The air was so cold it felt sharp. Each breath was a small battle. A thick, white mist lay over the old stone training ground like a ghost, hiding the edges of the world and making everything quiet.
Vorn stood in the center, alone. He was there to train, to make his body as strong as his mind. His mind was like a perfect library, full of knowledge from his new books. But his body felt heavy and slow in the thin air.
He closed his eyes, listening. He heard only the slow drip of water from a nearby rock and the beat of his own heart.
Then, a change.
The hair on his arms stood up. A cold feeling, like a drop of ice water, ran down his spine. It was a warning. His special senses, sharper than any normal person's, screamed inside him.
Danger, Close.
He turned, his muscles tense. But he was too late.
A figure came out of the mist. It moved like a shadow, making no sound at all. There was no time to think, only to see. A boot, covered in dark leather, was already flying toward his chest. It was unbelievably fast.
Vorn's mind, working at lightning speed, searched for an answer. He saw the attack in slow motion. The textbook knowledge appeared in his head: 'The sternum is a weak point. Redirect the energy. Move to the side.' It was the perfect plan. His brain sent the command to his arms, to his legs.
But his body was a moment behind.
The kick landed with the force of a falling rock. A shocking, burning pain exploded in his chest. The world spun, the air was violently forced from his lungs. He flew backward and hit the hard stone wall with a terrible thud. Stars flashed in his eyes. For a second, he could only lie there, stunned, fighting to breathe.
The dark figure didn't stop. It moved again, a blur against the gray mist. This was the Quick Counter style. Every time Vorn's mind found an opening, every time he tried to shift his weight to strike or dodge, the attacker was already there.
A fist came toward his face. Vorn saw it coming. He knew he should duck to the left. His mind screamed LEFT! But his body, aching and slow, only twitched. The fist connected with his jaw. His head snapped to the side. A bright, white pain blinded him for a second. He stumbled, his legs turning to water.
I know what he will do next! Vorn thought desperately. I can see the flaw in his stance! His right side is open! He tried to push forward, to lunge into that small opening. But his legs were too weak. His movement was clumsy and slow.
The attacker easily swayed back and kicked Vorn's legs out from under him. Vorn crashed onto the cold, wet stone, the impact shaking his whole body.
He was smarter. He knew more, but it meant nothing. Knowledge was useless without the speed to use it.
The attacker stood over him now, a tall and silent shadow. His face was calm, showing no effort. He looked down at Vorn as if he were a bug on the ground.
"Too slow," the man said. His voice was low and flat, like a stone dropping in a deep well. It held no anger, no pride. Just a simple, cold fact.
He lifted his foot one last time. Vorn saw it coming but could do nothing. The kick landed on his shoulder with a brutal force. A loud, sickening CRACK echoed in the silent mist.
Agony, white-hot and terrible, ripped through Vorn's entire body. His vision dissolved into a painful white light. He couldn't even scream. He could only lie there on the cold ground, broken, his body shaking from the shock.
Then, something changed.
A new pressure filled the air. It was heavy and powerful, like a storm about to break. The very mist seemed to stop moving. The attacker, who was turning to leave, suddenly froze in place.
Master Hajime stood at the edge of the training ground. He had not made a sound. His face was like carved stone. His dark eyes were fixed on the attacker, and in them was a promise of violence.
The attacker stared back. For a single moment, the two men measured each other in the silence. Then, the attacker let out a short, harsh laugh. It was a sound with no humor in it.
He held up his hand. In it was a small, glass orb that seemed to swallow the light. With a quick squeeze of his fingers, the orb shattered.
But it didn't just break. It exploded into a cloud of thick, black smoke that moved like it was alive. It wrapped around the attacker, hiding him from sight. When the smoke vanished a second later, blown away by the mountain wind, the man was gone.
The heavy pressure in the air faded. Master Hajime walked to Vorn's side. He didn't say a word. He knelt, his strong hands gently checking Vorn's injuries—the bruised chest, the bleeding lip, the badly hurt shoulder. His touch was firm and knowing. He helped Vorn sit up against the cold wall. He didn't ask if Vorn was okay. The answer was obvious.
As Hajime started to carefully wrap his shoulder to keep it still, Vorn's sharp senses, which had been overwhelmed by pain, picked up a tiny signal. A faint energy,
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Vorn pushed himself forward. His eyes, now glowing faintly with the power of his artifact, scanned the stones where the attacker had stood. The world sharpened into lines of energy and data. And there, almost invisible, was a tiny, black chip half-hidden in a crack in the stone.
His fingers, trembling, picked it up. It was cool and smooth.
Master Hajime watched him. "What is it?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
Vorn's mind instantly connected to the device, reading its simple purpose. "A recorder," he whispered, his voice rough with pain. "He was recording the fight. He was so sure of himself, he forgot it."
Hajime took the chip. He pressed a small button on its side. A voice, calm and clear, filled the quiet air.
A second, slightly distorted voice from the recording spoke first: "What did you learn?"
Then came the attacker's voice, sounding bored and tired: "He's weak. His physical ability is good for a young student, maybe. But he is no threat to what we are doing. His mind is fast, but his body is a cage. There is no need to worr—"
The recording ended abruptly with a crunch of static. The attacker had crushed the device, believing his message was sent and his job was complete.
The silence that followed was heavier than before. Master Hajime looked from the broken chip to Vorn's face. His eyes were hard.
"They have underestimated you," he said. His voice was quiet, but it carried a dangerous weight.
Vorn said nothing. He felt the shame of defeat, a cold feeling deeper than the pain in his shoulder. He had been analyzed, judged, and thrown away as worthless.
Master Hajime saw the thoughts on his face. "In the fight," the Master said, "you could see the path to victory, but your feet could not walk it. Your mind is a lightning bolt, but your body is a rusty sword. It is a useless tool. You must change that. You must forge your body into a blade worthy of your mind's edge. You must make your flesh as fast as your thoughts."
Vorn looked down at his hands. They were cut, bruised, and shaking. But as he stared, the shaking stopped. A new feeling pushed away the pain and shame. It was a cold, hard determination.
He had a new goal, a true purpose.
He would train. He would push his body to its absolute limit and then beyond. He would remake himself until he was complete. And his enemy's arrogant miscalculation—their belief that he was not a threat—would become the final, fatal mistake of their lives.