Frost clung to the edges of the stone walls, and the northern wind whispered through the pines, carrying the faint scent of ice from the distant hills.
Yet within the training grounds, warmth thrummed—wooden dummies bore the scars of countless strikes, sparring swords clashed faintly against armor, and the distant echo of battle drills filled the air.
I adjusted my grip on my sword, eyes scanning the courtyard.
Lance was already at the center, disciplined and methodical swinging his sword.
Every swing precise, every stance deliberate. Hard as stone, unyielding, a pillar of unwavering order in motion.
Kainel was the opposite—a storm in motion. He darted between dummies, thrusting, feinting, spinning, every movement reckless yet unnervingly fast. His arrogance radiated, challenging everyone to match him.
Derrick lounged nearby, relaxed, a grin plastered across his face, sword loosely in hand but eyes sharp, teasing but ready to intervene or strike at the slightest opening— just a chill guy!
I inhaled deeply, recalling Terence's words from our last night session.
I would refine Hawk's Whisper, the technique that had sharpened my senses to perceive even the subtlest changes in the air.
I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, letting the sounds and shifts around me map themselves in my mind—the brush of leaves, the faint scrape of a boot on stone, the barely audible clink of Kainel adjusting his stance. Awareness stretched beyond sight, encompassing motion, intention, and subtle pressure changes.
"Michael!" Kainel called, a wide grin splitting his face. "Let's see if you can finally keep up today!"
I smirked, adjusting my stance. "Let's do it, big brother."
The clash began. Kainel struck first—fast, aggressive, relentless.
I responded in kind, each swing deliberate, each step calculated.
Every strike carried purpose, trained to wound, to exploit openings.
The first core pulsed faintly as I pressed forward, countering his chaotic swings, feints, and baited attacks.
"You've improved," Derrick shouted from the sidelines, amusement in his voice. "Kainel's finally met his match!"
Lance shook his head, lowering his blade slightly. "Don't get cocky, Michael. Fundamentals first."
Kainel laughed, brushing off the counter, already planning the next flurry. "Fast? Maybe. But I'm faster!"
The Spar ended.
Days passed.
Lance drilled with meticulous care, perfecting stances, balance, and defense. His blows were like rocks falling—unyielding, precise, and punishing.
Kainel sparred unpredictably, forcing me to anticipate, react, and strike in deadly rhythm.
Each encounter sharpened my instincts, pushing me to respond with lethal intent and efficiency.
Derrick remained the wildcard—a partner in training, strategy, and endurance, ever balancing playfulness with a tactical mind. His laughter during sparring was the calm amid the storm, reminding me that even in blood and steel, there was joy.
One evening, as frost crept across the courtyard stones, Derrick clapped me on the shoulder.
"Training Assembly is coming soon, Michael. All the other young masters will be here. You need to be ready."
I nodded, a flicker of determination sparking. "I'll be ready, brother."
That night, after everyone had retired, I returned to my room, muscles aching and body heavy from the month's relentless training.
I drew a deep, slow breath and sat cross-legged. My first core pulsed faintly, steady, familiar. Tonight, I would push beyond it.
Mana flowed, guided by the Blue Sword Sutra. Circulation. Compression. Refinement. Step by step, layer by layer, until a second core began to crystallize.
It was painful and excruciating but was it something in front of my resolve.
It was nothing!
Pain flared—sharp, fleeting—and a thin trickle of blood marked the cost.
Exhaustion weighed heavy, but I embraced it. Focus did not waver.
Finally, the second core settled beneath my ribs. Stronger, sharper.
A new heartbeat of power, silent and dangerous, entirely mine.
I started rapidly absorbing the mana from the surroundings and rotated it very quickly to compress and store more and more.
I opened my eyes, breathing evenly, already thinking of the Training Assembly. Lance, Kainel, Derrick—they would all be there.
After forming a second core I started remembering a friend, a friend whom I had lost in the previous life. Sieg Ista , My best friend and the man who died because of me.
Sieg I can't wait to see you.
I will be strong enough to protect you.
That assembly will be the day I reveal my fangs to the world.