Zuum, zuum, zuum.
In the training field stood Dante, Tyler, Tu Sheng, and the great elder Hai. At that moment, right after completing the Heart of Latency Technique, Dante was being attacked simultaneously by Tyler and Sheng.
Both had restricted their strength to match Dante's level and wielded iron rods, trying to strike him as he dodged with his eyes blindfolded.
The two old masters almost never missed—out of ten strikes, eleven would hit Dante. Dodging guided only by sound was extremely difficult, especially considering that both were ancient masters with incomparable experience and moved without making the slightest noise.
This training was meant to sharpen Dante's battle instincts while tempering his muscles and bones toward mortal perfection. They wanted him to be unhindered even if he ever lost his sight in battle—expanding his range of combat ability.
Dante stepped back as the air whistled and something rushed toward his arm.
Baam!
The iron rod struck slightly above his elbow, sending a tingling pain through his bone that seemed to vibrate.
The air whistled again—Dante could only predict the attack's direction by sound alone. The strike was coming from behind, perhaps toward his ribs.
Zuuum!
The iron rod came down and hit Dante's left shoulder. A sharp pain ran through his body—it felt as though the bone's base had cracked. His left arm began trembling from an inner vibration.
As Dante turned, on the edge of the training field, the old ancestor watched the young man taking the beating.
> "I told them to help him condense his triple foundation, yet they didn't give him the Epidermal Fruit, nor did they follow the proper method.
Instead, they blindfolded him and started beating him, telling him to dodge... this will only delay the formation of the triple foundation and bring him more pain."
Perhaps that was why Tyler and Sheng were laughing so cheerfully—the old Hai finished his reasoning with a sigh.
Still, he had no intention of interfering. Cruel and sadistic as it might seem, if it was necessary for Dante's development, it was perfectly acceptable.
As the next leader of the village and a possessor of incredible talent, Dante had to be pushed to his limits in every possible way.
> "The stronger the foundation, the taller the building."
While the ancestor reflected, Dante continued to endure the merciless assault from both masters—left, right, flank.
The iron rods never missed Dante's body. He tried to hide his agony, but the lack of sight restricted him greatly, and both elders were relentless monsters.
No matter how much time passed, as long as Dante hadn't completed his triple foundation, they would keep striking him.
The two elders advanced in synchronized rhythm. The iron rods sliced through the air, hitting Dante's body with such speed that they produced a constant whistling sound.
And only by those sounds was Dante supposed to defend himself—which was truly impossible, no matter how much he adapted.
The old men changed rhythms, strikes, and directions with every collision, preventing Dante from memorizing their patterns.
The air whistled, and the iron rod struck Dante's back, knocking the breath out of him.
It whistled again—this time targeting his leg, arms, and stomach.
Another whistle—and Dante tried to defend himself, but the attack didn't come from where he expected. It came from the opposite direction.
And so it went on. If the sound came from the front, the attack would come from behind. If it came from the left, the strike would arrive from the right.
This followed a sequence: ten reversed strikes, ten normal ones, and ten with no sound at all.
Attack.
Defense.
Inversion.
Silence.
Attack again.
With every blow, Dante's body became a fraction tougher than before.
Zuum!
The wind whistled once—but it was clearly two interlaced whistles.
Crack!
The iron rods began striking Dante's body in unison. From that point on, direction no longer mattered—he would be attacked by both without pause, barely allowed to breathe.
With every flurry of blows, his body endured excruciating pain. Fortunately, Dante wasn't an ordinary human—his golden blood could regenerate before the wounds could set, creating a continuous cycle of refinement.
With each moment, Tyler and Sheng's strikes grew heavier, pushing Dante to his absolute limit.
One hour.
Two hours.
Six hours.
The sun was setting, and Dante was still standing while Tyler and Sheng attacked with ferocity. His blood could no longer regenerate, no matter how many times it circulated.
His skin was covered in bruises, and the ground beneath him was stained entirely in golden blood.
His appearance was pitiful—if the iron rods hadn't been constantly hitting him, he would've fainted long ago.
— "That's enough!"
A low voice, filled with infinite authority, echoed through the field. It was the ancestor Hai, his expression a strange mix of disapproval and pride.
> "Take him to the herbal bath. It will still take time before the triple foundation is complete, so make sure his body is in the best possible condition before every session."
As soon as the old Hai finished speaking, Tyler lifted Dante—already unconscious—and slung him over his shoulder before leaving the training grounds.