Late afternoon sun warmed his eyelids. He woke to the familiar ocean roar. "Here. Eat." Owen thrust a woven basket at him – rough bread, dried salted fish. Hours of intensive cycling had restored his internal energy remarkably, but his muscles were waterlogged lead. He devoured the food ravenously – his preferred method of physical replenishment.
Only when the basket was empty did Owen speak. His face was stern, but Dunce saw the calculation behind his eyes. "You wasted potential today. Fourth Layer power? Should have held your ground for two hours, barely a scratch. Instead…" He gestured vaguely at Dunce's battered state. "All technique vanished when the pressure hit. Scattergun blasts, zero focus. Remember **Point Impact**? Why try to beat the *whole* ocean? Punch a *hole* through the wave coming at *you*. Conserve. Strike precise. Think!"
He grabbed the now-empty basket. "Process it." His parting look held no pity. He strode away, leaving Dunce alone with the crashing sea and the sting of failure.
Dunce stared out at the relentless ocean. The meal sat heavy in his stomach, sour with Owen's unspoken disappointment. Rare anger sparked in his chest, quickly replaced by the familiar, crushing weight of self-doubt. *I *am* stupid. Slow. Point Impact… how? Compress *everything*?* He replayed Owen's words, his actions, the terrifying power behind that white shield. **Point Impact Strike**. The idea consumed him as the sun dipped towards the horizon, painting the sea in fiery hues.
Back at the cottage, Owen had dinner ready, but disappeared quickly after: "Checking on Cyril." Dunce ate silently. He wouldn't give Owen another reason for disappointment. Forget meditation tonight. Sleep could wait. He dragged himself to his mat, assuming a lotus position. He closed his eyes, seeking the deep internal flow of the Life Rockforce-Rockforce Scripture. But his mind whirled, not around runes or pathways, but around one concept: **Point Impact Strike**. How to forge his energy into a weapon? A shield? Both? Compression… like squeezing air into a diamond?
Before the false dawn painted the sky grey, Dunce's eyes snapped open. He felt a core of brittle energy humming within him. Breakfast was ready when he knocked softly on Owen's door. "WatanaOwen? It's Dunce. Breakfast."
The door opened. Owen squinted, hair tousled, pulling on his loose tunic. "Pre-dawn initiative? This is new."
Dunce stood straighter. "I skipped meditation last night. Just cycled the Scripture. Twenty-seven cycles finishes faster when you focus just on them." He met Owen's curious gaze. "Let's eat. Then… the rocks. I want to try **Point Impact Strike**."
A slow, genuine smile spread across Owen's face as they ate the simple porridge in the predawn chill. The sea wind carried a bite. "Good. Thinking beats brute force ten times out of ten." He pointed towards the path south. "Remember the key: Three-Part Anchor inside, Seven-Part Outburst. Build the next strike while the last is firing. Perpetual Flow."
Dunce paused, a chunk of bread halfway to his mouth. He looked confused. "Three-Part Anchor? Seven-Part Outburst? But yesterday… I thought **Point Impact** was about gathering *everything*, like a doomsday hit. The **Annihilating Strike**?"
Owen stopped walking, genuinely surprised. He blinked, then chuckled, shaking his head. "Different tools, kid. Good you're thinking, good you're asking." He clapped Dunce's shoulder. "Listen. The **Annihilating Strike** *is* a form of Point Impact. Brutal simplicity. You funnel your entire reservoir – reserves, spirit, raw life-force – into a single, unstoppable projectile. It leaves you dry. Empty. Vulnerable." His expression turned grave. "It's the gambler's last roll. If it doesn't shatter *all* opposition instantly… you die. Use it only when death is the alternative to victory. Understand?"
Dunce absorbed this, filing the terrifying concept away. "So… **Point Impact Strike** is…?"
"Control," Owen stated firmly. "It's shaping the power – big or small – into a piercing blade, not an explosion. Same principle as Annihilation: Condense. Focus. But you *choose* how much power to unleash. Precise. Efficient." He gestured towards the rising sun, glinting off the rocks ahead. "Come on. Show me your **Annihilating Strike** vision first. Target: that rock." He pointed to a chunk of granite, about the size of a barrel, perched three yards away at the cliff's edge.
Dunce moved forward. The cool stone at his feet felt grounding. He visualized yesterday's desperate idea – the **Annihilating Strike**. He planted his feet wide, sinking into a stable stance. Eyes closed, shutting out wind and wave. He reached deep, calling forth the potent Life Rockforce-Rockforce energy in his Fourth Layer core. It surged eagerly through his meridians, answering his call. He funneled it upwards, ruthlessly channeling every spark, leaving nothing in reserve. His arms hung limply at his sides for a moment.
Then his right fist tightened. He drew it back towards his hip. The energy rushed towards it, an unstoppable torrent. Muscles coiled under his skin. A faint white corona that had briefly encircled him vanished, sucked inward violently.
Owen's breath hitched. He felt the shift – a massive concentration of power gathering, condensing with terrifying intensity at a single point: Dunce's fist. The light dimmed unnaturally around it, swallowed by the force being compressed there. The rock seemed to shrink in significance before that gathering potential.
Dunce drew a deep, ragged breath. He focused every ounce of will, *compressing* the swirling maelstrom within his fist into an impossibly dense core. It was less like light now, more like liquid mercury held under immense pressure, radiating lethal intent. He roared, a sound swallowed by the sea wind, and punched straight out from his hip – no flourish, just devastating forward momentum aimed at the rock.
**THOOOOMMMMM!**
A blindingly bright white shaft of pure, concentrated force, thicker than a spear and longer than a man's arm, erupted from Dunce's fist. It hit the granite rock like an angry god's hammer.
The impact wasn't just loud; it was *felt*. The rock didn't crack. It didn't chip. It vaporized into fist-sized chunks and a plume of white, mineral dust that erupted backwards over the cliff edge. Shrapnel rained down onto the rocks below, swallowed seconds later by the crashing surf. Where the rock had stood, only a deep, jagged scar remained etched into the cliff face.
Dunce gasped. All color drained from his face. He swayed violently, his legs buckling. His right arm hung limp and numb at his side. He felt completely hollowed out, a discarded husk. He sucked air desperately, vision spotting, the world tilting dangerously. Owen was instantly beside him, a steadying hand gripping his shoulder, the other subtly feeding a trickle of stabilizing energy back into his core.
"Lesson one," Owen stated, his voice calm despite the display. "Power is a beast. Control it, or it breaks *you* first. Now… let's talk **real** Point Impact."