Dawn came cold and gray.
Wei Chen stood at the training lot behind the inn, breath misting in the early morning air. His burns from yesterday still ached — faint scars that pulled when he moved — but the pain was manageable.
Instructor Feng arrived exactly at sunrise. No greeting. No preamble.
"Run."
Wei Chen blinked. "What?"
"Run. Around the lot. Twenty laps. Go."
Wei Chen ran.
The lot wasn't large — maybe fifty paces around — but twenty laps was twenty laps. By lap five, his legs burned. By lap ten, his lungs screamed. By lap fifteen, he wanted to stop.
He didn't.
At lap twenty, he stumbled to a halt, gasping. Feng stood unmoved, watching with those calculating eyes.
"Magic makes you dangerous," Feng said. "But magic has limits. Your core depletes. Techniques fail. When that happens, your body is all you have left."
He gestured. "Physical conditioning isn't glamorous. But it keeps you alive when your magic runs out. Remember that."
Wei Chen nodded, too winded to speak.
"Good. Now we begin."
Feng pulled out two practice daggers — wooden, weighted, worn smooth from use. He tossed one to Wei Chen.
Wei Chen caught it awkwardly. The balance felt wrong in his small hands.
"Darkness magic excels at three things," Feng began, demonstrating basic grip adjustments on Wei Chen's hands. "Stealth. Misdirection. And surprise killing. You already know stealth and misdirection. Today, we learn the killing."
He stepped back, raising his own practice blade. "Shadow Blade is a fundamental Darkness technique. You shape shadow into a cutting edge and layer it over a physical weapon. The result amplifies damage and allows the blade to cut through magical defenses."
Feng's practice dagger became wreathed in flames — not burning the wood, but coating it like liquid fire. The blade's edge shimmered with heat, sharper and more defined.
"This is Fire Blade. Same principle, different element. For Darkness, you'll use shadow instead of flame. But the concept is identical — layer your element over the weapon to enhance its lethality."
The flames extinguished. "Your turn."
Wei Chen focused on his dagger. Reached for his magic — still recovering from yesterday —and pulled. Shadows responded sluggishly, wrapping around the blade.
But they didn't sharpen. They just... covered it. Like coating rather than enhancement.
"Wrong," Feng said. "You're treating shadow like a blanket. It's not. Shadow is edge. Concentrate on the concept of cutting. Imagine the shadow as honed steel."
Wei Chen tried again. The shadows shifted slightly but remained blunt.
"Again."
And again. And again.
Thirty attempts. Forty. Wei Chen's core ached from the constant manipulation. Sweat dripped despite the cold air.
"Stop," Feng finally commanded. "You're forcing it. Magic responds to intent, not effort. What's the purpose of a blade?"
"To cut."
"Deeper than that. Why do you cut?"
Wei Chen thought. "To damage. To kill."
"Close. But killing is outcome, not purpose." Feng raised his dagger, and flames coated it again — precise, controlled. "The purpose of a blade is to end something. A threat. An enemy. A problem. Blade techniques — whether Fire, Shadow, or any element — aren't about destruction for its own sake. They're about termination. Decisive. Final."
He demonstrated the motion. The flames didn't just coat the blade — they became one with its lethal intent. The distinction was subtle but crucial.
"Try once more. Think about ending, not cutting."
Wei Chen raised his dagger. Thought about the concept. Not violence. Finality.
The shadows responded. They flowed over the blade, and this time they sharpened. The edge became defined, dangerous.
It wasn't perfect. The shadow wavered, unstable. But it was there.
"Better," Feng said. "That's the foundation. Now you need to maintain it."
For the next hour, Feng drilled the technique relentlessly.
Form the Shadow Blade. Hold it. Release. Repeat.
Wei Chen's core depleted to nothing. His magic reserves hit empty three times. Each time, Feng made him rest exactly two minutes, then continue.
"Combat doesn't wait for you to recover," Feng explained during one brief rest. "You need to fight through exhaustion. Push past limits. Expand your capacity through suffering."
By the end of the hour, Wei Chen could form a stable Shadow Blade maybe one time in five. The other four attempts produced blunt, useless coatings.
"Pathetic," Feng said without malice. "But expected. This technique takes months to master. You've learned the basics in one morning. That's acceptable progress."
Wei Chen collapsed against the fence, chest heaving.
"We're done?" he asked hopefully.
"With Shadow Blade instruction, yes. Now we spar."
Wei Chen's heart sank.
The sparring was worse than yesterday.
Feng didn't use his magic this time. Just the practice dagger and pure technique.
He came at Wei Chen fast — faster than Wei Chen could track. The wooden blade struck Wei Chen's ribs, his shoulder, his thigh. Each hit was controlled, non-lethal, but painful.
