Chapter 2: Two Months of Foundation
The morning routine became sacred to me.
Every day, before the sun fully rose over the mountains surrounding the Kurta village, I would slip out of my family home and make my way to the stream in the forest. The path became so familiar that I could walk it with my eyes closed, my feet instinctively avoiding roots and stones.
On the seventh morning, I sat by the water's edge with seven pebbles arranged in a circle before me. Each one had been stolen using my Error Pathway ability over the past week.
"One," I murmured, picking up the first pebble. It was perfectly ordinary, unremarkable in every way. That was the point.
The stealing technique itself was simple in theory but required immense concentration in practice. To steal something at Sequence 9, I had to identify the object, focus my Nen on it, and then execute what I mentally called "conceptual displacement." The object didn't move through space. Instead, reality *adjusted* so that the object was now in my possession. It was as if the universe itself was correcting a minor errorâ€"hence the name of the pathway.
But the energy cost was substantial.
After stealing just seven pebbles, my Nen reserves felt depleted, as if I'd run for hours without rest. I'd learned quickly that Nen was not an infinite resource. It needed to be managed carefully, spent wisely, and replenished through proper cultivation.
"Nen control," I said to myself, closing my eyes. "That's the foundation. Not the ability itself, but the control."
I opened my eyes and focused on my breathing. My mother had mentioned that Father occasionally meditated in the early mornings to center himself. She hadn't elaborated much, but the implication was clearâ€"Nen cultivation was a normal part of Kurta life, even if most clan members didn't push themselves to be warriors or Hunters.
I attempted to guide my Nen through my body in slow, deliberate patterns. The technique was something I instinctively understood from the Error Pathway's natureâ€"a kind of internal circulation that helped store and regenerate Nen. It took nearly thirty minutes, but gradually I felt my energy reserves beginning to refill, like a well slowly rising from underground springs.
By the time the sun had fully risen, I could steal pebbles again.
The practical application was limited but fascinating. Stealing required two things: intimate knowledge of the object and the will to claim it as your own. The Error Pathway rewarded mental clarity and intent. A vague desire wouldn't work. You had to *want* something with absolute certainty, to believe with complete conviction that it should be yours.
That was perhaps the most dangerous aspect of the pathway. It wasn't just about theft. It was about absolute certainty of claim, an unwavering conviction that could reshape reality itself.
By the end of the first week, I could steal approximately fifteen small pebbles before my Nen was fully depleted. The number seemed trivial, but the importance was in the foundation. I was learning to move my Nen consciously, to direct it with precision, to understand the limits of my current capacity.
"Ben! You're going to be late for the gathering!"
I looked up from the well where I'd been drawing water. My older sister, Kara, was waving at me from near the village square. She had the typical Kurta featuresâ€"pale skin, brown eyes that could turn scarletâ€"and a warm smile that never seemed to fade.
"I'm coming!" I called back, setting down my bucket.
The weekly gathering was a tradition in the Kurta village. The entire clan would meet in the central square to share news, discuss village matters, and simply spend time together. For most of the village, it was a social affair.
I'd realized that I couldn't simply hide in the forest and train all day. That would raise suspicion. More importantly, I needed to understand my tribeâ€"who they were, their strengths, their weaknesses, and how they might survive what was coming.
"You seem quieter these days," Father observed as I sat down next to him during the gathering. He was a lean man with sharp features and thoughtful eyes. Unlike my mother, who was warm and expressive, Father had a more reserved nature. "Is everything well?"
"Just thinking about my future," I answered honestly. "What I want to pursue."
Father nodded slowly, considering this. "That's good. The Kurta clan needs young people who think about the future. Too many of our youth are content to simply live. But the world is changing. New technologies, new organizations, new dangers." He paused, looking out at the gathered clan. "A wise person must always prepare."
His words resonated deeply with me. He didn't know how much I was preparing, but his encouragement was genuine.
"What would you recommend?" I asked.
"Nen cultivation," he said without hesitation. "All Kurta have the potential for it, but few truly dedicate themselves. If you're serious about your future, master your Nen. Everything else will follow from there."
I felt a spike of relief. This was essentially permission to spend hours meditating and training. Father interpreted my dedication as normal ambition rather than desperate preparation.
Over the next week, I began training more openly. I'd wake early, complete my chores, and then spend several hours in a secluded part of the forest practicing my Nen. No one questioned it. In fact, several other young Kurta members began joining me, having overheard me mention my training.
One of them was a boy named Rai, who was about my age with an easy-going personality and a competitive streak.
"So you're actually serious about this," Rai said one afternoon, watching as I stood in meditation posture. "I thought it was just a phase."
"Why wouldn't I be serious?" I asked, not breaking concentration.
"Because most people our age think cultivation is boring," Rai laughed. "They want excitement, adventure. But you're just standing there breathing."
"Breathing is the foundation," I replied. I'd read enough stories about cultivation to understand the philosophy. "If you can't control your breath and energy, you can't control anything else."
