But why was Soren so interested in learning a fighting technique?
The answer was simple:
He was weak—dangerously weak.
And he was fully aware of this.
His clash with Pencil and Polystar when the eldritch soul took over their bodies was evidence of this.
Furthermore, if the first battle with Polystar had lasted a bit longer, then even his instinctive dodging would have done nothing.
Soren knew he would have still met a gruesome end.
While nobles and commoners alike were forbidden from bonding with a soul until the minimum age of 16, noble children had the privilege of inheriting wonderful skills and knowledge because of their bloodline.
In fact, during the torturous daily training with Polystar, Soren got to understand that in some cases, noble children could even inherit shades.
"Your lower body is the foundation for any technique." Polystar began, circling Soren with a disapproving gaze. "Yours is weaker than noodles. It's shameful."
He moved swiftly, palms spread apart for a low blow.
Clap.
Crack. Soren's kneecaps folded inward unnaturally.
~Ahhh
The sudden pain ran through his body like a jolt of electricity.
"I have taught you; unfortunately, you did not learn." Polystar gave an obviously fake sigh. "Now, I'll free your Shade."
Clap.
[You died.]
...
The deaths kept coming.
...
"Not a bad stance, but your knees are too narrow; spread them apart more. At the very least another two hundred hours of horse stance training to strengthen your lower body will fix that. How unfortunate... you don't have that much time."
Polystar gave an evil grin.
Clap.
[You died.]
....
{200 Deaths later.}
"For some reason, your lower body is better trained than I thought. I could help open your relevant neurological pathways, but it won't be enough. You will still need at least two years of training to be proficient in using the technique."
Polystar went behind Soren. "There is the soft method to do this, but since you will die anyway, I can use this method instead."
Clap. Clap. Clap...
[You died.]
.....
"To think you have good horse stance, including neurological pathways required for the technique. Your body might actually have been made to learn this technique. Unfortunately, you lack the relevant muscle development from practice to support it. Let's train that.
"A mix of weights for your muscles and intense practice sessions."
Clap. Clap. Clap.
[You died.]
.....
In this manner, many, many days passed. Soren would read, review his plans to catch the eldritch, and then throw himself into the agonizing circle of Clap-based hand-to-hand combat technique.
{500 deaths later...}
~Tummy grumbled.
Soren sat upright. He took the chocolate cake in hand. "Tommy, there is chocolate cake."
Tommy rushed to his side. "Where is it?" His hungry eyes searched, "Oh, for me? You are too kind." He reached for the partially eaten chocolate cake, but Soren pulled it back. "Ah-ah-ah, there is a small condition."
"What condition?" Tommy narrowed his eyes.
"Join me for a hunt." Soren replied.
"A hunt?"
"Yes, a hunt." Soren grinned.
After making certain preparations with Tommy, he rushed out of the room to find Pencil and Bloodshine.
As expected, she had been shadowing him.
She activated the illusion, still the same scene of Machos dying.
Soren sighed and turned to them.
"Wait! She is sorry. She is truly sorry. She did not mean to do it." Pencil stepped in front.
Soren massaged his forehead. "I know, and I'm not offended."
"Really?" Pencil had a perplexed look. 'Did the cake work out that well even though I ate some of it?' He thought to himself.
"But, if you really want my forgiveness for everything, including what happened back home, there are a few things I need you two to do for me."
"What things?" Pencil asked, interested in getting back the good grace of his friend.
"Not much really. But I did hear from a reliable source that you two have access to the kitchen."
Once more Soren made ready certain plans with them, assigning roles.
The trap took another step to completion, and then he rushed over to the last person he would need to convince if his plan was going to work.
Just like any of the other 'todays,' there he was, resting against a wall, surrounded by many cadets trying to please him.
Soren massaged his forehead, anticipating a headache of a conversation. Regardless, he stepped forward.
He needed the help of Talent's favorite.
Vass noticed Soren's arrival but looked away cockily.
"Vass, we need to talk." Soren spoke up, enough for Vass to hear through all the flattery that was thrown his way.
However, he still ignored Soren.
"Are you going to continue ignoring me, or am I going to have to kick your plump ass again to get your attention?"
~The crowd became silent.
Vass's brow twitched in annoyance. But before he could respond, one of the cadets spoke up.
It was the one with a horn on his right cheek. "How dare a mere F-rank have the guts to talk to—"
Soren's body moved. This was not the reason he took long hours and many deaths to learn the hand-to-hand combat technique, but it did get the job done faster.
Clap.
Soren's attack hit the boy right in the gut.
His knees buckled underneath him, face twisting in agony. He fell face-first to the ground.
"Brother!" A girl, similarly with a horn on her right cheek, rushed to help.
The cadets backed away, perplexed by the sudden attack, murmuring.
Soren casually stepped around his victim, walking up to Vass.
"Do I have your attention now?"
Vass looked at the boy on the ground and then at Soren. He cracked a grin and his knuckles. "You want to fight that bad, turd-face?" Soul energy slowly blazing from his body.
"Yes. But it's not you. I need your help. I'm going to hunt another one." Soren gave Vass a particular look.
Vass was slow at first, but his eyes suddenly brightened. "On this train?" He asked, surprised.
"Yes. There is no time to explain why or how; are you in or out?"
Vass stepped forward, combing his fiery red hair with a hand, "You could have started with that."
"Good." Soren nodded back.
They turned together.
Let's go hunt an Eldritch.