My next cultivation session was far tougher than I’d expected. It all came down to sensitivity. Sure, my senses had dulled — random phrases no longer sounded deafening, and light didn’t stab into my eyes — but it was still harder to focus under the Stream. The last few minutes in the Chamber felt like I was submerged in molten lava. As if the adaptation cycle I’d already been through was repeating itself.
Still, the upgraded body made it easier to recover. Unlike my very first visit to the Chamber, this time I didn’t need help getting back to the dorm — I managed it on my own.
And the next morning, right after breakfast, I headed for the Training Hall. Yes, the name sounded formal and grand, but in reality, it was an entire complex of buildings and open-air platforms for practice, sparring, and tournaments. In terms of surface area, it was probably the largest facility in the school. Without the navigator and Kate’s precise directions, it would’ve been easy to get lost.
My mentor had left me the contacts of two instructors I could go to for Chain Punch training. Both were men: one had reached the Golden Core stage and was on staff, the other was a third-period cadet at the Condensation stage, earning points by teaching in the Hall.
Naturally, I went to the Golden Core first. But he didn’t offer private lessons (read: I didn’t have enough points to pay for them). He only taught group sessions, and his Chain Punch class hadn’t been filled yet. In fact, I was the first first-year cadet to even express interest in learning the technique.
The third-year’s rates were much cheaper, and we could work out a deal in units rather than points. I’d also bought the technique using units, by the way. That was possible for blue-tier techniques — orange and red ones were only sold for points.
Rene Richard looked like your classic middleweight boxer — the perfect mix of speed and power. Except that, being a cultivator at the third stage, he had a whole lot more of both than any mortal could dream of.
We agreed on two hours of training per day, for 100 units. He also ran something like open sessions, where each of his students worked on their own thing. I wasn’t sure how effective that system really was, but the only alternative was self-study.
Rene had his own personal hall. Small by cultivator standards. Some techniques needed space — in terms of both range and height. So his "small" hall was roughly 400 square metres and had two wide, tall shafts cut into the ceiling — designed for practising falling punches.
When I arrived, there were only three second-periods training. The sharp echoes of strikes and explosions bounced crisply off the walls. In one corner of the hall was a glassed-in coach’s room, soundproofed — and that’s where Rene and I made our arrangements, over a cup of fragrant black tea with lemon.
Once the deal was done, Rene started the timer and got right to it.
"So, you’ve bought the technique, but you haven’t formed the punch projection yet, correct?"
"Correct."
"Then you’ve got two options: learn the technique and form the projection as part of the process, or focus on projection first, then learn the technique. Both methods work — people succeed with either one. But sometimes one method suits a person better than the other. Got a feeling which one might suit you?"
My nerves would definitely prefer just learning the technique itself, but just to be safe and avoid mistakes, I asked:
"So what’s the point of learning the projection separately from the technique?"
Instead of answering, Rene raised his index finger, and a thin bluish projection shot from it, flew about a metre, and burst with a soft pop, not quite making it to the ceiling.
It was definitely Fist Qi — but not a fist projection.
"First of all, it’s useful for learning the shield. Though I could repeat it with my palm — it would look like a palm technique."
"But it wouldn’t be one. The difference would show in the qi itself."
"Yeah, someone experienced wouldn’t be fooled. But in first-year duels, it might come in handy."
"If I go with learning the technique, can I still pick up that trick later?"
"Of course."
"Could you do it with your forehead? Or knee?"
"With the forehead, yes. As for the knee, it’s better to learn the proper movement technique. Fist techniques are built around instant closing distance that ends with a strike — whether that’s a fist, elbow, or knee. I remember one using the forehead, too, by the way."The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
"Technique it is!" I decided.
"Let’s go," Rene nodded and left the coach’s room, grabbing his tablet on the way out.
He positioned me on a marked square in the corner of the hall and pointed toward one of the far walls.
"Face that way... Now give consent."
A message popped up in front of my eyes:
R. Richard requests training control.
Accept / Decline
"Open your technique menu and select training mode," Rene continued. "Movement training. Full movement cycle."
A semi-transparent red hologram appeared in front of me — a perfect copy of my hands. They were already set in a stance: fists clenched, left arm extended, right hand pulled in close to the body, almost like one of those Victorian boxers from old photographs...
Bloody déjà vu! Maybe instead of bringing up old photos, you could remember my name?
The difference was, in this stance the arms were raised higher, and the fists weren’t turned knuckles-down. The knuckle line ran perfectly vertical. And it wasn’t just the arms — the hologram showed my entire upper body. I was already partly inside it.
"Dive into the hologram and follow its movements," Rene instructed. "I’ll be watching."
I gave a snort and extended my arms to line them up properly with the projection.
"Like this?" I asked.
"No. It'll turn blue when it’s right," said Rene, then prompted, "Shoulders."
