After overhearing his father's ruthless conversation with the clan elders, Ramsey finally understood the true reason behind the mission he had been assigned. They had not sent him out of duty or honor. They had sent him to fail. Yet his stubborn nature refused to allow him to surrender to their schemes. Now that he knew their plan, he believed he could counter it. He needed help, and there was only one man in the entire clan he could turn to.
Somewhere deep within the Reed compound sat an old man with a flowing silver beard. His eyes were closed, and his body was folded cross-legged upon the polished wooden floor. Though the room was sealed from the outside air, his robe stirred gently as though touched by a phantom breeze. Waves of heat pulsed from him, yet not a single drop of sweat beaded on his forehead. His presence carried the overwhelming aura of a peak initial tier warrior, filling the chamber with a tangible sense of power.
This was Elder Popas. At that moment, his mind was wholly immersed in comprehending the cosmic law of flames. The images of fire swirled in his consciousness—dancing sparks, burning mountains, the eternal cycle of destruction and rebirth. His concentration was unshakable, but his meditation was soon interrupted when a familiar voice boomed outside his door.
"If it isn't my favorite elder, old man Popas!"
The loud, playful call startled him from his trance. His brows lifted, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Ramsey, my boy… is that you?"
Popas rose to his feet, his joints creaking with age yet his movements graceful. He opened the heavy wooden door, and at once a rush of suffocating heat poured out of the room, colliding with the figure waiting outside.
"Ugh," Ramsey coughed, waving the smoky haze from his face. "Where is all that heat coming from? Don't tell me you've been sitting in there trying to roast yourself alive!"
The young man's words barely registered. Popas stood in stunned silence, his gaze fixed on Ramsey. What he saw shook him to the core. The boy was standing upright— no stumbling gait, no crutches.
"Ramsey," Popas whispered, his voice trembling. "What is going on? When did you… when did you become capable of walking on your own?"
The disbelief in his tone was uncharacteristic of a man so composed. Popas had known Ramsey as a cripple, a child forever chained to weakness. To see him standing tall felt like witnessing the impossible.
Ramsey met his gaze with calm determination.
"That's a long story elder. Right now, I need your help. It is urgent."
Popas blinked, still frozen, unable to summon a proper response. Ramsey did not wait for permission to continue.
"I plan to take the midnight trail before the annual festival begins," he said, his voice firm. "I need your help to train."
The old man faltered, his mind still struggling to process what he was hearing. Yet Ramsey's urgency gave him little choice.
"Can we start now?" the boy pressed, his eyes pleading.
Popas sighed heavily, brushing the dust from his robe. How could he refuse his favorite disciple? His heart softened.
"Well then," he said, straightening his back, "I suppose I have nothing better to do at the moment. Let us begin."
Ramsey's lips curved into a faint smile. He followed the elder eagerly, his steps steady, his posture full of newfound confidence.
"Elder, where are we going?" he asked.
"You said you wished to train, did you not?" Popas answered. "Do not worry, boy. I will dedicate my time to teaching you until your trial begins."
Ramsey's eyes lit with gratitude. This was elder Popas nature. Despite having so many questions unanswered, he still decided to help.
"Truly? You would do that for me?"
The elder waved dismissively. "It is nothing. Only a fraction of my time. Still, I would never forgive myself if you marched to your death without receiving at least some proper instruction."
They walked together until they reached a vast training field. Wooden dummies stood in rows, racks of weapons glinted faintly in the fading light, and pits for endurance trials stretched across the ground. This was where the clan's soldiers sharpened their bodies and wills.
Popas strode to the center of the field and turned to face Ramsey. His tone shifted, carrying the authority of a master instructor.
"I will teach you three fundamentals," he declared. "First, wilderness survival. You must learn to hunt, to find safe places to rest, and to avoid wandering into the territory of dangerous beasts. These skills will keep you alive when no one else is there to help you."
He pulled a practice sword from a nearby rack and swung it effortlessly, its arc slicing the air with a faint whistle.
"Second, combat practice. You are but a novice when it comes to fighting. Without experience, your courage will mean little."
He lowered the weapon, his eyes narrowing with intensity.
"And lastly, I will teach you how to sense cosmic energies and shape them into laws. Without that, you will always be at a disadvantage in this world. Do you understand?"
His playful demeanor had vanished, replaced by the piercing gaze of a teacher commanding respect.
He tossed a wooden stick carved like a sword toward Ramsey. The boy caught it clumsily.
"Now," Popas said, his voice low and sharp. "Attack me."
The elder placed one hand behind his back and adopted a relaxed fighting stance.
Ramsey hesitated. Then, with a cry, he rushed forward, swinging the wooden blade with all the strength in his arms.
"Haaa!"
His strikes were wild and unrefined, every swing full of desperation. To Popas, they were slower than falling leaves. With every clumsy strike, the elder sidestepped, his robe fluttering as though carried by the wind. His wooden blade tapped against Ramsey's chest, his neck, his side—never striking, always stopping an inch away, a reminder of how open he truly was.
"Too slow."
"Your guard is wide open."
"What is the difference between you and a pregnant turtle?"
Each taunt stung worse than the near-strikes themselves. Ramsey panted heavily, sweat pouring from his brow, while Popas moved as lightly as if he were strolling through a garden.
Ramsey bent forward, gasping like a dog after a chase. Suddenly, Popas vanished from sight. A sharp thud cracked against Ramsey's ribs from behind.
"Ah-ha! Got you," He shouted.
Ramsey spun with a roar, swinging his stick wildly, but there was nothing there. Popas had already melted into the shadows of the field.
Hours dragged by as they sparred endlessly. Ramsey's body grew heavy, his arms numb, his robe soaked in sweat until it clung to his skin. At last, he collapsed onto the ground, chest heaving, vision blurred.
Popas stood nearby, his expression serious. He had noticed something strange during their exchanges, but he dismissed the thought with a shake of his head. Perhaps his senses were playing tricks on him.
"That will do for today," he said. "You should rest."
Ramsey pushed himself upright, his voice ragged. "What are you talking about? We're just getting started."
"Your body is spent," Popas replied firmly. "Your mind is scattered. If you continue, you will learn nothing."
Despite the warning, Ramsey's eyes still burned with defiance. Yet when the elder gestured for them to sit, he obeyed. They folded their legs beneath them, facing one another, and allowed silence to wash over the field. For an hour, they meditated, steadying their minds.
"Now," Popas said at last, his tone softer. "Clear your thoughts and search within your body. There is a core, seated just to the right of your chest. That is where your true strength lies. Your magic core. Guide the energy flowing through you until you can trace it to that place. Only then will you begin to sense the cosmic flow."
Ramsey closed his eyes, straining to follow the elder's instructions. His breaths grew heavy, his face tense.
"Do not force it," Popas cautioned. "For most, it takes months to sense the energy. Even in my day, when the path was clearer, it was no simple task. You must be patient…"
Ramsey interrupted suddenly. "Is it this energy… all around me?"
Popas's eyes snapped open. He leapt upright like a frog that had been poked, his jaw dropping. He could feel it, the cosmic energy radiating faintly from Ramsey's body.
The boy had done it.
In a single attempt, without hesitation, Ramsey had touched what most could not grasp in years.
Popas's lips trembled. "A genius," he whispered.