The first tendrils of dawn barely kissed the horizon when my eyes snapped open. No alarm, just an internal clock urging me onward. The pre-morning chill bit at my exposed skin as I swung my legs over the edge of the cot, a shiver chasing itself down my spine. This was the best time, before the world truly woke.
I strode out, the grass cool and damp underfoot, to the clearing where I began my morning ritual. A deep breath, then another, drawing in the crisp, cool air. I imagined it as a river, flowing not just into my lungs but deeper, into the core of me, swirling with an unseen energy. A new breathing pattern, one I'd crafted myself, designed to pull mana from the very air around me, a silent, internal hum beginning to resonate within my chest.
My feet found a rhythm, pounding a steady beat against the earth as I started my run, the rising sun painting the eastern sky in fiery hues. Sweat beaded on my brow, catching the early light. After a mile, I stopped, hands stilling. A subtle flex of my fingers, a surge of will, and a soft, ethereal glow bloomed in my palm, quickly coalescing into the form of a sword. It hummed, a low vibration against my skin, light but solid.
I began my swings, the luminous blade slicing through the air with a faint hiss. One. Two. Three. Each cut precise, deliberate. By the tenth, my shoulders started to burn. At fifteen, my arms felt like lead. Twenty. My movements slowed, my breath came in ragged gasps, and the ethereal blade wavered, threatening to dissipate. Still, I pushed on, grimacing against the ache, refusing to stop until the exhaustion blurred the edges of my vision.
A sudden, sharp snap of a twig ripped through the quiet of the forest. My head whipped up, the training sword still humming faintly in my trembling hand. My gaze narrowed, scanning the shadowed tree line. A figure stood silhouetted against the deepening green, watching me. He was tall, his frame lean even from this distance. White hair, pulled into a small, tight bun at the nape of his neck, caught a stray glint of sunlight. His eyes, even from across the clearing, seemed to bore into me, a startling shade of blue. He looked to be at least six feet, maybe a little taller, a subtle power thrumming around him.
A slow smile spread across his face, a slight crinkle at the corners of those unnerving blue eyes. His voice, when it came, was a low, resonant baritone, laced with an undeniable thread of amusement. "I didn't expect to see anyone around these parts."
My jaw tightened. I shifted my weight, the training sword still held firm. "Isn't it quite creepy to be watching someone from afar?" I deadpanned, my voice flat.
He started walking towards me, his steps unhurried, almost lazy. "The name's Henri Kigatsu. Pleasure to meet you." He offered a small, almost imperceptible bow.
"I didn't ask." My eyes remained locked on his, betraying nothing.
I pivoted sharply, turning my back to him, my shoulders stiffening. My jaw was clenched so tight it ached. The thought of some random demon, straying so far from their kingdom, was enough to curdle the quiet peace of the morning. I strode towards the house, the cool grass no longer comforting, my steps quick and angry. Inside, I splashed cold water on my face, the chill a welcome jolt. A simple breakfast of sizzled meat and a handful of berries was quickly prepared and eaten, my thoughts already racing ahead to the tasks that lay before me.
**DAY 1**
The town stretched out before me, a labyrinth of cobbled streets and timber-framed buildings. I spent the morning weaving through the bustling market, my ears picking up snippets of conversation – the price of bread, a complaint about the weather, laughter from a group of children. I paused at shop windows, watching the artisans at work, nodding to the few wary glances I received. I wanted to understand this place, to feel its pulse, not just observe it.
Later, I found the perfect spot for Suzie – a small bakery, the air thick with the scent of rising dough and warm sugar. The owner, a plump woman with flour dusting her apron, seemed agreeable enough. Suzie, however, required more convincing. Her brow furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line as I explained the opportunity. It took a patient hour, a calm recitation of benefits, and a gentle insistence before her shoulders finally relaxed, a hesitant smile touching her lips. "Alright," she'd said, her voice small but firm.
My nose, ever-seeking the scent of old paper and dust, led me to a building tucked away on a quiet side street – a library. I pushed open the heavy wooden door and breathed deep, the comforting aroma a balm. Hours melted away as my fingers traced ancient spines, pulling down texts on local history, forgotten legends, and arcane lore. I devoured pages, soaking in information, patching the holes in my knowledge.
**DAY 2**
The first light found me in the clearing again, but today's purpose was different. My focus shifted inward, not to the flow of mana through me, but to its *volume*. My intent was to expand the reservoir within. I considered the two paths: the slow, steady hum of drawing energy from the environment, a gentle filling of a cup. Or the alternative: the brutal, rapid emptying of the well, followed by a forced, painful replenishment, like an overfilled bladder bursting.
