Throne's face scrunched up in concentration, his eyes fixed intently on the sword. He could feel the energy coursing through his body, but it was like trying to grasp a handful of sand - the more he tried to control it, the more it seemed to slip away. Korga watched, his expression unreadable, as Throne struggled to manifest the single fang.
Suddenly, a tiny spark of energy flickered to life at the tip of Throne's sword. It was small and weak, but it was a start. Korga's eyes lit up with encouragement, and he took a step forward. "Good, Throne," he said, his voice gentle. "You're close. Focus on the energy, feel it flowing through you."
Throne's eyes flashed with determination, and he poured more energy into the spark. It grew in intensity, and the fang-like slash began to take shape. Korga nodded, his eyes shining with pride, as Throne finally managed to manifest a small, but distinct fang.
The fang pulsed with energy, and Throne felt a surge of power course through his body. He looked up at Korga, his eyes still cold, but a hint of satisfaction flickered across his face. Korga smiled, his eyes warm with approval. "Well done, Throne."
Korga's smile broadened as he began to demonstrate the different levels of the Blood Wolf Slash. "The Blood Wolf Slash has ten levels," he explained, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Each level represents a different number of fangs, and each fang requires more energy and control than the last. However, I've only mastered six fangs myself, so I'll demonstrate up to that level."
With a swift motion, Korga drew his sword and manifested a single fang, just like Throne had done. "One fang represents the basic level of the technique," he said. "It's a good starting point, but it's not enough to take down a skilled opponent."
Korga then demonstrated the second level, manifesting two fangs that pulsed with energy. "Two fangs represent a moderate level of skill," he explained. "The technique becomes more complex, and the energy required increases."
Throne watched intently as Korga demonstrated the third level, manifesting three fangs that seemed to dance with energy. "Three fangs represent a high level of skill," Korga said. "The technique becomes more refined, and the energy required is substantial."
Korga continued to demonstrate the different levels, manifesting four, five, and finally six fangs. Each level was more impressive than the last, and Throne's eyes grew wider with amazement. "Six fangs is the highest level I can achieve," Korga said, his voice filled with a hint of longing. "But I've heard that the true masters of the Blood Wolf Slash can manifest up to ten fangs, unleashing a devastating attack that's almost impossible to defend against. Any questions?"
"Yeah. Actually i do have a question." Throne's expression turned cold and bitter as he looked at Korga. "Why are you only paying attention to me now?" he asked, his voice laced with resentment. "For 14 years, you barely even acknowledged my existence. Every time you did, it was to remind me that I'm an eyesore, that I killed my mother, and that I should have never been born."
Korga's expression faltered, and he looked away, unable to meet Throne's gaze. "Throne, I..." he began, but Throne cut him off.
"No," Throne said, his voice firm. "You don't get to apologize now, after all these years. You don't get to decide that you care about me just because I'm suddenly useful to you."
Korga's face twisted in pain, and he took a step forward, but Throne backed away, his eyes flashing with warning. "Don't touch me," he spat. "You don't get to touch me after what you've done."
The air was thick with tension as Throne's words hung in the air. Grimgold, who had been watching the exchange, looked on with a mixture of concern and understanding. He knew that the wounds between Korga and Throne ran deep, and it would take more than just words to heal them. Throne ran as fast as he could, his feet pounding against the earth as he made his way to his little treehouse. He burst through the door and slammed it shut behind him, the wooden slats creaking in protest. Throne collapsed onto the floor, his body shaking with sobs as he let out all the emotions he had been bottling up for so long.
Meanwhile, Korga watched his son disappear into the distance, a mixture of sadness and regret etched on his face. He turned to Grimgold, who was watching him with a knowing look. "Maybe it was too much to expect him to forgive me after teaching him one move," Korga said, his voice laced with doubt.
Grimgold chuckled and shook his head. "It was, Korga. You've been ignoring him for 14 years, and now you expect him to just forgive you because you taught him a sword move?"
Korga sighed and rubbed his temples. "I didn't know what else to do, Grimgold. I wanted to see if he's truly a genius like his mother was."
Grimgold raised an eyebrow. "And that's why you taught him the Blood Wolf Slash? Why not start with something simpler?"
Korga's expression turned introspective. "I wanted to see if he's a true prodigy, not just a fluke like me. I needed to know if he has the potential to surpass me."
Grimgold's eyes widened in understanding. "You were testing him, Korga. You were testing him to see if he's worthy of being your son."
Korga nodded, his eyes clouding over with memories of Throne's mother. "I wanted to know if he has her spark, her genius. If he's truly worthy of carrying on her legacy." His eyes seemed to glaze over as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't care less about my legacy. I've already failed as a father." He turned to Grimgold, his expression weary. "Go get some rest, Grimgold. I'll deal with... everything else tomorrow."
