Jiran once more awoke to ice crawling down his body as frigid water met his skin. Again the descending hand signaled the beginning of pain and blood.

There were two key differences between the start of this day and the day before.

First, Jiran did not land on his nose when they transitioned from his bedroom to the forest.

Second, Samris tossed him a sword instead of a spear.

Jiran immediately copied the new stance Samris assumed as they began the second day of his training. Samris once more showed him a seemingly simple thrust. Over thirty agonizingly slow seconds, the thrust reached Jiran, who gently slid out of its reach. He then returned the same thrust as best he could.

The last time he held a weapon, the day before, they had been attacking each other in less than a second. Jiran could not understand why Samris was swinging so slowly. Confusion was evident on his face when the next thrust from Samris again, took thirty seconds.

Samris sighed and spoke in his usual whisper. “Jiran, where does the thrust begin?”

Once more they went through the leisurely attack. This time Jiran focused on every part of Samris’s body as he began the motion. Even though Samris was moving like molasses dripping from a tree, Jiran missed the first movement.

Another repetition.

Jiran saw it this time, the slightest forward tilt of Samris’s torso was the very first movement he made when the thrust began.

“You tilt your chest toward me, My Lord.”

Nodding in approval, the next time Samris began his attack something different happened. His torso turned with his shoulders as he went through a sideways chopping swing instead of the thrust. Jiran did his best to return the same movements.

Then Samris did something different again, his body moved like he was going to execute the chop attack, but instead shifted halfway through into a thrust. Jiran’s first experience with a faint was luckily at extremely slow speeds, because it still took him off guard. He scrambled to reposition his body in response.

The purpose behind the strange training method finally dawned on Jiran. By seeing the movement broken down by every muscle twitch and change of angle, it became incredibly simple to determine what his opponent was doing.

Additionally, Jiran learned how to most efficiently move his body for each dodge and attack. This allowed him to nearly instantly respond to Samris's moves.

Samris taught Jiran a four swing combination with four matching evasions. Learning the moves one muscle movement at a time, allowed Jiran to execute them nearly instinctively after only a short time.

Jiran was shocked by his progress at the end of the day. They swung their weapons at full speed, at least full speed for Jiran. Had they tried to start at this speed, there is no way Jiran could have kept up this easily after a moon, let alone a day.

Samris pushed him until Jiran was dry heaving in the bushes, then the hand on his shoulder brought them home once more.

Training with eight movements had been significantly more taxing. Yesterday Jiran had lasted until Second Father was at his peak, today he barely made it until First Mother peaked. Meaning the day was only halfway over.

Shame filled him that he could only last that long with all the benefits Samris piled on him. Jiran decided to skip cleaning himself in the creek. He left the sword by the yard entrance, and went straight to the kitchen where he meditated in a corner until some food was brought to him.

Sharaal brought the food herself and upon seeing her, Jiran shot to his feet. Giving her a full bow he spoke as respectfully as he could.

“Thank you for the meal yesterday, Ms. Sharaal. It meant a great deal to me, especially the note. Thank you for caring.”

“Aww that’s sweet of you Jiran, I’m glad you liked it. Now, would you kindly stop bleeding in my kitchen, you oaf! Get out of here, and don't come back looking like that again!” She yelled while practically throwing the food in his face.

Jiran deftly caught the meal and bolted back out to the yard.

After eating, Jiran resumed his training with the sword. He went through each motion as carefully as possible. Optimization was his goal. Cutting out every unneeded muscle movement.

If he Reduced the strain on his muscles, it would increase his stamina. He relaxed one shoulder while flexing the other, He pivoted his front foot early, which reduced the strain on his leg.

He practiced until Second Father’s light was all that illuminated the backyard. Afterward he cleaned himself, got dinner, apologized to Sharaal, then fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow.

The following day marked more change, Jiran dodged the water this time, being alerted to his door opening. Back to the spear, seven new thrusts were introduced. Jiran wasted no time diving into the training with vigilance.

He absorbed every detail of Samris’s movements, his focus as sharp as a razor’s blade. This was why he nearly fumbled his weapon in shock when Samris spoke.

“Why are you swinging that spear Jiran? Is it an obligation that drives you, because I told you to? Or perhaps you enjoy a challenge, pushing your limits. If there was a beast in front of you, would you follow through with the thrust? What if it was a bandit, another human? If I told you to strike down a child, would you do it?

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“Why you use a weapon is far more important than how you use it. Those who only know how to swing a blade are always the first to be lost to the Wilds. Never forget, if the essence of your swing is as insignificant as a hill, how could you ever conquer the peaks?”

Jiran was not given a rest to think, on and on the two went back and forth exchanging blows. Jiran pictured Samris as the Tier Four beast he had seen Skandor and Micah fight. He imagined a bandit instead, dirty with rotting teeth, come to plunder Feylon.

