In one of the small courtyards adjoining the huts in the village of the Abandoned, Grey stood in the standard stance of an archer, the bowstring drawn to its very limit.
His face had reddened from the physical strain. Tiny beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. His clothes were soaked through as if he had just jumped out of a lake. His arms and legs trembled from fatigue, and his hair stuck out wildly in every direction.
"Hold the position. Do not lower your arms. Your elbow must be an extension of your shoulder. That way you will waste less strength and aim more precisely," instructed the one-armed Grandfather Jack, who stood nearby.
The child breathed quickly and heavily, trying to steady his ragged breathing, yet he still followed the old man's instructions. Remaining motionless was sometimes harder than moving intensely, especially now that he was holding the bowstring drawn, which required considerable strength and concentration.
"Good, hold it for another five minutes," Grandfather Jack praised.
Although the former killer felt sympathy for the boy, he also respected his persistence and dedication.
His serious demeanor was a stark contrast to that of his mischievous older sister. While the girl was no less talented, she disliked difficulties. She preferred learning through practice rather than endlessly repeating exercises.
Thus, the elders approached raising the twins from different angles.
Grandfather Jack understood just how tough a trial he had set for the child. This training was meant purely to build endurance and had nothing to do with other skills.
Watching Grey's figure wobble from fatigue, Jack noticed that the boy's eyes still burned with the same determination and tenacity. He nodded in approval, silently praising that attitude.
He derived immense satisfaction from seeing the boy push past his own limits.
He did not enjoy raising prodigies like Grace, for whom everything came easily. There was no challenge in that. Far more rewarding was watching someone as hopeless as Grey slowly transform into a dangerous predator.
"Finished! You're allowed to move now. Three-minute break. After that, we'll start working on fist techniques," he commanded.
"Yes," came the immediate reply from the boy, already lying on the ground.
"Don't just lie there. Walk around a bit, loosen up those stiff muscles. It'll be easier to get back into position."
The boy followed the advice of the one-armed grandfather.
Although training with him was always grueling and exhausting, he felt himself growing a little stronger each time. The sensation was intoxicating. Especially for someone crippled, who could only watch as his talented sister moved effortlessly from level to level, growing ever stronger, leaving him behind.
Soon, they resumed the exercises. The movements were simple, like gymnastics, but the emphasis was entirely on their intensity.
Grandfather Jack held a soft but hefty glove with his single hand, striking Grey against it. The killer focused first on strengthening the boy's fundamentals, so that every movement would be precise and honed. As a result, the child would learn to make the most correct decisions in battle instinctively.
Grey understood why the old man was so insistent.
These simple, almost primitive movements were far more important than any techniques or spells—they always worked. Universal steps, dodges, spins, strikes built on pure physics and reflexes required no talent, no core development, no raw strength.
Even a cripple could use them. The key was for the muscles to remember the trajectory and the mind the correct decisions. And that was why Grey gave everything he had: he could not afford to be weaker.
Having finished the training, Grey felt utterly drained, as if every drop of strength had been pulled from him. He collapsed onto the cool ground, letting his body cool, and stretched out his arms, simply staring up at the high, endless sky.
"Grandfather Jack, do you think… if I master all the techniques, I could defeat Grace?" the boy asked.
"No," the old man replied briefly. He was a man of few words, speaking only when necessary.
"Why not?" Grey asked, unsurprised by the curt answer.
"Even though your fundamentals are far stronger than your sister's right now, the difference in raw strength still remains."
"What does that mean?" Grey pressed, accustomed to this kind of blunt conversation.
"You control your power better, but the disparity in physical conditioning remains. Grace can develop too, and she's undergoing similar training, though with less dedication. She's extremely talented and absorbs everything instantly. She has fully tempered her medians and can release raw energy. That's the third level of mortal development, Centurion (3). Her physical strength is comparable to five adults, and her reflexes are honed. In a fair one-on-one fight, you wouldn't stand a chance against her.
"However, when it comes to others, you could contend with an average fighter using your agility. After completing your training, under the right circumstances, you might even be able to kill a fourth-level practitioner if you strike from an ambush."
"Sounds logical," the boy said dryly, still lying on the ground.
He knew he was grasping at wishful thinking, yet he still hoped for a positive answer. Only Grey truly understood how much he wanted to surpass Grace, at least for now, while they were both at low levels.
He knew that in the future he would fall behind, unable to develop further, but he still wanted to stay on par with Grace as long as possible, so as not to become a burden.
While Grey endured grueling training with the former killer, his sister was far from idle. She was deep in the forest, led there for training by Grandfather Robert, a former witcher.
