"What's going on?" He asked as he looked over at Marcus, who was repairing a farm tool nearby by replacing the broken wooden handle.

"I said you could look at it. I didn't say you would be able to see anything. Be careful what you agree to, son," Marcus said with a crafty smile.

Did I just get played by my own dad?

"Marcus, stop teasing the boy." His mother chided over her shoulder as she used her water essence to clean a pot.

"I'm just teaching him a practical lesson is all." He said with a daft grin as he stood up and walked over.

"Valuable cultivation and skill manuals are usually protected like this to prevent them from being read by enemies. Here, watch." Marcus said as he took a knife from the table and pricked the end of his finger, placing his blood onto the front of the book.

The blood got sucked in, and Marcus opened the tome once more. Words and images were now flickering across the pages as if by magic.

"There, that should be enough for now, and it will last a while before more blood is required."

"Wouldn't you run dry if you read this book too often?" He asked Marcus, half joke and half serious.

"Well, where do you think the saying blood, sweat and tears come from? Cultivation requires all three in large amounts." His father replied, walking away to carry on his tool repairs.

Shrugging his shoulders at his father's questionable teaching style, he looked down and started to read.

***

A month passed in the blink of an eye, and his days were a standard mix of farm work, training and doing the odd extra training session with Marcus or his mother.

Valeria had also 'taught him' to successfully read, so he no longer had to dance around that. He probably set a record for 'learning' to read, but there were some things he didn't have the time to waste on faking as much.

He had still not successfully created a cultivation method that utilised his core and the three essences it contained, but he felt that he was getting closer.

With the manual his father occasionally let him read and the fact that he could now ask specific questions to them, he had come a long way in his understanding. There was just a spark of inspiration missing, he felt.

He had yet to convince his father to teach him how to use a twinblade, but after weeks of nagging, Valeria had relented when it came to knife throwing.

That's why today he found himself out the back of his house staring at a wooden target in the shape of a man with a roll of knives beside them.

His mother moved and picked one up, turning it over this way and that in front of his face, letting him get a look as she started to explain.

"These are called balanced knives. I had this set crafted for you, and they should fit into your hand fine. Here." She said as she flipped it around, handle facing towards him.

Reaching out, he carefully grabbed the silver weapon, noting the dark leather handle. It was a bit rough-looking, but he was sure it wasn't an issue as long as it did the job.

His mother grabbed another one and used it as an example.

"These are balanced so that the weight will be equally spread out over the handle and the blade. A balanced knife is easier for beginners, but eventually, you will decide if you prefer a blade-heavy or a handle-heavy one." Valeria said, flicking it around and balancing it on her finger, making him do the same.

"Good, now we can work on the grip. As you can see, these are single-sided blades, as only one side has a sharp edge, but we will change to double-sided once you get the hang of it."

"A good knife thrower will eventually develop their own grip based on experience, but for now, I will teach you a couple of the basic ones I know, and you can try them out and feel what suits you." She said as she moved to stand at his side, giving him a better view as she held it by the handle.

"This is called a hammer grip. You bring your arm back like so and throw and release. It's kind of like a blacksmith swinging a hammer. See."

He watched as she did so, overly slowing down and simplifying the movement before throwing. It struck true directly into the centre of the wooden target about five metres away.

"This one is called a pinch grip."

She held the blade between her thumb and index finger. He noted that her thumb ran straight with the back edge of the blade, the index finger bent downwards. Another slow-motion demonstration ended in a throw, the knife sinking into the target beside the first.

"Alright, your turn." She said as she started giving him directions.

He went through foot stances, angles of holding the knife, how to do it at various distances, and when to release. His mind spun with all the new information, realising this was far more in-depth than he had expected.

Who knew throwing a knife was so complex?

Looking at his mother as she patiently explained, he couldn't help but see her in a new light. She had always been very easygoing and gentle, and it was hard to see her as anything else, even if he had seen her in action a few times. Now, he saw a strict teacher and warrior, not the gentle mother figure he was used to.

"Okay. Go on, your turn." She said after they spent time going through practice movements using various grips and postures.

She had also returned the two thrown by her to the knife roll sitting on a nearby wall.

