Imperial Martial Academy – Disciplinary Hall
Ashen stood alone, blood on his sleeves, before a panel of instructors dressed in gold-trimmed robes. Their faces were stone, their eyes sharper than blades.
"Injuring a noble student in front of the entire outer division…" one elder muttered, flipping through scrolls. "Do you deny it?"
"No," Ashen said calmly. "I told him to hit me. He did. So I hit back."
The room fell silent.
Another elder leaned forward, lips curling. "You've been in this academy for three years. Never passed a vein test. No qi awakening. No ranked cultivation. And now you suddenly land a hit that sends Gareth Vann flying like a rag doll?"
Ashen said nothing.
They didn't understand.
It wasn't some overnight miracle. It was the result of years of silent training, of pounding his fists into stone, of biting back pain while others laughed. It was discipline. It was obsession.
It was his only way forward.
Hidden beneath his robes...
The Worldbreaker Manual pulsed lightly. Only one line glowed now:
"A single stone becomes a mountain if it endures long enough."
Disciplinary Verdict:
10 days suspension from physical sparring
Demotion to outer janitorial duties
No qi resource allocation
Ashen bowed in silence.
As he turned to leave, one elder — the oldest of them all — spoke softly, almost to himself.
"You're from Virelion, aren't you?"
Ashen froze.
"Your stance," the elder said. "That technique… I've only seen it once. Before the war. In the last king's guard."
Ashen said nothing. The elder smiled faintly.
"Perhaps the stones are shifting again."
Academy Grounds – Nightfall
Ashen scrubbed stone floors while the moon watched silently from above. His hands were raw, knuckles still bruised. He hadn't eaten since morning. But that didn't matter.
Because tonight… the scroll opened again.
Flames curled at the edges of the next page, revealing jagged ink strokes and a strange foot diagram.
Flowstep: Low Form – UNLOCKED
"To be unseen, move with the breath of the wind. To be untouchable, step where the world forgets."
Focus: Reflex control, ankle-tendon reinforcement, lung capacity
Ashen's heart raced. He dropped the brush and closed his eyes. Then, barefoot, he began repeating the stance in silence.
One breath. One step. One pulse.
He moved like water between pillars, light as mist. The wind whistled around him, then through him.
Behind the dorms…
A young girl watched from the shadows, her eyes sharp beneath the black crest of the Inner Division.
"That janitor… he moved like a phantom."
Elsewhere…
Gareth Vann seethed in bed, his ribs still bandaged.
A messenger knelt beside him. "Your father has heard. He demands the trash be dealt with. Quietly."
Gareth smiled through the pain. "Tell him not to worry."
"Ashen Vale dies before the month ends."