Immanuel slumped beside his bed, utterly exhausted. Every muscle ached with the sweet pain of hard-earned exertion, his core as empty as a hermit's social calendar.
They gave him the compound he arrived at this morning. There, on his bed, were his sword and walking stick. "How did you two get here? And where is my armor?" he asked aloud, too drained to piece together their mysterious arrival. With a mental shrug that echoed his physical fatigue, he nudged them aside. The moment his head hit the matras he was out, sleeping a deep sleep.
---
Elio roused Immanuel before the first light of dawn, his voice an urgent whisper in the dim room. "Immanuel, activate your zeal." Confusion clouded Immanuel's mind as he only half woke up. "What?" he mumbled groggily. Without warning, Elio's fist connected sharply with his stomach. "What the hell, Elio!" Immanuel exclaimed, wincing, even as he activated his core, feeling it pulse to life within him. Elio’s lips curled into a satisfied smile at Immanuel’s quick response. "We're traveling by boat today. Everything's been prepared. Grab your belongings and let's go," he said with a brisk tone.
Immanuel, still reeling from the abrupt awakening, hesitated. "Wait. Where's my armor?" Elio turned, walking towards the door as he replied over his shoulder, "Val's taken it. It’s not just any armor; it's special, and they want to examine it. Besides, you won’t be needing it. Hurry up."
Immanuel hopped out of bed, his attention drawn to a letter lying on the floor, ‘hmm something I missed last night.’ He quickly dressed, strapping on his sword and grabbing his trusty walking stick and the letter.
Immanuel trailed Elio, unfurling the letter with a deft flick of his hand. "Cultivator Immanuel, an impatient cultivator looms over my shoulder, so brevity is key. We're orchestrating an event to auction the boat, inviting all interested parties to bid. The bids will be openly displayed, allowing ample time for inspection. Your story, intertwined with the boat's history, will be shared—it adds a compelling layer. You're always welcome in..."
The message abruptly ended, likely cut short by the cultivators’ dwindling patience.
They reached a bustling dock, where a majestic ship loomed.. Following Elio, Immanuel strode across the gangplank.
The sails billowed gracefully above as Immanuel was ushered into the ship's hull. He descended into the hull, a vast, empty expanse save for Jager's solitary figure. "Let's focus on your staff today," Jager anncounced, his voice echoing slightly in the empty space. He held his own staff, noticeably longer than Immanuel's. "Show me your capabilities first," he instructed. Immanuel felt a twinge of foreboding. 'Oh no, I can sense where this is leading,' he thought apprehensively.
After a rigorous training session left Immanuel bruised and Jager decidedly unimpressed, the suns had already begun to cast their radiant glow that was visible trough the open door. Guiding Immanuel to a secluded room at the ship's stern, Jager ushered him in for breakfast. Immanuel devoured his meal with voracious enthusiasm, his spirits lifted by the food and a brief respite. He was grateful he healed so fast.
A distant yell could be heard. "That's our cue," announced Jager. They ascended to the deck, where Immanuel noticed a compact boat tethered alongside the ship. Jager and Elio leaped deftly into the boat. Immanuel, channeling energy, followed suit with a less graceful jump, nearly losing his balance upon landing. The boat, stocked with supplies, bore the sleek design of a speedboat, its propulsion seemingly powered by an unknown energy source. Jager took control at the rear, and with a swift maneuver, they sped off from the ship at exhilarating speeds, heading towards the distant forest that loomed on the horizon.
They navigated into a narrow river that snaked through the forest, where Jager, unrelenting in speed, skillfully piloted the boat. Water sprayed across Immanuel's face during the sharp turns, the force pressing against him. 'Back in this forsaken forest,' Immanuel mused with a hint of disdain.
The journey continued until they veered abruptly into a concealed side river, shrouded by overhanging trees and dense underbrush. The boat eventually glided into a serene clearing, revealing an idyllic house with a small dock. "Remove everything from the boat and bring it inside," Jager instructed, hopping off and securing the boat before disappearing in the house.
In a silent accord, the two apprentices dutifully unloaded their gear. The interior revealed a spacious training room, complete with an adjoining door at the rear and walls adorned with an array of weapons neatly arranged on racks. "Place everything in the back room," Jager directed, then motioned for them to follow. Moments later, they stood attentively before Jager..
Immanuel steeled himself as Jager outlined their objectives. "We're going to assess your ability to harness and control zeal. It's clear you're entirely unversed in the fundamental principles of nature and cultivation. You're, frankly, an idiot. Understanding your potential for growth is crucial. Tomorrow morning, you'll absorb several cores…”
“…For today, choose a sword."
A flicker of dread passed through Immanuel, but it was swiftly replaced by a surge of determination. Clenching his fists, a resolve ignited within him. 'I refuse to remain defenseless. I will not be prey anymore,' he vowed silently, his eyes scanning the array of swords, ready to embrace the challenge.
In the training room, Immanuel and Elio stood side by side, facing Jager in a stance of readiness. Jager, an epitome of relentless skill, engaged them both in a dance of combat that was as much about teaching as it was about testing.
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Jager moved with a fluidity that belied his raw strength, expertly meeting and countering their attacks. "More control, Immanuel," he advised sharply amidst the clashing of swords. "You're not a mere vessel with a simple on and off switch. Cultivate a constant baseline of zeal, flaring it only at critical moments." His words punctuated the rhythm of their fight, a tutorial in the midst of battle.