Wei Chen tried to defend. Tried to use his own dagger. But Feng was everywhere at once, slipping past guards, exploiting openings Wei Chen didn't know existed.
"Block high, I strike low. Block low, I strike high." Feng's dagger rapped Wei Chen's wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. "Predictable. Slow. Reactive instead of proactive."
Wei Chen grabbed his fallen dagger, tried a shadow technique. Feng kicked his ankle out from under him before the shadows could form.
Wei Chen hit the ground hard.
"Magic is a crutch if you rely on it exclusively," Feng said, not even breathing hard. "Learn to fight without it first. Then add magic as enhancement, not foundation."
He gestured for Wei Chen to stand. "Again."
They sparred for another twenty minutes. Wei Chen didn't land a single hit. He took dozens.
By the end, he was bruised, exhausted, and thoroughly humbled.
Feng finally called a halt. "Enough. You're done for today."
Wei Chen could barely stand. His body was a map of impact points — ribs, shoulders, arms, legs. Nothing broken, but everything hurt.
"Questions?" Feng asked.
"How long until I can actually fight?"
"Define 'actually fight.'"
"Hold my own. Not get destroyed every time."
Feng considered. "Against me? Years. Against someone your own age and skill level? Six months if you train consistently."
"Six months," Wei Chen repeated. That was... longer than he'd hoped. But realistic, probably.
"Disappointed?" Feng asked.
"No. Just calculating." Wei Chen straightened despite the pain. "I have temple lessons twice weekly. Your training three times weekly. That's five days of instruction. If I add solo practice daily..."
"You'll burn out within a month." Feng's tone was flat. "Rest matters as much as training. Your body needs recovery time. Your magic needs to regenerate. Push too hard, and you'll plateau or injure yourself permanently."
Wei Chen considered arguing but recognized the wisdom. Feng had decades of experience. Wei Chen had six months.
"Understood. Smart training beats hard training."
"Exactly." Feng handed back the dagger. "Now get out of here. You have work tomorrow's
afternoon, don't you?"
Wei Chen blinked. "How did you—"
"I asked around before taking you as a student. Wanted to know if you were serious or just playing at ambition." Feng's expression was unreadable. "Merchant Liu speaks well of you. Says you're reliable. Dedicated. That matters."
He turned away, dismissing Wei Chen. "Don't be late tomorrow. And don't come exhausted from overwork. I need you functional, not half-dead."
Wei Chen walked home slowly, every step a reminder of the morning's brutality.
This was different from Elder Shen's lessons. Elder Shen taught theory, control, safety. Feng taught application. Violence. Efficiency.
Both were necessary. But only one prepared you for real combat.
Wei Chen thought about Yun Hao's water healing, his elegant techniques, his private tutor teaching medical applications.
Different paths. Different specializations.
Yun Hao would become a healer. A protector. Someone valuable for saving lives.
Wei Chen... Wei Chen was learning to end them.
Not because he wanted to kill. But because in a world where power mattered, the ability to stop threats was as valuable as the ability to heal them.
Maybe more valuable.
That evening, Wei Chen's mother saw his bruises and nearly cried.
"What happened?"
"Training. It's supposed to hurt."
"This is too much. You're six years old—"
"I'm fine, Mother." Wei Chen's voice was gentle but firm. "Instructor Feng is harsh but not cruel. He's teaching me to survive. That's what I need."
His father examined the bruises with a potter's eye — assessing damage like he'd assess a cracked bowl. "Nothing permanent. Just impact trauma. You'll heal."
"Chen Bo!" his mother protested.
"Lin Mei, our son chose this path. We can support him or undermine him. I choose support." Chen Bo met Wei Chen's gaze. "But if it becomes too much, you tell us. Pride isn't worth permanent injury."
"I will."
His mother looked between them, then sighed. "At least let me make a healing salve. It won't fix everything, but it'll help."
"Thank you."
Wei Chen lay in bed that night, body aching but mind clear.
Day one of real training: complete.
Shadow Blade technique: learned foundation.
Combat sparring: destroyed completely.
Lessons learned: Magic is enhancement, not foundation. Rest matters. Smart training beats hard training.
Cost: Bruises, exhaustion, humility.
Worth it? Yes.
Because every bruise was a lesson. Every failure was data. Every painful session brought him closer to being actually dangerous instead of just magically talented.
Yun Hao had advantages. Resources. Tutors. Support.
But Wei Chen had something else. Hunger. Willingness to suffer. And an instructor who didn't treat him like a fragile child.
The gap between them was still there.
But Wei Chen was closing it.
One brutal training session at a time.