After I turned ten years old, and my life changed forever.
My father, sensing a newfound determination growing within me, decided it was time to intensify my mana training and actually start my combat training. I was no longer just a young boy learning the basics i was now a warrior-in-training, a future protector of our family and its ancient legacy. This was not play. This was a path. A sacred one. But i enjoyed it.
The training was grueling.
Each morning began before the sun had even risen. The air was cool and heavy with dew, and my muscles ached from the previous day's challenges. My father was relentless. No excuses, no delays. I would run barefoot through the woods, the earth cold beneath my feet, my lungs heaving with effort. My father ran beside me in silence, he didn't even break a sweat, his expression calm but watchful, as if he were evaluating every stride I took.
After running, we trained in combat. My fists were wrapped tightly in cloth, my knuckles bruised from repeated strikes against bark, stone, and wood. I practiced until my arms trembled, my breath came in gasps, and sweat soaked through my clothes. But through the pain, I began to notice something I was getting stronger. My body moved faster, more fluid. My reflexes sharpened. My mind cleared.
I began to see the results of the work.
The training was not just physical, it was... mental and emotional, too. My father believed that a warrior without control over his mind was a danger to himself and others. So he taught me meditation. For hours, I would sit in silence, legs crossed, spine straight, trying to empty my mind of distractions. It was harder than any punch I'd ever thrown. Thoughts kept intruding, doubts, fears, memories... oh God the memories. But, little by little, I learned to breathe through them as hard as it was, I progressed, I learned to let them pass like wind through trees.
I learned discipline. I learned patience. And, most of all, I learned who I was.
Some days were harder than others. There were moments when I wanted to quit, when I questioned everything my abilities, my purpose, my place in this family I was being prepared to inherit. There were days when the pain was unbearable, when the cold mornings and endless repetitions made me cry in secret. But I never let my father or mother see. Because despite it all, I wanted to make them proud.
"You're doing great, Noah," he would say when I was nearly ready to collapse. "You're making progress every day. Just keep pushing, and you'll see."
He spoke in a mocking tone, but i knew he cared.
So I pushed.
One day, after months of this relentless pace, my father led me to the old stone training circle behind our house. The ground was cracked from years of combat drills, and the air seemed charged with expectation. He stood silently for a moment, looking up at the mountains in the distance, then turned to me with an intensity I hadn't seen before.
"Today, you'll learn Dragon's Breath."
The words echoed in my chest. I had heard whispers of this technique an ancient, powerful method that allowed a warrior to tap into their inner energy, magnifying their abilities in moments of great need. But it came with a cost. If misused, it could drain you completely or burn you out from the inside.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
I nodded, heart pounding with anticipation. My father placed his hands on my shoulders, grounding me.
"Dragon's Breath is not about rage," he said. "It's not about brute strength. It's about focus. Clarity. Control. If your spirit is clouded, the technique will turn against you and become like slow poison, killing you slowly."
He guided me through a series of breathing patterns slow at first, then gradually deeper, faster, until I felt the air itself thrum in my chest. My vision blurred. My heartbeat drummed like thunder. I felt warmth rise through my spine, spreading to my limbs like fire. My senses sharpened. The world seemed brighter, crisper.
Then came the surge.
It felt like lightning, not just in my muscles but in my very soul. I roared... not from anger, but from sheer energy... unleashing a focused strike against a large oak dummy. The impact shattered it clean in two. I stumbled back, stunned by my own power.
My father's eyes widened, but only briefly. He nodded, impressed.
"You're a natural," he said. "But remember, power is only a tool. Your heart, your purpose… that is what makes you a warrior."
His words stayed with me.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the hum of Dragon's Breath still lingering in my veins. For the first time, I felt truly alive. I understood now why I had been pushed so hard. This wasn't just about family tradition. This was about becoming someone who could protect, who could stand firm against the chaos of the world.
In the weeks that followed, my training grew even more intense. My father introduced me to sparring partners, older, more experienced students who didn't go easy on me. I was knocked down many times, humiliated even. But each defeat was a lesson. I learned from every misstep. I adapted. I improved.
I began studying philosophy and history. My father believed that a warrior should be educated, should understand the world he sought to protect, i hated it though. Regardless, he gave me books about ancient guardians, about those who wielded power with wisdom and compassion. I was inspired, and annoyed by their stories, by how they struggled, doubted, and ultimately rose to greatness.
I started journaling every night, recording my thoughts, my progress, and my questions. Why do we fight? What is the purpose of strength? What kind of man do I want to become? These weren't easy questions, but asking them made me feel more grounded.
Then one morning, as we trained beneath a crimson sky, my father paused mid-swing and lowered his blade. "You've come far, Noah," he said, breathing heavily. "Farther than I expected."
I was panting, too, sweat trickling down my face. "I had a good teacher," I said, smiling.
He chuckled. "Perhaps. But the road ahead is still long. You must never become complacent. The greatest warriors are always students."
His words lit something inside me. I no longer feared the pain or the exhaustion. They had become my companions. I understood now that growth only came through discomfort. That power without humility was dangerous. That identity wasn't something given, it was forged.
One evening, while watching the stars, I realized something important. This journey wasn't just about protecting my family. It was about discovering myself. Every breath, every punch, every fall and rise was shaping me into someone stronger, not just in body but in soul.
I wasn't just my father's son. I was Noah. A boy becoming a warrior. A child learning to become his own man.
A Reizei.
Dragon's Breath had unlocked more than just power, it had unlocked possibility.
And I was ready.
End of Chapter.