Time was a luxury I couldn't afford. My jaw set, a grim determination etched on my face, I chose the latter. The first attempt was a violent internal wrench. Mana surged, then was ripped away, leaving a hollow ache that made me gasp. Then, a sharp, burning sensation as my body screamed for more, pulling it in with a force that left me trembling. This would be my routine for the foreseeable future.
**DAY 3**
My eyelids felt weighted with lead, my muscles screamed with a dull, constant throb. Each breath was a shallow effort. The pain was a persistent hum, an unbearable burden I'd forced my body to carry.
**DAY 4**
My head nodded involuntarily, my vision blurring at the edges. Staying upright, let alone coherent, was a battle I was barely winning.
**DAY 5**
A flicker of something. A subtle shift in the internal pressure, a fraction more energy than yesterday. It was there, tangible, but so small, almost mocking my efforts. A frustrated sigh escaped my lips.
**DAY 6**
Suzie's brow was perpetually furrowed, her eyes scanning my face with a concern that I found comforting. She'd bring me cups of herbal tea, her touch light on my arm. "Are you sure you're alright?" she'd ask, her voice soft. I'd grunt a noncommittal response, waving away her worry. I'd rest when I could *feel* the difference, truly feel it.
**DAY 7**
A wave of actual relief washed over me. The throbbing eased, the exhaustion lessened. My movements, though still heavy, no longer felt like wading through treacle. A small, tight smile touched my lips. The goal felt within reach now, not a distant star.
**DAY 8**
I slumped to the ground, a deep, shaky breath rattling in my chest. Done. The internal well felt vast, full, ready. But the cost... every ounce of energy in my body felt wrung out, leaving me utterly spent.
**DAY 9**
The day was a blur of soft blankets and dreamless sleep. Later, I woke feeling strangely light, the lingering aches finally gone. Suzie and I spent the day together, her easy laughter a balm to my weary mind. We talked, we ate, we simply existed in comfortable silence. As twilight painted the sky in oranges and purples, a sudden prickle on the back of my neck. I spun around, my eyes scanning the deepening shadows. Nothing. Just the fading light. A fleeting shadow, a sense of being watched, but it vanished before I could confirm it was anything more than tired imagination.
**DAY 10**
Today, the focus shifted from internal energy to external form. My body, once a familiar tool, now yearned for new discipline. I could return to the rigorous, standard physical training I knew, the push-ups and sprints and heavy lifts. But a different path called to me, a memory from a journey long ago. I remembered the wolf demons, their ancient martial arts, brutal and intelligent. Five sections, my mental list began, five pillars to master.
**1ST SECTION: The Approach.**
Wolves didn't rush in. They stalked. They observed. My eyes would need to become probes, my senses needles. I'd learn to read the subtle shift in an opponent's aura, the whisper of a falling leaf, the almost imperceptible disturbance in the soil. I'd train my gaze to dissect a body in motion: the clenching of muscles before a strike, the quickening of breath, the smallest twitch of a limb. I had to notice *everything*.
**2ND SECTION: The Attack.**
The pounce. A wolf commits, but only when victory is certain. My observations would be the bedrock of my decision. No wasted motion, no hesitation. It was a short section, a swift, decisive burst, but every ounce of its efficacy relied on the silent, patient wisdom gathered in the first section. A fraction of a second, a hair's breadth of misjudgment, and the pounce would be off, the advantage lost.
**3RD SECTION: The Claws.**
Though wolves wielded their entire being in an attack, their claws were the ultimate expression of their fury. I would learn to extend mine with predatory speed, to rip, to tear, to disembowel. They would become an extension of my will, deployed with brutal precision.
**4TH SECTION: The Defense.**
Muscle and fur protected the wolf, but their true defense lay in their agility. They knew how to become blurs, how to dodge the impossible. I would forge my body into a fortress, muscles like steel cables, and sharpen my perception until I could predict the very air before an attack.
**5TH SECTION: Calmness.**
Provocation ignited the wolf's primal rage. But true mastery, the deepest intelligence, lay in control. I would learn to quiet the storm within, to tether my emotions, to move with icy precision even as the world around me screamed chaos.
**DAY 34**
The marked date on my calendar loomed, a physical representation of the inevitable. The transition, the day I became a demon, was closer than ever. My movements now flowed with a terrifying fluidity, the observation techniques from the first section of the wolf martial arts almost second nature. I could feel the subtle shifts in the air, predict a hypothetical strike before it formed. And the third section, the claws, felt like an extension of my very bones, ready to deploy. I often found myself staring into the middle distance, a quiet question forming in my mind: What would it truly mean, to become one of them? How much of myself would I lose, and what new power would I gain?