Extract from the -{ Tome of Light }- the divine scripture of the Church of Light.

"When doubt whispers in the ears of the faithful, let the chains of obedience silence the voices of dissent. I am the beacon that guides the righteous through the tempestuous seas of mortal existence, offering refuge to those who pledge allegiance to my divine mandate." (Chains of Obedience - 4:7)

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The forest awakened with the first light of dawn, dew glistening on leaves and grass. Asher fought against the heaviness of his eyelids, the crisp morning air doing little to dispel his drowsiness. He watched the hunter warily, anticipation and dread mingling in his gut.

"Since you're ready, let's begin," the hunter's gruff voice cut through the morning stillness.

"Follow me."

They moved to a small clearing, where the hunter gestured for Asher to sit cross-legged on the damp grass. The older man perched atop a stack of logs, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. With practiced ease, he pulled out his pipe, the familiar scent of tobacco soon mingling with the earthy forest aromas.

"Before each combat training session," the hunter began, his tone taking on a lecturing quality, "I'll share knowledge common among the people of the myriad realms. This might all be new to you, but listen carefully. It's crucial for your survival."

Asher straightened, forcing his mind to sharpen despite his body's protests. The gravity in the hunter's voice hinted at the importance of what was to come.

"Let's start with the basics," the hunter continued, smoke curling from his pipe. "There are two kinds of energies found in creation: flow and flux. Flow is stable, gentle, and sturdy – many refer to it as lifeforce. Flux, on the other hand, is volatile and hard to tame, embodying chaos."

Asher leaned forward, his fatigue forgotten as he absorbed this new information. The hunter's words painted a picture of a world far more complex than he had imagined.

"These forces are opposites, yet they exist in harmony by natural law. Together, they create what we call Pneuma – the breath of life, or soul."

The hunter paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Asher's mind raced, trying to reconcile this new knowledge with everything he thought he knew about the world.

"Pneuma is what allows living beings to unleash mystical abilities that defy common sense," the hunter continued. "But to utilize this force, one must travel the road of cultivation, awakening to sense the energy in the environment. It's a path that demands hard work and dedication over a long period."

As if to demonstrate, the hunter raised his hand. A semi-transparent mist seemed to seep from his skin, shimmering in the early morning light. Asher's eyes widened in wonder, his hand unconsciously reaching out before he caught himself.

"This is Pneuma, released from my body," the hunter explained. "In the first realm of cultivation, you'll depend entirely on converting external Pneuma. Later, you'll produce it naturally, the amount varying based on your potential and cultivation technique."

The lesson concluded, and the hunter hopped off the logs with surprising agility. He stretched his neck, the bones cracking audibly, before extending his hand. Two wooden swords materialized from his magical ring, the sight still shocking Asher despite having seen it before.

"That's all for today. Any questions before we begin physical training?"

Asher stood, brushing grass from his clothes. "Actually, yes. How did I not drown during that week-long herb bath?"

A hint of amusement flickered across the hunter's weathered face. "The porridge I gave you contained a potion. It allows one to breathe underwater for a week. Abbygale, our resident alchemist, created it. You can ask her about it later – if you have the energy."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Before Asher could process the implications of that statement, a wooden sword whistled through the air, embedding itself in the ground between his feet. The hunter's eyes gleamed with a predatory light. "Ready or not, here I come."

"W-Wait!" Asher stammered, but the hunter was already in motion.

The next hours blurred into a whirlwind of pain and instruction. The hunter attacked relentlessly, exploiting every opening in Asher's defenses. Between strikes, he barked out instructions on footwork and positioning, the lessons quite literally beaten into Asher's body.

By the time the sun hung high in the sky, Asher lay sprawled on the grass, every muscle screaming in protest. Sweat soaked his clothes, and he could taste blood where he'd bitten his lip during a particularly brutal exchange.

"Ughhh..Ughh. Haahhhhh," Asher groaned, his body feeling like one massive bruise.

The hunter stood over him, not even slightly winded. "Get up. Your daily routine isn't finished yet."

Asher wanted to protest, but he knew it would fall on deaf ears. Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself to his feet. The alternative – remaining powerless – was far worse than this torment.