Immanuel, absorbing every hit and instruction, felt his body bruise and heal in rapid succession. He was learning, adapting to the flow of combat.
The training room echoed with the sound of metal striking metal. Jager deftly parried Elio's thrust, then spun to block Immanuel's strike, his movements a blur of precision.
Sweat glistened on their faces, muscles ached from exertion and their eyes glowed with zeal.
---
Exhaustion weighed heavily on Immanuel's arms, each lift of the sword becoming a monumental effort. The relentless training persisted, stretching on as shadows lengthened and darkness crept in. Pushing past his limits, Immanuel continued until his body could no longer summon zeal.
Finally, they stopped. Jager's stern gaze fell upon Immanuel, who was doubled over, blood seeping from his wounds onto the floor. "Clean that up before you retire," Jager commanded, his voice betraying a hint of hesitation. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "You heal even when you've depleted your zeal."
Struggling to raise his head, Immanuel looked up, his voice weak. "Is that good or bad?"
For the first time, Jager's mask of indifference faltered, a flicker of emotion crossing his features. It was an expression far from comforting. "Most cultivators heal using their zeal, draining their energy in the process. Your body heals independently, without taxing your core." With those words, Jager turned and walked away.
Immanuel's eyes met Elio's, both of them wearing the same expression of utter exhaustion. Elio, with a tired shrug, gestured towards their beds - nothing more than simple mats laid out in a corner of the room. Together, they trudged towards their humble resting spots, their movements heavy, united in their shared ordeal.
"I don't think he likes me," Immanuel murmured, collapsing onto the mat with a weary sigh.
Elio, dropping down beside him and replied exhausted, "I'm sure he doesn't like you."
They lay there resting for some time before Immanuel inched closer to Elio, his voice a faint murmur, “Elio. I don't understand. Why am I here? I was meant to be officially registered by another family, and now this?”
Elio's gaze flickered towards the door through which Jager had disappeared, then back, his voice no more than a whisper, “What’s there to understand? You have a unique cultivation, they fear you might strengthen other families.” His eyes met Immanuel's, then darted away too quickly, betraying unease.
“Is that all?”
Elio hesitated, casting another wary glance at the door. Leaning in, his lips nearly brushing Immanuel's ear, he breathed a barely audible revelation, “War is coming.”
---
The next morning, Jager roused them with the grating screech of a sword scraping against the wall, a sound that was jarringly unpleasant. Immanuel jerked awake, his zeal nearly bursting forth in a reckless flare. Elio's timely intervention stemmed the tide. "Easy, don't rush into waking," he cautioned. Heeding the advice, Immanuel calmed down, his gaze drifting around the room.
In the middle of the room, Jager sat with a chest, a strikingly beautiful woman at his side. When Immanuel's eyes met hers, she offered a warm, friendly smile, sending his heart into a flutter. Her fine features were framed by blonde hair; her eyes, large and round, sparkled with kindness, and her small chin added to her delicate allure. Rising, Immanuel moved to sit before them, scanning the room in the process. The absence of blood caught his attention. ‘Damn, I forgot about that. Who cleaned it? Elio?’ He wondered silently, settling onto his haunches in the same manner as Jager and the woman.
"We have to assess which cores are suited for your path," Jager began, breaking the silence. "That's why I've gathered a variety of peak-level two cores. Amalia here will assist in determining your limits.
Amalia's voice, soft yet commanding, filled the room. "I'm here to guide you through this process. May I hold your hand?" she asked gently. Without hesitation, Immanuel agreed.. "This will enable me to map the breaking points of your core and its channels," she explained. "Remember, you remain in control. Your connection is far superior to mine; I'm merely here to guide."
"Thank you," Immanuel uttered.
"Choose a core," Jager instructed curtly. "See if one resonates with you more than the others."
Among the eight cores presented, one did resonate uniquely with Immanuel, its energy seeming to leap towards him with a brief, magnetic pull. He picked it up, noting its dark green hue. The feel of Amalia's hand in his own was distinctly soft, her touch gentle.. As she transferred some of her zeal into him, Immanuel started to absorb the core. The energy was potent, clashing with his own in a tumultuous dance. Within this maelstrom, he could sense the edges of his core vibrating, until his energy solidified and corralled the new force towards its periphery, growing at the same time.
After a time, the intensity waned, and Immanuel opened his eyes to find Amalia watching him, her expression warm. "The Valcro birds, known for their unique ability to transform entirely into energy and thus travel, are nearly impossible to both find and capture. We will provide them to you; their insight and zeal might form the foundation of a potent combat style," she explained.
Following these words, Amalia stood and left the room, Jager accompanying her after gathering the remaining cores. It was then that Immanuel heard something unfamiliar in this world: the gentle patter of rain against leaves.
He walked outside and let the warm rain fall on him for the first time.
His training truly began from that point on, to the exclusion of all else. swordplay that demanded precision, staff combat emphasizing reach and leverage, and hand-to-hand combat that honed his reflexes and strength.
With each new understanding of how his core energy, his zeal, could be explosively channeled throughout his body, Immanuel advanced rapidly consuming beast cores. He soared through the second stage, drawing near to the peak level where Elio already resided. All the while, the rain seldom ceased, providing a constant, rhythmic backdrop to his relentless pursuit of mastery.