Grimgold nodded, his eyes filled with concern. "You're not looking too good, Korga. Maybe you should rest too."
Korga waved him off, already walking towards his tent. "I'll be fine. Just go."
Grimgold watched him go, his brow furrowed with worry. As Korga entered his tent, he stumbled and fell onto his bed, his body suddenly weak. A high fever seemed to have taken hold of him, and he couldn't fight it off. He lay there, his vision blurring as the fever consumed him.
Meanwhile, Throne had stopped crying, his anger and frustration channeled into a fierce and determined look. He picked up a wooden sword and began to shadowbox, his movements swift and precise as he imagined himself facing off against Grimgold. But this wasn't just any Grimgold - this was a version of him that was using the same fight moves he had used against the armored wolves.
Throne's wooden sword sliced through the air, its wooden tip whistling as he parried and riposted against his imaginary opponent. He was using the moves he had seen Grimgold use, but he was also incorporating the Blood Wolf Slash that his father had taught him. The combination was deadly, and Throne felt a surge of power and confidence as he fought.
The shadowboxing was intense, with Throne's movements becoming more fluid and precise with each passing moment. He was lost in the fight, his emotions and frustrations pouring out of him as he battled against the imaginary Grimgold. The outcome was far from certain, and Throne's determination to emerge victorious only grew stronger with each passing moment. His movements became more fluid and precise with each passing moment, his wooden sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. He repeated the same sequence of moves over and over, his focus solely on mastering the combination of Grimgold's techniques and the Blood Wolf Slash.
As he reached the 100th repetition, Throne suddenly felt a click in his mind. He stopped mid-swing, his wooden sword frozen in mid-air. "I think I understand now," he said to himself, a look of realization dawning on his face.
His eyes widened as he realized that he had stumbled upon something new. The combination of Grimgold's techniques and the Blood Wolf Slash had merged into a cohesive whole, creating a fighting style that was greater than the sum of its parts.
A sense of excitement and wonder filled Throne's chest as he realized that he had accidentally created a new fighting style. He felt a sense of pride and accomplishment, knowing that he had taken the first step towards forging his own path as a warrior.
His eyes sparkled with excitement as he thought about the name for his new fighting style. He wanted something that would reflect the influences that had shaped it, yet still be unique and powerful. Suddenly, the name came to him - the "Golden Wolf Art". It was a combination of the "gold" from Grimgold's name, and the "wolf slash" from the Blood Wolf Slash that his father had taught him.
He smiled to himself, feeling a sense of satisfaction with the name. It was fitting, he thought, given the style's origins and the qualities it embodied. The Golden Wolf Art was a fusion of strength, agility, and strategy, with a hint of wild ferocity.
As he repeated the name to himself, Throne felt a sense of ownership and pride. The Golden Wolf Art was his creation, his own path as a warrior. He knew that he would have to work hard to master it, but he was ready for the challenge. With a newfound sense of purpose, Throne began to visualize himself using the Golden Wolf Art in combat. He saw himself moving with fluid precision, his sword slicing through his opponents with deadly accuracy. He saw himself adapting to different situations, using the style's flexibility to outmaneuver and outfight his foes.
The possibilities seemed endless, and Throne's excitement grew as he contemplated the potential of the Golden Wolf Art. He knew that he would have to test it out in real combat, to see how it would hold up against a live opponent. But for now, he was content to bask in the thrill of discovery, and to revel in the promise of his new fighting style.
Throne fell into a deep sleep, his mind still racing with thoughts of the Golden Wolf Art. But his rest was short-lived. At 4 in the morning, he was jolted awake by the acrid smell of burning fabric and wood. He sat up with a start, his heart racing as he looked out the window of his treehouse. The sight that greeted him was one of chaos and destruction. The villagers' tents were ablaze, flames licking at the canvas and sending sparks flying into the darkness. Thats when his instincts kicked in, and he quickly threw off his blanket and rushed to the window.
As he looked out, he saw that the destruction was not limited to the tents. Bodies lay scattered on the ground, lifeless and still. Throne's eyes widened in horror as he took in the scene. He saw men, women, and children, all fallen. The village was under attack, and it seemed that no one had been spared. His mind reeled as he scrambled down from the treehouse. He had to see what was happening, had to know who was responsible for this carnage. As he rushed towards the village, he stumbled upon more bodies, his fellow clansmen among them.
The sight of the dead and the dying filled him with a sense of dread and anger. He knew that he had to find out who was behind this, and make them pay for their brutality. His eyes scanned the area, searching for any signs of the attackers. But there was no one in sight. The silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the crackling of the flames and the distant sound of screams.
His heart was heavy with grief and rage as he surveyed the destruction. He knew that he had to act quickly, to find out what had happened and to prevent any further harm. But for now, he was alone, and the village was in ruins.