Rai rolled his eyes but didn't leave. Instead, he began attempting his own meditation, albeit with much more fidgeting and restlessness than my practice.
Having others around was actually beneficial. It kept my training seeming normal and integrated with clan life rather than suspicious.
By the third week, I made a significant discovery: stealing didn't require physical line of sight.
I was sitting in my family home when I focused on a cup sitting in the kitchenâ€"a room I couldn't see from where I was. For three days, I'd been attempting this, failing each time. But on the fourth attempt, something clicked.
The cup appeared on the floor next to me.
My mother was nearby and jumped at the sudden sound of ceramic hitting wood.
"Ben? What was that?" she called out.
"Just clumsy with a cup," I called back, quickly setting it upright and returning it to the kitchen.
But my mind was racing. Line of sight wasn't necessaryâ€"only knowledge of the object. As long as I knew an object existed and could mentally picture it clearly, I could steal it. This opened up enormous possibilities for application and strategy.
I began conducting a series of experiments in secret. I'd place objects in different locations around the village and practice stealing them remotely. I tested different materialsâ€"wood, metal, ceramic, leather. I tested different sizes. I even tested objects that belonged to other people, which required a different type of focus and willâ€"I had to be more aggressive with my claim.
The energy expenditure varied depending on the object's resistance. A wooden spoon was almost effortless. A metal cooking pot required significantly more energy. An object that someone was consciously usingâ€"like a knife in someone's handâ€"was nearly impossible. The human will defending the object was stronger than my stolen claim.
But I was learning the rules, understanding the boundaries, mapping out the territory of my power.
Around this time, Father observed my training and offered additional guidance.
"Your meditation technique is improving," he said one afternoon. "Your Nen circulation is becoming smoother. But you're missing something."
"What?" I asked.
"Nen is not just about moving energy through your body," Father explained, sitting across from me. "It's about understanding your own nature. Every person's Nen reflects their character, their desires, their fundamental nature. You need to know yourself, truly know yourself, to master your Nen."
This was valuable insight. The Error Pathway was already partially about self-knowledgeâ€"understanding what you wanted to claim, being absolute in your conviction.
"How do I know myself?" I asked.
"By living," Father said simply. "By interacting with others, by facing challenges, by making choices. Your Nen will evolve as you do."
By the fourth week, I had established a routine that felt almost normal.
Mornings: Wake before dawn, complete household chores, spend time with family over breakfast.
Mid-morning: Forest training. Practice Nen circulation, conduct stealing experiments, test new applications of the Error Pathway.
Afternoon: Return to village, attend to family responsibilities, spend time with clan members.
Evening: Dinner with family, light meditation, early sleep.
It was a balanced life, and perhaps that's why I was making progress. There was no desperation in my training, no sense of urgency. I was simply dedicating myself to mastery, step by step, day by day.
My sister Kara began noticing the changes in me.
"You're different," she observed one evening as we prepared vegetables for dinner.
"Am I?" I asked, smiling slightly.
"Yes. Like you've found something you want to do," she said. "It's nice. You look happier."
Perhaps I was happier. Or perhaps I'd simply accepted my fate and was no longer fighting against it. I couldn't change the fact that the Phantom Troupe was coming. But I could change how prepared I was when they arrived.
I began to deeply study the other members of the Kurta clan. I watched how they moved, how they fought during the occasional training sessions I organized. I observed their personalities, their strengths, their weaknesses. Some were naturally talented with Nen. Others struggled. Some had warrior instincts. Others were more suited to peaceful lives.
One evening, I asked Father a crucial question.
"If danger came to the village, could we defend ourselves?"
Father was quiet for a long moment. "The Kurta clan is not a warrior clan," he said finally. "We have always believed in peace, in coexistence. But yes, we could defend ourselves. We have Nen. We have numbers. We have knowledge that outsiders don't possess."
He paused, studying my face. "Why do you ask?"
"Just thinking about the future," I said carefully. "About responsibility."
Father nodded slowly. "That's good. A young man should think about protecting those he loves. That's the mark of maturity."
Six weeks in, I made a discovery that would prove crucial: the Error Pathway could steal abstract concepts, not just physical objects.
It started small. I was sitting by the stream, frustrated with my inability to progress beyond simple theft. The stealing of pebbles had become almost trivialâ€"I could now steal thirty objects before my Nen was depleted, and the recovery time had decreased significantly.
But what came next?
In desperation more than anything, I focused my Nen on something abstract: the tiredness I felt after a long day of training. I applied the stealing technique to it, using the same mental framework I used for objects.
The tiredness evaporated.
I sat up straight, my energy suddenly restored, my mind clearer. It had worked. I had stolen tirednessâ€"not from another person, but from myself. The Error Pathway had permitted the theft of an abstract concept.
This opened entirely new possibilities.
Over the following week, I experimented but couldn't do so