After a series of attacks, a large puddle began to form beneath Langga. Unlimited Water truly lived up to its name. If they weren't careful, the Community Hall would soon be flooded.
Langga remained silent, water already lapping at his shoes, though the shoes themselves remained dry. Still, Gara felt a pang of guilt.
"I'm going to dump it outside," Gara declared, clenching his teeth. He'd never tried it, but he was determined to.
His gaze fixed solely on the puddle at Langga's feet, his hand pointing. Slowly, the water lifted, flowing straight out through the windows.
"Yes!" he shouted, a triumphant cheer for himself.
With that success, Gara sent another batch of water attack. Each time, Langga would cover his body with his robe.
Gara could only encourage himself, shifting his goal to leaving a slash mark on the robe.
"You can try to imagine the most severe damage this kind of attack could inflict," Langga advised.
Remembering that Langga was not just his punching bag but also his tutor, Gara stared intently at the older man for a long moment.
Their age difference was only eight years, yet Langga had clearly achieved something significant at a young age.
Or was it simply because he was a noble noble? Gara didn't want to dwell on his child's father. The important thing now was to master his attack skills.
The most severe damage case must be when a neck is severed from the body by a sword's slash.
In his mind, the water slice evolved from a fantasy magician's spell to a warrior's deadly sword slash. Once again, his hand made the same slicing gesture. But something was distinctly different now, the water became thinner and faster.
At that point, an idea struck him. The most lethal weapon I know isn't a sword, but...
He changed the form of his hand. From the tip of his index finger, a small water ball appeared, shooting forward much faster than his previous slashes.
Langga's brows twitched. The boy's hand form was odd, yet surprisingly effective. Langga chose to observe his continued creativity.
Gara sent another water ball that slowly morphed into a bullet shape. He focused on speed, knowing a gun's power came from delivering a bullet at 300 to 500 meters per second. Whatever it passes through would have holes.
A few hours later, the sun hung directly overhead, though they wouldn't have known it indoors. Another batch of water had already been dumped outside.
"Phew! Phew!" Gara unconsciously made sounds with his mouth, completely immersed in his practice.
"Don't you want to take a break?" Langga interrupted.
"I'll stop when I make a mark," Gara stated seriously, then sent another water bullet combined with a water slash.
Langga wanted to tell him that his robe wasn't an ordinary one; even other Liner robes here couldn't match its quality. His was special, also known as the Gold Robe. But the boy's unwavering spirit held his tongue.
I'll tell him when he looks tired.
As his attacks continued to hit the target with no visible damage, Gara's brain spun, searching for another way.
What else is missing? The bullet and slash forms are much more effective, and the distance is right... Right! The purpose!
Slowly, his bright eyes dulled, turning grim. He remembered his struggle when Langga had subdued him that night. At that time, he had wanted to skin the crooked man who tried to harm him.
Shoot!
The water bullet shot towards Langga faster than before. Even Gara could barely track it, despite being its source.
Shock flashed across Langga's face. From that distance, Gara couldn't see it, but Langga could. A small, very tiny mark on his robe.
"You did it," Langga said quickly.
"Really?"
Gara almost ran towards Langga. Langga accommodated him, pointing at the minuscule mark.
Brimming with joy, Gara's finger touched the soft surface of the robe. Indeed, there was a tiny mark.
Langga's eyes subconsciously lingered on Gara, his gaze slowly drifting downwards.
What flawless skin, until his eyes reached the burn mark on Gara's hand.
With a quick movement, Langga grabbed Gara's hand, but he forgot to adjust his power. Accidentally, his hand brushed the bracelet, breaking it off. The square, triangle, and circle beads fell to the ground.
"What the—" Gara almost cursed.
He instantly turned to check on Zana, who was immersed in her own practice. The girl didn't notice. He sighed with relief. Imagining how that delicate girl would feel sad if she saw her gifted bracelet broken after just three days.
"What happened to your hand?" Langga barely registered the broken bracelet.
Even though his body had been controlled by a certain potion that night, the next day, with his Psionic Bloodline, he had controlled his mind to remember every single action that occurred.
That was how he knew every part of Gara's delicate and flawless body. The burn mark hadn't been there before.
He didn't know why, but a surge of fury coursed through him, making him feel as though he would crush whoever had inflicted that mark.
"Something happened. Let go of my hand!" Gara yanked his hand away.
He hated this guy, always feeling like his body was Langga's property, to be touched as he pleased.
Langga finally snapped out of his rage. Indeed, he was overreacting.
He released Gara's hand, then used his telekinesis to collect all the beads. Gara reached for the floating beads, safely tucking them into his pocket.
"I think we can stop practicing now," Gara stated, clearly annoyed.
"Okay. Actually, you are very talented," Langga said, disregarding his own rude action. "Rarely does any Liner automatically find a way to control their Talents... With your Talent, creativity, stamina, and persistence, you could achieve so much more if you joined the academy. The teachers, the facilities—"
"I already rejected that offer. Even if I liked to join, I don't have to tell you about it." Gara regretted getting involved with this man.
He hoped that after one year, when he entered the academy, Langga would forget him.
And if Langga thought he was talented just because he could create different attack forms, Gara confidently attributed it to having consumed too much modern media.
And also because people in this era were simply restrained by their own limited thinking.
...