It was not until Jiran landed on the image of the beast in front of him, and Niya standing behind him, that an instinctive growl escaped his lips and he lunged with full power and speed. Samris easily deflected his swing and then responded with his own. Samris merely nodded in satisfaction.

Jiran continued to picture different scenarios as they practiced. A man standing between him and unlimited power, a throng of beasts guarding an ancient tome with unknown knowledge, a group of children about to be devoured.

After deliberating for over an hour, Jiran timidly spoke. “I don’t want to fight, I don’t want to kill anyone. But if I had to defend Feylon or my family, I would not hesitate.”

“An excellent start young Jiran, I must remind you that your service in the military will not allow soft ideals. You will be pushed, you will certainly have to take lives that you will not wish to take. Someday your goals and desires may very well require the death of a rival.

“Only power holds the superior morality.

“Enough floundering, thrust to kill, or lay down your weapon and present your neck. There is no middle ground, either you are superior, or you are at the complete mercy of whatever bested you.”

Two weeks passed, hours of hellish training blended together, Jiran’s small hands developed calluses and his muscles grew stronger, denser. His attacks became more confident, his stances grew stable and his dodges more subtle.

Brief respites came in the form of Densoon waves and meals. Both opportunities to work on his mana control. No longer satisfied with a single hand during waves, Jiran now coated both arms in rapidly fluctuating mana. He could absorb the equivalent of one-quarter of a Tier five meal with every surge of chaotic Density.

His attempts at communicating with his mana had also made solid progress.

What once had been a jumble of static from his mana, was now a low hum of information. Some of which was clear and concise.

More, less, stop.

Jiran guided his mana as the impressions instructed, rapidly increasing the rate of his healing.

There was also an underlying layer of conflicting signals. Trying to interpret these more emotional communications into words was like trying to have a conversation with a coral reef.

Destruction, vastness, flawed, improvement, replacement.

Unsure if he was even close to understanding those hidden signals, Jiran decided to focus on the ones that were clear and relevant.

Then something changed. While eating dinner, Jiran was holding his mana near the injury as usual, but nothing was absorbed. The voice of the mana was silent, as if he had imagined being able to hear it previously. He stood up from the table slowly on shaky legs.

Does this mean I’m healed? Am I finally done with this curse?

Jiran had no idea what was happening, he didn’t feel any different, there had been no changes in his memories of Brandon in some time. They continued to filter in at a comfortable speed. There was no pain when he attempted to recall specific information.

Calming down, Jiran headed to Samris’s study but the man was not there. Not having permission to freely explore the second floor, he instead went outside and sat in the far corner of the yard for privacy. Considering the constant barrage of storm energy it was unlikely anyone save Samris would disturb him.

Jiran focused on his mana, slowly he pushed it around his wound, created a bridge of consciousness with the energy then pushed more. Feeling nothing, he released his mana to flow naturally.

He once again tried to connect with his mana. The response was instant, feelings of a storm cloud and a cooing baby.

What the hell does that mean?

Feeling like he was wasting his time, Jiran opened his eyes, prepared to stand and head to bed.

Sitting in front of him, not a meter away was his master, Lenton Filibree.

“About time! Do you think I have years to wait for you to figure out the basics, boy? You're going to tier up Jiran, tonight, right now.”

Jiran recoiled at the words, his instincts rebelled at the thought, fear gripping his heart. He had thought being healed would ease his dread, but that delusion shattered in an instant.

What if it happens again, I don’t want to go through that pain. Being torn halfway apart and left to die.

Panic began to win the battle in his mind, but a light slap shocked him out of his train of thought.

“You’re going to be fine, fool boy. Am I not right here? I’ve been looking for a worthy disciple for twenty seasons. Do you think I’ll let anything happen to you until you give me what I want?”

Lenton tossed him a small leather bag, then waved his hand and a dome of force sprang into existence around them. Jiran’s ears popped as if the air pressure had just changed. The hairs on his arms stood straight up. Whatever this field was, it felt like the most powerful thing Jiran had ever experienced.

“The bag has a few Tier five and six mana pills and a Seer filter. Eat two Tier five pills now, when the tiering starts, take the filter.”

Feeling Lenton’s growing impatience and not seeing any way out of the dome, Jiran kicked his fear to the side and swallowed two of the orange pills. Leaving the purple capsules for later, he palmed the small vial full of clear liquid.

“That filter is high quality, I made it myself. It should clear out the impurities in your mana body. If it doesn't, we’ll just have to get a stronger one for the next tiering.”

Jiran barely heard Lenton's last words as his vision started to shake and distort. Realizing he was running out of time, Jiran uncorked the vial and downed the contents.

His body was brimming with energy. That same feeling of being far too full in every inch of his skin overtook him. The world shook and trembled, or maybe it was just Jiran shaking. He could no longer sense anything outside of his body.

Jiran wanted to know, he needed to understand. Frustration at being in the dark took hold, and without a second thought to question if it was a good idea, he formed a link with his mana.