The morning air was crisp, scented with dew and the lingering musk of the forest. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, scattering golden shafts across the clearing. Kael adjusted his grip on the cursed sword, its weight familiar now, yet still brimming with a subtle tension that made his muscles coil. His core pulsed faintly in his chest, the silver-blue light flowing through channels he had spent hours opening, ready to surge and respond at his command.
"Today, we focus on combat application," the master announced, his tone steady and firm. The faint shimmer of his own Essence traced along his arms and shoulders, barely visible in the light, a reminder of decades spent mastering the flow.
Kael's mouth twisted into a smirk. "Alright… old man, show me what I need to do."
The master froze for a heartbeat. Then—whack! A sharp smack landed across the back of Kael's head.
"Call me Master," he barked. His voice carried a sharp edge that made Kael flinch. "I told you before—you're not calling me old man in a training scenario. Respect is part of control. You can't master power if you can't master your own tongue."
Kael rubbed the back of his head, scowling. "I… I don't need to—"
"Shut up!" the master snapped, stepping closer, eyes blazing with cold authority. "Call me Master!"
Kael stubbornly shook his head. "I'm calling you, old man. You said it was fine before!"
The master's aura flared subtly, a low hum of Essence brushing against the edges of the clearing. "You dare test me? You will obey the rules of the clearing. Master. Now."
Kael sighed, muttered under his breath, but finally said, "Master."
"Hehe, say it once more." The old man smiled.
"Master!" Kael barked, grudgingly, but with enough conviction to satisfy the master's demands.
tsk, this weird old man..
The master's expression softened slightly, though only for a moment. "Good. Remember that. Discipline begins in the little things." He stepped back, arms wide, ready to demonstrate.
Kael tensed, the cursed sword humming faintly against his shoulder, as if eager—or impatient—to see the coming fight.
The master moved first, stepping into the clearing with fluid, controlled movements. He raised one hand, the tip of his Essence glowing faintly as threads of silver light traced along his fingers. "Essence isn't just power," he said calmly. "It's flow, balance, and reaction. You have learned to circulate it. Now you must learn to project it, control it, and shape it into force."
Kael nodded, tightening his grip on the sword. He felt his core pulse, resonating with the silver-blue threads coursing through his veins. He flexed his hands, trying to feel the river of Essence within him, the same river he had spent hours opening yesterday.
"Begin," the master said simply, and the air between them seemed to snap with expectation.
Kael lunged first, sword sweeping forward, a strike meant to test his timing and focus. The master sidestepped with minimal effort, hands glowing faintly, and with a subtle movement, projected a thread of Essence that grazed Kael's arm. The boy staggered, surprised by the sensation—not painful, but sharp, as if his very life force had been brushed against by a living current.
"Feel it," the master said. "You must sense the flow, not just push with force. Essence is reactive. It responds, adapts. You cannot force it; you must guide it."
Kael narrowed his eyes, breathing steadying. He raised the sword again, this time feeling the core pulse stronger, the silver-blue threads reaching outward, tangling with the cursed blade's latent energy. Carefully, he extended his Essence along the edge of the blade, letting it hum, letting it breathe.
The master's eyes glimmered. "Better. Control without straining. But your defense is sloppy. You are too rigid."
Kael adjusted, moving into a stance that felt natural rather than forced. He had learned yesterday how sensitive his channels were—overextension caused trembling, but precision allowed flow. He felt the currents inside him, pushing and pulling, like wind over water.
"Now I test you," the master said, moving with calm precision. His strikes were fast, but effortless, almost casual, like a child playing with a toy. Kael barely blocked the first strike, sparks flying as blade met blade. He could feel the sword hum against his hands, vibrating with the thread of Essence he had poured into it.
The master's movements were relentless yet composed, testing both Kael's reaction and his ability to distribute Essence across the body. Every block, every parry, forced Kael to push power into the sword, into his muscles, into the circuits he had opened. Pain radiated through him—not injury, but the strain of managing such raw energy.
"Don't tense," the master said, striking again. "Flow! Let the Essence respond, don't dominate it!"
Kael grit his teeth. He let go of the rigid stance, allowing the currents of his core to ripple naturally into the sword. The strike came again, and he twisted, letting the Essence cushion the impact, redistributing the force along his arms, shoulders, and back. He countered, moving with a speed that surprised even him, the blade guided more by his river of Essence than by brute muscle.
"Impressive," the master said, a rare note of approval in his voice. "You've integrated your core with your weapon. That is the first step toward true cultivation. But remember—power is not just control. It is awareness. You must sense the currents around you, not just inside you."
Kael nodded, sweat dripping down his face, chest heaving. The training had been relentless, but exhilarating. The cursed sword hummed, quieter now, acknowledging his mastery without submission.
"You're ready for a final test," the master said. "A sparring match without guidance. I will attack, and you defend using nothing but your core, your sword, and your Essence."
Kael's heart pounded. This was what he had been preparing for, the moment where theory met raw trial. He steadied himself, drew in a deep breath, and let the currents of his core circulate freely. Every channel thrummed, every limb alive with controlled energy.
The master lunged.
For what felt like hours, the clearing was a blur of motion. Strikes came fast, Essence flaring with each impact. Kael adapted constantly, extending threads of power to shield, to counter, to strike in response. Pain flickered across his muscles, but he did not falter. The master's movements were effortless, precise, and unwavering—a reminder that for him, this was child's play.
Eventually, he found an opening—a brief instant where the master's Essence extended too far, leaving a small vulnerability. Kael flowed into it, releasing a controlled surge of power through the sword. A blast of silver-blue light streaked through the air, enough to knock the master off balance slightly—but only minimally. The master stepped back, expression unchanged, as though Kael's strike had been anticipated all along.
"Well done," the master said, calmly, almost approvingly. "You've begun to feel the river, not just paddle against it."
Kael exhaled, knees buckling slightly. "I… I think I understand it now. A little."
The master clapped once, firmly, but not harshly. "A little is all it takes to start. Every day, every strike, every movement—flow becomes stronger. One day, it will be unstoppable."
Kael glanced at the cursed sword, its edge catching the sunlight. For the first time, it felt like an extension of himself rather than a looming threat.
And in that moment, Kael realized: the path of cultivation had begun—not just with power, but with discipline, control, and unflinching will.