The morning after his breakthrough, Derick woke before the birds.
His body felt different. Lighter. Stronger. Even the act of breathing had become more focused—his chest expanded with control, and every muscle responded with alert efficiency. It was like the pain of yesterday had been peeled away, revealing something forged beneath the skin.
Master Shen stood waiting, arms folded, eyes scanning the trees.
"You're awake," the old man said. "Good. Then you're ready."
Derick rubbed his hands together. "Ready for what?"
Shen raised a hand and pointed toward a narrow clearing lined with stone pillars and moss-covered stumps.
"Today, you begin learning to move like a cultivator."
The Foundation of Movement
The scroll Shen had given him was tied to his wrist by a cord of beast sinew. As they stepped into the clearing, Derick unrolled it once more.
The technique was called Shadow Step—a basic movement skill, originally developed by temple monks to evade blows and move unseen through combat.
"Shadow Step focuses on momentum, redirection, and balance," the scroll read.
"It allows the user to seem to vanish between steps, confusing opponents while repositioning for a strike."
Shen demonstrated the stance.
He bent slightly forward, knees loose, one foot barely touching the ground behind the other. With a twist of his waist and a snap of breath, his form blurred—disappearing and reappearing two meters to the left.
"Again," he said, vanishing and reappearing farther still.
Derick stared in awe. "You're… blinking through the air."
"No," Shen said, laughing. "I'm moving. I just understand how to use the world better than you."
He motioned to the scroll.
"Step One: feel the ground.
Step Two: synchronize breath with movement.
Step Three: release force, not from muscle—but from intent."
Falling Again and Again
What followed were three days of pain.
Derick practiced alone. At first, every attempt at Shadow Step ended with him stumbling, slipping, or slamming his shoulder into a tree. His balance was off, his steps too loud, his breath too shallow.
"Your body is moving faster than your mind," Shen told him.
"You're treating this like running. It's not running. It's flow."
Again and again, Derick started over.
He began by synchronizing movement with breath: inhale—step; exhale—pivot. Then came muscle control. Then came mental projection: seeing the move before he made it.
Slowly, he began to blur—not vanish, but flicker. A half-second skip. A movement that didn't look human anymore.
The First Real Step
On the seventh day, as the mist clung low to the ground and sunlight barely pierced through the trees, Derick stood with his eyes closed, feeling the earth beneath his bare feet.
He visualized the move. Pictured the way Master Shen moved, the way the breath curled behind the step, the weight distribution, the moment of quiet release.
Then—he moved.
His foot slid forward—not stomping, but whispering against the grass. His waist twisted, arm loose, breath perfectly timed—
—and his form vanished for just a moment—
When he reappeared, he was ten paces ahead, standing atop a log, perfectly balanced.
He turned. A small wind caught the edge of his shirt.
Master Shen was smiling.
"That," he said, "was a real Shadow Step."
Derick breathed hard, chest heaving—but he grinned.
For the first time in his life, he had mastered something that didn't belong to slaves. It wasn't survival. It was power. Control. A skill born not of bloodlines or privilege—but effort.
Battle Without a Blade
Later that evening, Shen tested him.
He blindfolded Derick and tied small chimes to his wrists and ankles. The goal: avoid the strikes of a wooden staff without ringing a single bell.
The first hour was filled with failure. Chimes sang out every time he shifted.
But slowly, his steps grew quieter. His timing sharper. The rhythm of the world began to match the rhythm of his body.
By nightfall, Shen swung his staff—and Derick was already gone, sliding behind a stone and circling without sound.
Chimes silent. Breath steady.
Shen finally lowered his weapon. "Enough. You've done it."
Derick pulled off the blindfold, drenched in sweat but glowing from within.
He didn't just feel faster.
He felt untouchable.
A Shadow on the Horizon
That night, as they sat beside a cold fire, Derick stared up at the stars.
"I never thought I'd be the one to hold a technique in my hands," he whispered. "Where I come from… we're not even taught to dream."
Shen looked over at him, voice quiet.
"Every master you've ever heard of started out weak. Power isn't birth—it's direction."
"…So what's next?"
Shen's face grew grim.
"We're heading into wild territory soon. There are slave camps deep in the east. Places where humans disappear and demons feed freely. If we go that way, you'll need more than Shadow Step."
He tossed something toward Derick.
Another scroll.
"Next, you'll learn how to strike like a cultivator."