Standing with his back straight and legs bent a little, he pulled the weapon back, holding it by the handle. Steadying his breathing, he picked a spot to aim for on the target and threw.

The knife flew out, and just as he thought it was going in, it bounced off the target with a metal clang, vanishing into some tall grass nearby.

"Your grip was too hard, and you let go too late. Get another and go again. You can pick them all up once there are no more left to throw." His mother ordered.

The set was a group of ten identical blades, and he went through each one, failing each time as they bounced off with a clatter. Valeria patiently directed him each time, letting him know what his mistakes were, and he felt the ninth one was close to going in.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

It was his last throw before he would have to go and collect his failures, and he forced himself to calm down and take a moment as he lined up the throw.

A small grunt left his mouth after the throw, and he watched it turn over, the blade sinking into the target in the shoulder area of the wooden outline.

"Yes!" He whooped, seeing it hanging there. He'd got so invested that he couldn't help but let out an audible cheer at seeing his success.

Maybe it isn't so hard after all.

As he mentally patted himself on the back, the knife precariously hanging from the target slipped out and fell to the ground, crushing his newfound enthusiasm with a metal clang.

For fucks sake.

***

*Thud*

Walking over to the splintered target at their house's rear, he removed several knives.

It had been another month since he started learning, and he spent some time practising his throwing every day. He still couldn't land all ten back to back, but he was getting closer to it as he removed eight from the target.

He had been a little down at his progress for a time, but his mother soon stopped that notion by explaining it could take years of training to become fluent in it. It helped ease his mind a little as he still had a long way to go as he had not moved onto medium and long-range throwing yet.

He stood looking at the target for a time but not truly seeing it as he thought about his core for the umpteenth time.

There was still no luck with creating his cultivation technique, but he had made a basic one that worked for time essence. His problem was integrating space and illusion into it, so his next step was to make one for each and then see if he could merge them all.

"Little Than, here," Marcus called out as he rounded the corner of their house.

He held a bundle of what looked like wood in his arms as he drew near.

"What is it?" He asked, looking over as his father placed it down on a rough table they kept out the back for some farm work.

"Didn't you want me to teach you? Here, take this?" Marcus said, grabbing one of the wooden sticks and holding it out for him to take.

He couldn't help but stare at it in surprise as he realised what he was looking at. It was a wooden carved twinblade similar in shape to his father's but smaller and well-suited for a child his age.

"You said you didn't want to train me yet." He questioned his father as he reached out and took it, feeling the heavier-than-expected weight of it.

"I didn't think you were ready, but seeing how diligent you are with your training and throwing practice changed my mind," Marcus said as he took a larger wooden weapon, directing them to an open space.

His father wasted no time and got straight into his first lesson.

"Although it may seem like a sword, a twinblade functions more like a mixture of a quarterstaff and a spear rather than a sword. It has parts of all three, and it would be best to think of it as its own weapon rather than trying to use it like any of those." Marcus said as he held his training twinblade before him, gesturing at certain parts as he spoke.

"It was the weapon the founder of my clan chose to use, but even in my family, most prefer other weapon types. It's tough to master," Marcus explained as he put his training piece into the ground, hands resting on the top.

"Misusing it is just as likely to hurt yourself as an enemy. That's why I want you to agree to change to another weapon if you don't show enough improvement after a certain time. Does that sound fine?" Marcus said, his eyes locking with his own, waiting for an answer.

Learning to use a twinblade was still something he had set his mind on, and he wasn't willing to back down. If he had to work himself to the bone, then that's what he would do to keep learning. With his resolve firm, he nodded and agreed.

"Good. Now watch, this is a basic stance, and these are some simple movements I want you to practise..."

***

Another month passed, and he met his father's strict requirements to continue training with a twinblade. He spent most of his free time either throwing knives, working through blade stances or fiddling with his cultivation.

His parents had tried to get him more involved with the villagers, mainly the other children, but he had no desire to waste time playing games. He spent some time with the twins in their workshop and came to see them as daft uncles.

The pair reminded him of his old shift mates, and he would see them whenever he needed cheering up. The duo had lost a lot of weight since he had first met them, and they looked to be in better shape and acted slightly more reliably than before.

