When the first pale ray of dawn split the horizon, the Azure Sapphire Company's training ground already bore a lean, stubborn figure.
"Faster! Faster still! Enemy blades won't wait for you to set your stance!" Randell's roar rolled like thunder, his wooden staff striking Arthur's back with a whoosh, stinging pain making him stagger. "In life-or-death combat, hesitating an instant means feeding vultures! Fists, knees, elbows—your entire body is a weapon! Temples, throat, solar plexus... strike these eight vital points! Every move must tear open a path to survival!"
Arthur gasped heavily, sweat stinging his eyes though he dared not raise a hand to wipe them. He twisted and punched again, every technique draining his full strength. This Death-Defiant Stance was ruthlessly frightening—seventy-two forms all aimed at killing, leaving no quarter.
"Why... does such martial art exist?" He finally couldn't help gasping the question, sweat dripping from his chin to leave dark marks on parched earth.
"Because this technique crawled out from piles of corpses." Randell's single eye gleamed coldly. "The military's apex hunters used this stuff. Either don't strike at all, or strike for mutual destruction. Hesitation? Mercy? That's digging your own grave."
"So... any method is acceptable as long as it kills enemies?"
"Killing has no fixed forms. Death-Defiant Stance merely summarizes the most effective killing arts for you. When you someday reach Wargeneral threshold, you can take lives between breaths." Randell poked his ribs with the staff. "But you now? Far from it. First practice this into your bones."
Arthur instinctively sidestepped and blocked, yet his movement carried orcs' habitual heavy force. Randell immediately struck his leg hollow with the staff.
"Forget those dirty tricks you learned from orcs!" the veteran roared. "Their pouncing and biting looks fierce but has more holes than a sieve! Back at the border, we bought this wisdom with lives: same-level combat, orcs die while we're wounded; cross-level fighting, we can still drag them to hell!"
Arthur's pupils contracted slightly. "You were... border military? Captain Kaines, Tony and the others too, right?" He'd long sensed this—these mercenaries maintained abnormal discipline, bearing indelible military imprints.
Randell suddenly fell silent. His scar-crossed face twitched as if invisible hands gripped his throat. Those buried memories weighed heavy enough to bend steel spines.
Arthur's answer came as another wooden staff blow to his shoulder blade, painful enough to nearly bite his tongue.
"That's not for you to ask!" Randell's voice turned terrifyingly hoarse. "Side punch! One hundred times! Don't think of breathing before you finish!"
...
Days rose and moons set as crimson and blue lunar twins alternately watched the training ground. Randell became Arthur's inescapable nightmare—roars and wooden staff followed like shadows, draining every ounce of stamina and energy. Only now did Arthur truly understand why every Blue Gem mercenary gave the one-armed vice-captain wide berth. Behind this brutality lay steel-tempering cruelty.
One day, as Arthur nearly collapsed under blazing sun, a voice emerged from corner gate shadows.
"You're using that recruit training routine entirely on this cub? Not afraid of breaking him?" Captain Kaines leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms, muscles relaxed beneath leather armor yet eyes sharp as eagles.
Randell appeared ghostlike from the side. "Won't break. This boy... withstands pressure better than any tough bastard I've trained."
"Talent's truly inexplicable." Kaines' gaze fell on Arthur's shadow repeatedly falling and rising, gleaming with treasure-discovery light. "Some are born holding brushes, others plucking strings... while this boy was born to grip blades. He's a warrior, Randell. Down to his bones."
The topic suddenly shifted. "About that Bloodthorn matter—what's your plan?"
Kaines' eyes moved slightly, flashing cold light. "Last time Cristy lost his sword and face without breaking relations. Should we initiate war now? Not worthwhile. They enjoy dirty tricks... let's play along."
"Specifically how?"
"Haven't thought it through. But I think sending Tony and... Arthur would be quite suitable."
"Arthur?" Randell whipped around. "Are you insane? Nightingale Tavern was Cristy underestimating him! Bloodthorn members won't hold back—any random one could crush him!"
"Greenhouses don't grow cold-resistant flowers." Kaines spoke lightly yet his eyes held no mirth. "Without seeing blood, how does one become a true warrior? Though Death-Defiant Stance alone isn't enough... Combat Aura determines how far a martial artist can go."
Randell's expression changed drastically: "You surely don't intend... I disagree! That thing's incomplete! Nobody's broken through Wargeneral threshold with it! Not one!"
"No successes doesn't mean Arthur can't." Kaines looked meaningfully at his old friend. "Didn't you just say he's stronger than all your soldiers? Don't you want to witness... that technique's true power? Perhaps he's our final hope."
Randell fell silent, single arm clenched tight with bulging veins.
...
Days later, Arthur's instructor became Kaines.
"Choosing mercenary life, martial techniques are merely surface—Combat Aura is the foundation." The captain's voice rang low and powerful. "Unity of internal and external makes a true warrior."
Arthur looked up at him, eyes burning with longing. In the orc camp, he'd witnessed how terrifying Combat Aura-erupting orc warriors could be, tearing shields bare-handed. Yet that power had never opened to slaves.
"Eldendor's Combat Aura techniques divide into Heaven, Earth, Mystic, and Yellow ranks, each having upper, middle, and lower grades. Beyond legend lies divine miracle." Kaines spoke slowly. "Most Combat Aura appears white. But if you ever see colorful Combat Aura... be careful. The more vivid the color, usually the deadlier."
"Then... what level is Leon's Combat Aura?" Arthur couldn't help asking.
"That lion cub?" Kaines raised an eyebrow. "Crimson Solflare, Heaven-rank middle grade. Golden Lion family's treasured secret, never shared."
"Oh." Arthur responded softly, an indescribable sense of loss gripping his heart. That was a world beyond his reach.
"Now, two choices for you." Kaines looked down at him. "First is the military technique most compatible with Death-Defiant Stance—Warrior's Convergence. Second is... a nameless technique Randell and I acquired during early adventures, we call it Solar Crucible."
"What levels are they?"
"Warrior's Convergence is Mystic-rank upper grade, military-tested and proven. Though progress is slow, foundations are solid—it can steadily deliver you to Warmarshal level." Kaines paused, voice growing grave. "While Solar Crucible... rank unknown, but definitely above Warrior's Convergence. If complete, certainly Heaven-rank. But—" He emphasized, "it's incomplete. None have broken through Wargeneral with it. More critically, cultivation brings excruciating pain like placing souls in solar cores for burning and peeling—hence 'Crucible'! That agony could drive normal people insane."
No hesitation whatsoever.
"I'll learn Solar Crucible." Arthur's voice remained calm yet carried unquestionable resolve.
Compared to helplessness and despair when facing death, what was physical pain?
Kaines slightly turned his head toward distant wall corner shadows, showing the hidden one-armed man a barely detectable, meaningful smile.