I adjusted my shoulders, nearly fully aligning with the hologram — and my body lit up with a soft blue glow.
"Punch," Rene commanded.
I repeated the moves I’d seen in the training video… and immediately got thrown out of the hologram, which flared red. Punch–punch–punch. The hologram’s arms moved faster than mine, I kept falling behind, and the whole thing looked pretty ridiculous.
"Stop, stop, stop!" Rene was clearly about to facepalm, but instead clenched his fist to restrain himself. "Don’t rush it."
"I can’t keep up."
"You can’t not keep up — the hologram moves at your speed. You’re falling behind because your movements are wrong and you’re leaning back. Push your spine forward. Your arms... Think of them like legs pedalling a bike. One move should drive the next… Reset to starting position and go again, slowly," he ordered.
I tried again. With about the same results. My arms still didn’t match the hologram properly, though Rene did say “good” a couple of times. After a cycle of two dozen punches — all of them flashing red (and not the good kind, not the high-rank-technique red, but the "you messed up" red) — I asked:
"That ‘good’ means I’m doing it right?"
"What? No! You’re moving like a twitchy epileptic. Luckily, I know how to fix that. Go back to ‘movement training’ and do ten minutes each: shoulders only, elbows, fists. In that order!" Rene stressed. "I’ll check on you in about forty minutes."
The modes Rene listed turned off the main hologram and left only the selected parts. The fist holograms were cut off at the wrist; the elbow view included part of the forearm and upper arm; the shoulder display focused on the shoulder joint and the delts.
I toyed with the shoulders a bit — got the hang of them fairly quickly. The elbows were a lot trickier, and the fists… didn’t work at all. For some reason, the hologram always reached further than I could, and I kept trying to stretch to match it.
Rene only needed one glance to spot the problem.
"You’re flaring your elbows," he said as he walked by. "Go back to shoulders, do ten minutes, then elbows and fists together."
I was knackered. Literally flailing by that point.
Learning the technique wasn’t nearly as fun as I’d hoped — but the knowledge would clearly come in handy down the line. Maybe next time I wouldn’t even need a coach and could get through the training on my own?
Rene popped in and out, giving a tip or two before turning his attention to another trainee. By the end of the session, I could’ve defaulted to my usual whining that it hadn’t done anything for me — lately that seemed to be my go-to reaction — but truth be told, it did feel like a productive day.
Still, stopping there would’ve been dumb — for plenty of reasons. I needed to stop disappointing Vaclav and properly start looking after Rahman. Maybe he didn’t care, but I wanted to play it safe in case he did. And besides, I didn’t want to let Kate down either. So after the Training Hall, I headed to the Fist Garden.
The work itself didn’t offer me much anymore — I could already feel the techniques clearly under the formation in dampening mode. There was still the question of range, of course, and that strange sense of uniqueness I only experienced under hypersensitivity. Since I wasn’t expecting any more instructions from Kate anytime soon, I brought the latter up with Alan. After all, it was his armour and his formation — he had to know what it was doing.
I politely asked if he was free to talk through messages, and Alan called me back instead.
"Got a new order?"
"I do!" I answered — surprising even myself as I remembered that conversation with Kate. "Bit off-topic for you, but... what can you tell me about good duelling gauntlets?"
"That is a bit off-topic," he mused. "Fist, right?"
"Yeah," I confirmed.
"Already chosen your techniques?"
"Chain Punch."
"And?"
"And what?" I asked.
"Just Chain Punch and nothing else?"
"For now, yeah," I nodded.
"Then I’ve got nothing to say. Pick at least one more offensive technique — then we’ll talk. Pick a few — and we’ll talk seriously."
"Deal," I agreed. Still, that wasn’t the real reason I’d called. "Listen, with hypersensitivity switched on, I’ve started feeling some weird things. Like each technique has a kind of unique... echo."
"Every technique does have its own unique echo," Alan interrupted.
"But this feels... deeper. I’ve been watching techniques that look completely identical — but they feel different."
"Could be they weren’t identical. Could be the cadets weren’t executing them properly. But if you’re starting to pick up on those subtleties..."
"...Then I’m a genius?" I joked.
"No," Alan deadpanned. "Then I did a damn good job. Should’ve charged you an extra ten k for it."
"Greedy bastard!"
"Cheers. So — anything else? I’ve got to finish etching a silver inlay on some armour."
"What’s that do?"
"Adds 200 to swagger, 100k to the price. Girl’s dad is loaded."
"Wish I had a dad like that!" I whistled.
"We all wish we’d been born rich, mate. Use what you’ve got — and make that dream come true for your kids."
"Well, if you’d stop slapping on extra charges, I might just manage that."
"No promises. My kids want a millionaire dad too."
"You mean you aren’t one yet? With those rates?"
"That information is classified. Right. I’m off."
"Later," I said, and ended the call.