Texon, their village huntress, had agreed to take him out on a few simple hunts after much nagging, as he felt such skills would be invaluable. She was very much a, throw someone in the deep end and hope they learn to swim fast, kind of teacher, but he didn't mind.

He thought the woman didn't like children very much, but she seemed to like him if tolerating someone could be called that. The pair never talked much apart from when it involved learning, and he obeyed instructions and learned fast.

This hard work and dedication seemed to win her over, as she even agreed to watch him while his parents visited a nearby city. They had heard of an auction involving a cultivation technique that might be useful to him, and they had left with the General in the hopes of procuring it.

It wasn't the same city he had been to with them, and it was a little further, so he wasn't expecting them back for another day. It had been several already.

"Focus, your footsteps are all over the place." Texon quietly snapped at him as they slowly waded through a thick undergrowth.

"Sorry." He whispered back.

"Can't apologise when you're dead." She flatly whispered as she suddenly motioned with her hand for him to stop.

He sank onto one knee behind her, knife in hand, ready to use as he looked around, trying to sense whatever she had but was failing.

Turning around, she beckoned him over and backed off a little, giving him a view into a small clearing.

A small animal, similar to a rabbit, sat in the middle. It was chewing on something as its large ears twitched this way and that. It was roughly ten metres away, he estimated at a glance.

Looking back at the huntress, she nodded and backed up, giving him more room.

Kneeling, he cocked his arm back, holding the knife by the blade as he aimed. Waiting for the right moment, he threw and transferred a second blade to his now free hand, ready to be used, just like his mother taught.

The thrown knife flipped over fine, but his aim was off as it stuck into a thick root next to the tiny creature.

It darted off at the sound, and without aiming or thinking, he cocked another arm back and launched again. This time, he got rewarded by a pained squeal that ended as soon as it began, and he noticed the second knife sticking out of the still form.

Cheering inside, he went to retrieve his kill and the other knife. He hadn't done any throwing from the knee and made a mental note to work on it as he pulled his first throw free from the root.

As he walked over, he saw the small furry form and couldn't help but feel a little guilty. He knew he would just have to work on it, and this kill would be his meal tonight, so it wasn't like it was killing for sport.

Reaching it, he leaned in, ready to pull his other weapon free, as heavy form dropped onto his shoulders, screeching and snarling at him.

What the fuck!

He felt a pain on his cheek as something caught him in the face as he stood and tried to rip whatever was on him free in panic. Wrestling with the creature, he saw Texon standing motionless, staring at him with her arms crossed. Her meaning was obvious.

I guess I'm on my own here.

Whatever it was, howled as it clawed at him and yanked on his hair. He was having trouble getting whatever 'it' was of him, so he took drastic action.

Jumping up, he let himself fall back, landing onto his attacker that screeched in pain, but it did let go.

Moving to the side, he came up with a knife and saw what looked like a little monkey creature with four arms. It dived at him again after scampering up from the ground, and he stepped back in fright, tripping over a tree root and getting winded from the fall.

The creature was on him as he landed, howling and clawing at his face as he struggled to catch his breath.

Still panicking, he reached out with his empty left hand and grabbed it by the throat, repeatedly stabbing the knife in his right hand into its ribs.

Blood rained down on him as he screamed the surge of adrenaline away.

Rolling over, still holding the fighting form by the neck, he ended up on top and continued stabbing until it stilled.

Letting go, he fell back onto his behind as he panted, wiping blood from his face but only getting more on there from his blood-soaked hands. As the fight's thrill started to wear off, he turned his head to movement.

A large black cat that reminded him of a panther back on earth was running right for him, its hungry jaws hanging open as it snarled.

He put his hands in front of him and cried out as it drew close, giving in to fear as he held the knife before him, but his mind went blank.

It had caught him unaware, and there wasn't time to do anything but panic.

As it reached a few metres away, an arrow flew past him and pierced its head, sending its corpse smashing into the ground.

Taking its last breath, its eyes glazed over, and he sighed in relief as he stood up.

The waxing and waning of his adrenaline had left his emotions frayed, and he stood gulping in large breaths.

"Well, that could have gone better." Texon simply said as she walked out from the bushes, bow in hand.