The training yard behind the Mystic Well Sanctum still smelled of fresh-cut wood and unweathered stone. The sun rose slowly, brushing the edges of the courtyard in pale gold. Eleven guards stood at attention—ten ordinary soldiers and their young captain, Elias—all dressed in new black-and-silver armor marked with a crescent moon, Felix's symbol.
Seris stood before them, arms crossed, silver hair catching the wind. Her sharp gaze scanned their faces, each one taut with anticipation or anxiety.
She didn't speak immediately. Silence pressed heavy.
"You stand because Felix gave you a place," she said coldly. "Not because you earned it."
The soldiers shifted uncomfortably. Elias, the captain, held still, meeting her eyes.
"You think armor makes you strong?" she continued, her tone biting. "You wouldn't last ten breaths against a real threat."
One of the guards, barely older than a boy, bristled. "We were trained—"
Seris's eyes cut to him. "Trained to die. I've seen better stances from caravan porters."
Elias stepped forward and bowed his head slightly. "We were assigned to protect Master Felix, and we will serve him well."
"You're weak," Seris said bluntly. "You lack technique, instinct, and presence. I didn't ask to train you. I don't want to. But if you waste his trust, you'll be corpses the moment a cultivator notices you."
They listened in silence. No one dared speak.
"Today, I'll see what you can do. You will follow. You will not question."
With a gesture, she signaled them to spread out.
"First, hand-to-hand. No weapons. Fight like your life depends on it."
The guards hesitated but obeyed. They paired off, circling each other, then clashed. Seris walked among them, watching.
"Too wide!" she barked at one. "Your center is exposed!"
Another overextended a strike. She struck his shoulder with her cane, sending him sprawling.
"You're not swinging a scythe. Tighten your core!"
She showed them how to block with the elbow, how to pivot using the rear foot, and how to strike with precision.
"Power isn't everything. Control your body, or it controls you."
Her eyes lingered on Elias. His stance was solid, but there was too much hesitation.
"Captain," she said. "Fight me."
He bowed. "With respect."
"Don't insult me with kindness. Come."
They engaged. Elias launched a flurry of quick strikes, trying to outmaneuver her. Seris dodged with minimal movement, then swept his legs from beneath him.
He hit the dirt hard.
"Your enemy won't wait for you to be ready."
He groaned, but rose.
"I said again."
He came again, faster, angrier. She disarmed him in three moves, twisting his wrist and slamming him to the ground.
Pain flickered in her limbs, her ruined meridians reminding her of their state. She ignored it.
"Now swords."
Wooden training swords replaced bare hands. The guards fought again, this time with better rhythm.
"Footwork!" she shouted. "Step like you mean to move! Not like you're dragging your soul behind you."
She demonstrated the basic sword forms again and again, correcting with ruthless clarity. A guard who faltered was called out. One who improved was acknowledged with a nod. No praise, no softness.
After hours of sparring, she called a halt.
"Now you will see something greater."
She stepped forward, drawing a slow breath.
"Phantom Step Art," she announced. "I created this at the peak of the Foundation Realm. With it, I killed enemies stronger than me. Not by brute strength—but with presence and illusion."
The guards watched, riveted.
She moved.
Her figure flickered like a ghost. One moment here—then gone. She reappeared behind them, then to the side, then back again. The wind shifted around her, her movement so fluid it seemed unnatural.
The younger guards gasped. Elias stared.
"W-what was that?" Bram asked.
"Spatial displacement through misdirection," she said. "Footwork based on anticipation and deception."
She demonstrated the steps slowly.
"Three steps. Anchor your breath. Let your body flow, not force."
One by one, they tried to mimic her. Most failed. A few managed to copy the rhythm, if only barely.
"You're not dancers," she snapped. "Feel the balance. It's not about speed. It's about presence."
Elias tried. His first attempt stumbled. His second improved.
"Better," she said.
The sun rose higher. They trained with the Phantom Step for hours. Sweat soaked their clothes. Muscles ached. Seris never let up.
"Do not forget," she said coldly. "You are shields for Felix. And right now, you are paper."
Elias approached her during a break, panting. "Why help us… If you disdain us?"
Seris looked at him, voice quiet but sharp.
"Because he took me from a cage. Because he believes in things no one else dares. If I die, fine. But I will not let him be dragged down by weaklings."
Elias bowed his head. "We will not fail him."
"You already are. Prove otherwise."
The training resumed. They stumbled. They bled. But none gave up.
Seris didn't smile. But she did nod once.