The girl now wore a combat outfit, casting a variety of spells to battle a two-meter-tall wind wolf.
The wolf's body was covered in thick black fur, its eyes glowing with a menacing red light. These beasts were notorious for their agility and ferocious nature.
Once, they had roamed freely near the village. That had lasted until the villagers cleared the surrounding area for a hundred-kilometer radius, so the children could play and explore safely. But now they had ventured much deeper, searching for a suitable opponent for training.
The girl used wind magic to match the wolf's speed, occasionally hurling fireball spells at it.
These were no ordinary tongues of flame that could be ignored by a quick dash through them. They were dense spheres of concentrated fire, exploding on impact and dealing substantial damage. The spells served as a distraction, forcing the wolf into a disadvantageous position.
Compelled to dodge the attacks, the wolf couldn't get close to Grace, settling instead for sending wind blades in her direction.
Finally, seizing the right moment, the beast ignored one of the fireballs, which scorched its side, and lunged toward Grace. Its sharp fangs aimed directly at her neck, hoping to take her down with a single strike.
But to the wolf's surprise, not a shadow of fear crossed her face. Grace, who had seemed fragile and clumsy until now, leapt sharply to the left. The wolf, unable to adjust its trajectory, landed where she had just been and slipped.
Taking advantage of her opening, Grace threw a chakram at the wolf's right side, which was now within her reach. The weapon cut through the thick fur like a knife through butter.
For the beast, it was a critical hit, significantly slowing it down.
Even after gaining this temporary advantage, Grace didn't relax. She knew the wolf was at its most dangerous when wounded and cornered. She wouldn't give it the slightest chance.
Grace continued to launch fireballs, keeping the wolf at a distance and preventing it from closing in.
When the wind wolf finally faltered, exhausted from continuous blood loss and fresh burns, Grace threw a second chakram. It landed precisely on the wolf's neck, and the beast let out its final breath.
"Clap, clap, clap," came the sound of applause from deep within the thicket.
"Excellent work, little Grace! Superb combat execution and focus! You anticipated the wolf's movements in advance and cleverly moistened the ground, covering the puddle with moss to trap it during its attack. You didn't relax after your success and remained fully concentrated. It's gratifying to see that our hard training is paying off," commented Grandfather Robert, the former witcher, on his pupil's performance.
"Hmph, of course! I have to be strong to protect my brother! I'm a little annoyed I couldn't take it down faster. Had I been on the field with Grey, he might have been exposed to unnecessary danger," the girl replied proudly, though with a hint of self-irony.
"Well, well, all in good time, young Amazon. This beast was a whole stage above you. You shouldn't expect a quick victory in such a situation. But why didn't you attack the wolf before it noticed you?" the former witcher asked.
"Grandfather Robert, your endless tests again. At times like this, you remind me of Aunt Albedo. I know perfectly well that wind wolves are extremely sensitive to air movements," Grace replied.
"I couldn't just waste my chakram on a useless attack. And approaching the wolf was even more impossible, given its keen sense of smell. That's why I relied entirely on long-range magic, provoking it into close combat in search of an advantage," Grace explained her actions.
"Ahahaha. Sorry, sorry, I know you don't like constant drills. But you have to understand that knowing your opponent and your own abilities is the key to victory in any situation."
"I understand, Grandfather. I just don't like constant tests—they give me a headache," Grace said playfully, feigning complaint.
Thus, the silver-haired old man and the little girl with white hair continued their practical training deep in the forest.
Grace, as always, was lively and full of energy. She loved the thrill of battle, the feeling of growing stronger, and putting magic into practice rather than memorizing endless formulas. In these moments, she felt truly alive.
Mathematics and theory were not her strong suit. She always tried in class, but she simply didn't have a natural inclination for them. Her brother Grey, on the other hand, was drawn to the exact sciences.
Grace was keenly aware of her strengths and weaknesses and always sought to support her brother in his endeavors. She understood that it would be difficult for him to bring his ideas to life on his own, so her knowledge needed to match his level.
She didn't realize just how much her thoughts resonated with her brother's own ideas about their combat training.
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Dear readers, I have to inform you that this work was rejected when applying for a contract without the possibility of revision. Therefore, I was forced to create a second version of the book, where I will publish the latest updates.
I will not give up on this version, but some chapters will be posted a little later than in the main one.
The book is called "The Mad Immortal"
https://www.webnovel.com/book/the-mad-immortal_34969618200258905###
Many thanks for your support, active comments and reviews.
This will help more readers to get acquainted with my book, which means my chances of getting a contract will increase and you will receive content more often. (The author also needs to eat and provide for his family)