It was hard. Really hard. Trying to do both at the same time—training the body while circulating essence—was like balancing on a tightrope in the middle of a storm. The essence circulation technique wasn't something that could be casually performed in the background. It demanded razor-sharp focus, absolute clarity of mind, and an intense awareness of every pulse, every breath, every twitch of their muscles.
Every time they thought they were getting the hang of it, the pressure increased. Literally.
As soon as their bodies began adapting to the weight of the enhanced gravity field, Instructor Luke would smirk that smug, knowing smirk of his and increase the gravitational force pressing down on them. It was like pushing a boulder uphill, only for the mountain to grow taller with every step.
They started sweating before the first set of push-ups was done. Muscles screamed in protest, joints cracked and groaned, and yet none of them stopped. Not even Asher, who was usually the first to complain about anything remotely "too serious."
And that was just the beginning of the day.
Once the torturous physical training ended, the trio barely had enough time to catch their breath before being marched off to their next class.
Combat Training.
Even though they were exhausted, a part of them—especially Asher—couldn't help but groan out loud.
"I still can't believe we have to keep attending these brutal classes for a whole month before we get to the good part," Asher muttered as they trudged toward the open combat yard, dragging their tired feet behind them.
Ethan gave him a sideways glance, his own breathing slightly labored but controlled. "I guess they just want us to be prepared," he offered, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Asher threw his hands up in the air. "Yeah, but why does preparation mean no spells, no arts, nothing cool! Just physical training, pain, and more pain! It's like being tortured without even the fun of blowing something up!"
Nick, who had been walking ahead of them, turned slightly and looked over his shoulder with a smirk. "Because," he said simply, his tone calm but firm, "this training is the foundation. If your body can't handle the burden of casting an art—if your muscles aren't strong enough, if your mind isn't focused enough—the energy can kill you."
Asher raised an eyebrow. "Kill you? Really?"
Nick nodded and stopped walking. "Yes. It's not just about chanting some fancy words or flinging fire from your fingers. To become a caster, you need a body that can withstand the strain and a mind that doesn't shatter under pressure. This… this hellish month? It's building our tolerance. It's sharpening our reflexes. Look—" he said, flexing his arms and tightening his core, revealing abs slick with sweat and sculpted with definition. "Even my body's changing."
Asher blinked, then squinted. "Okay, fine, but you didn't have to flex. Show-off."
Ethan snorted.
By the time they arrived, Instructor Desmond was already waiting in the center of the circular combat yard, his arms crossed behind his back, his lean yet muscled frame perfectly still like a statue carved from dark stone. The other students began to gather around, falling into formation with quiet anticipation.
Desmond's sharp eyes scanned the group.
"Today," he began, his voice as steady as steel, "you'll be practicing the same movement drills as yesterday—your striking positions, transitions, and combat stances. However—" he raised a single finger, "—this time, you'll be adding a new layer to it."
The students shifted nervously, some straightening up, others rolling their shoulders in preparation.
"I want each of you to channel your essence while you train. You will move your bodies, yes—but you will also move your essence in sync with every motion. Strike with your hands? Guide your essence there. Dodge or advance? Shift it to your feet. You must train your essence the same way you train your muscles."
He began pacing in front of them, eyes never blinking.
"Essence is not some passive energy that reacts only when summoned. It is alive. It breathes with you. It moves with you. And if you want to become warriors—true warriors—you must make your essence an extension of your body. As natural and automatic as breathing. You don't think about breathing, do you? You just do it."
He stopped suddenly and turned, locking eyes with a few of the students.
"I want your essence to flow through your veins like blood. I want it to pulse in every strike, every movement. Channel it into your strikes for power. Into your legs for speed. Into your core for balance. Climbing, dodging, jumping, blocking—everything must be reinforced by essence."
The boys exchanged glances. It sounded like something out of a fantasy tale, but the way Desmond said it—dead serious, like it was the most natural thing in the world—it sent a shiver of anticipation through them.
"Now, begin!"
The training yard burst into motion. Students broke off into pairs or solo drills, moving through their combat stances as they had learned. But this time, they did so with closed eyes, their brows furrowed in intense concentration as they tried to do the impossible—move and fight while keeping their essence flowing in rhythm.
Ethan narrowed his eyes as he raised his daggers and stepped into his form, his feet gliding silently over the ground. Lightning energy flickered along his arms—weak at first, barely a pulse—but he could feel it. It was there, like a river beneath a frozen surface.
Nick's movements were fluid, his twin blades slicing through the air with elegant precision. As he shifted from one stance to another, he focused on driving his essence downward into his feet to increase his speed. For a fleeting moment, he felt lighter—like the earth itself was pushing back less.
Asher… well, Asher was a mess.
"OW! OW! Okay, that was not how it's supposed to go!" he yelled as he tumbled backward after attempting a heavy downward slash with Emberfang, the blade slamming into the ground with a fiery burst that scorched the grass.
"You're pushing essence into your arms but not stabilizing your legs!" Ethan called out. "You're just flinging power around without control!"
"Easy for you to say!" Asher growled, jumping to his feet and grinning through his frustration. "Your magic literally makes you fast. I'm just trying not to explode!"
Nick laughed under his breath but didn't stop moving. Sweat flew from his face with every strike, and his essence burned through his limbs like wildfire. Every movement was becoming faster, stronger. More natural.
For hours, they trained. Not just their bodies, but their energy. Slowly, agonizingly, they began to notice a shift. Their essence stopped resisting. It started following. Movements became easier. Strikes hit harder. Steps grew lighter. Their attacks became more precise—not because their muscles were stronger, but because the energy flowed with their intent.
By the end of the session, most of them collapsed in the grass, soaked in sweat, their breath ragged, their limbs twitching from overuse.
Instructor Desmond walked past them, his arms still behind his back, his face unreadable.
"This… is only the beginning," he said quietly. "Your essence is awakening. Your bodies are adapting. And soon… the real training will begin."
Asher groaned. "You mean this wasn't the real training yet?"
Ethan just laughed, the sound breathless but filled with anticipation.
Nick, eyes half-lidded with fatigue, whispered, "We're not just becoming stronger. We're becoming something more."
And in the silence that followed, as the sun began to climb higher into the sky and the scent of scorched earth lingered in the air, they all knew it was true.
They were changing.
And there was no going back.