That night, Asher barely managed to shovel food into his mouth before collapsing into bed, sleep claiming him instantly.

The next day dawned all too soon. Asher's muscles protested every movement as he made his way to the training ground. The hunter was already there, pipe in hand.

"Cultivation allows us to manipulate Pneuma," he began without preamble. "Over the years, legendary figures have created techniques to unleash devastating effects with this energy. Mastering such techniques usually takes months, if not years. That's why skill crystals are so valuable – they allow instant learning by simply crushing the crystal in your palm."

The hunter demonstrated by crushing a small pebble, the dramatic effect somewhat lost on Asher, who was currently struggling to maintain a headstand. According to the hunter, this was to improve his lacking core stability. The occasional pebbles thrown at him to disrupt his balance seemed excessive, though.

On the third day of combat training, Asher's arms felt like lead as he practiced basic sword stances. The hunter circled him, using a wooden stick to correct his posture.

"All Pneuma practitioners generally fall into one of five paths," the hunter lectured. "Empowerment, Radiance, Manifestation, Dominance, or Exceptional. Each has unique strengths, weaknesses, and limitations. A true master knows how to overcome their weaknesses and exploit others."

"Have you ever used a weapon before?" the hunter asked suddenly.

Asher, mid-thrust with the wooden sword, answered with a breathless, "No."

The hunter studied Asher's movements intently, rubbing his stubbled chin. "Okay, you can stop."

"Huh? I can still go on," Asher protested, not wanting to appear weak.

"I know. But the sword doesn't suit you."

Asher's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"While mastery of a weapon depends on commitment and dedication, certain weapons naturally suit some better than others," the hunter explained. "Catch."

He tossed his wooden stick to Asher, who caught it reflexively.

"Use the basic stances I taught you and adapt them for this stick."

Asher examined the stick, nearly as long as he was tall. He reversed his grip on the wooden sword and stabbed it into the ground, freeing his hand. The weight of the stick felt different, but not entirely unfamiliar.

Focusing on the basics – stab, slash, and guard – Asher began to move. He imagined the stick as a longer sword, taking the first stance and thrusting forward. Rotating the stick, he flowed into a slashing motion, his feet shuffling to maintain balance. Back to a thrust, then a defensive position. He moved through the forms, striking at imaginary foes.

"Defend," the hunter barked suddenly, lunging at Asher with his wooden sword.

Instinctively, Asher brought the stick up to block. The impact jarred his arms, but he held firm. Using the point of contact as a pivot, he spun, attempting a counter-strike.

The hunter easily evaded, but a slight smile played on his lips. "So, a longsword it is."

Asher had to agree. While the shorter sword had felt awkward, this longer weapon seemed to fit naturally in his hands.

"That's enough for today," the hunter declared. "Complete the rest of your tasks."

As the hunter disappeared into the cabin, Asher set about his remaining exercises, his mind buzzing with the day's revelations.

The fourth day of training brought more esoteric knowledge. Asher listened intently as the hunter explained the seven major realms of cultivation.

"It is said that there are around seven major realms of cultivation. Each major realm has its own three minor realms, and each in itself requires one to break through, bringing about changes that ultimately lead to the completion of the major realm. Each breakthrough holds significance bringing about profound changes in the practitioner. More drastic changes are mostly seen after each major realm hence these are used to separate individuals, as the gap of power between each continues to grow wider and wider with each major realm.”

The hunter paused to let Asher absorb the information.

“A cultivator who has had a breakthrough in a major realm is commonly referred to with a title symbolizing that realm. Those in the first realm of cultivation are known as ‘Initiates’ with the first realm being the Pneuma Condensation stage, following this is the foundation establishment stage with the title of ‘Acolyte’.”

The complexities of this new world continued to unfold before him, both exciting and daunting.

"That's enough theory for now," the hunter concluded. "Let's get to your training."

Just as Asher prepared himself for another grueling session, the hunter added, "I've called in a special guest. They're more qualified than me in this regard."

Before Asher could question this, the huntress – Abbygale – appeared from behind the hunter, a warm smile on her face. "Hello," she greeted, her eyes twinkling with an intelligence that hinted at the depths of her alchemical knowledge.

Asher straightened, curiosity and apprehension warring within him. What else awaited him?