"Again."
Ryker's arms screamed in protest as he raised the wooden sword for what had to be the nine hundred and seventy-third time. Sweat poured down his face despite the morning chill, his robes plastered to his back, his legs trembling from holding the horse stance while executing overhead slashes into empty air.
"How many more?" he gasped.
"Twenty-seven," Elio said from where he sat cross-legged on a fallen log, looking infuriatingly fresh despite the fact that he'd demonstrated all thousand slashes himself earlier as a "warm-up example." His silver hair caught the dawn light, tied back in a practical braid today, and those violet eyes tracked Ryker's form with deep meaning. "And your elbow is drifting again. Lock it on the downswing or you'll tear the rotator cuff."
"I don't even know what a rotator cuff is in this world," Ryker muttered, but he corrected the angle and brought the sword down again. Nine hundred and seventy-four.
"It's the same shoulder joint as your old world," Zyx supplied helpfully from his collar. "And it will absolutely hurt if you tear it. Keep the elbow in."
Ryker wanted to argue that having a beetle coaching his sword form while an elf watched him suffer was perhaps the most absurd training montage in cultivation history, but he didn't have the breath. Twenty-six more slashes. He could do twenty-six more slashes.
Probably.
Maybe.
His arms fell off somewhere around slash nine hundred and ninety-three, or at least that's what it felt like. By the time he hit one thousand, he collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, gulping air like a drowning man.
"Good," Elio said, and there was genuine approval in his voice. "You didn't quit. Most people at your level would've stopped at five hundred and made excuses."
"Most people at my level," Ryker wheezed, "have better survival instincts than me."
"True." Elio stood smoothly, stretching with the kind of effortless grace that made Ryker irrationally angry. "Now we run."
"Run?"
"Ten kilometers. Warm-up before we start the actual training."
Ryker's brain short-circuited. "That was the warm-up for the warm-up.?What's the actual training?"
"You'll see." Elio's smile was beautiful and absolutely terrifying. "Come on. I'll pace you."
The run nearly killed him. Ten kilometers through the forest paths required jumping over roots, dodging low branches, and maintaining speed on uneven terrain while his legs already felt like overcooked noodles, luckily he got that dawg in him. Elio ran beside him the entire time, not even breathing hard, occasionally calling out "left!" or "duck!" when Ryker was about to brain himself on a tree.
By the time they returned to the clearing, Ryker's vision was going spotty at the edges.
"Drink," Elio said, pressing a waterskin into his hands. "You need to hydrate before we spar."
"Spar!?" Ryker's voice came out as a croak.
"How else will you learn to actually fight?" Elio drew his sword with a casual flourish. "Stances and slashes are the foundation, but combat requires experience. Attack me."
"I'm going to die."
"Probably not. You're Qi Condensation Rank Four now—your body can handle more than you think." Elio settled into a ready stance, his weight balanced perfectly, and his sword held loose and ready. "Whenever you're ready."
Ryker attacked.
Or tried to.
What followed was less "sparring" and more "Ryker gets comprehensively dismantled by moving water." Every attack he threw got redirected. Every opening he thought he saw closed before he could exploit it. Elio's sword tapped him on the shoulder, the ribs, the back of the knee—never hard enough to hurt, always precise enough to make it clear that in a real fight, Ryker would be bleeding from a dozen lethal wounds.
"Stop thinking in straight lines," Elio said after knocking Ryker's sword aside for the fifteenth time. "You're treating this like a written out script which you have seen. Real combat is chaos—you need to read your opponent and adapt in real-time."
"I'm working with zero talent here!" Ryker snapped, frustration boiling over. " I've been doing this for a week!"
"I know." Elio's expression softened slightly. "That's why we're training. You have good instincts—your footwork is improving, your grip is solid, your stances are textbook now. But you think too much. Your body knows what to do, but your mind keeps interfering….. Also your not a bum ok"
He lowered his sword and walked closer, reaching out to adjust Ryker's grip with those long, careful fingers. "Try not to plan your next three moves. Just respond to what I give you. Trust the foundation we're building."
Ryker looked at Elio's face—focused, patient, he felt something in his chest tighten. Not attraction exactly, just... warmth. The recognition that someone was investing time in him without expecting anything in return.
He arranged his face into what he hoped was cold neutrality, the same expression he'd used after Sunshi's collapse. "Again."
Elio's eyes crinkled slightly, like he was trying not to smile. "That's the face, isn't it? The one from the marketplace?"
"What face?"
"The mysterious master face. Very intimidating." But Elio raised his sword again, but there was something almost... admiration in his expression? Like he thought Ryker was cool? "Ready?"
They sparred for another hour, Ryker got slightly less demolished each round, which he decided to count as progress.
—-----------------------------------------
Back in the marketplace late afternoon, he was still sore, everything hurt too much to even complain.
The whispers started the moment Ryker entered the main market district.
"—that's him—"
"—heard he defeated Sunshi Hua without even drawing blood—"
"—A hiddenTechnique, my uncle said—"
"—don't make eye contact, he might challenge you next—"
Ryker kept his face carefully neutral and walked toward Lian's stall with measured steps. People actually moved out of his way, clearing a path through the crowd like he was radiating spiritual pressur.
This was getting ridiculous.
Lian spotted him from three stalls away, and his whole face lit up, he was pretty sure there were brilliant radiant sparks behind him, also was he seeing stuff of a an actual halo was on his head. He shook his head
The whispers intensified tenfold because apparently even the sweet merchant recognized the "mysterious master."
"Ryker!" Lian waved enthusiastically, completely undermining whatever intimidating aura the crowd thought Ryker possessed. "I was hoping you'd come by today!"
Ryker reached the stall and felt the watching eyes on his back like needles, stare all you want bastards "Do I want to know what people are saying about me?"
"Probably not," Lian admitted, but he was smiling as he pulled out a wooden case of pills. "Though I will say the rumors are very creative. My favorite is the one where you learned secret techniques from a hermit sage in the mountains and came back to reclaim your family's honor."
"I wish my life was that straightforward."
"How's the training going?" Lian started counting out pills, his movements precise and graceful, he seemed to always be so… cheerful "You look... different. More solid somehow?"
Ryker glanced down at himself. The hellish training with Elio had done something to his body—his arms had definition now, his shoulders were broader, his whole frame had filled out in one week of exercise, it should be absolutely impossible. The cultivation pills probably helped, flooding his system with spiritual energy that reinforced muscle and bone as his body adapted to higher qi circulation.
"Am I on steroids?" he asked Zyx internally.
"Cultivation pills are literally magical steroids," the beetle confirmed. "Legal ones, but yes. Your body is advancing faster than natural because you're supplementing with external resources. This is normal."
"That seems like cheating."
"Everyone cheats. The rich kids just cheat better."
Out loud, Ryker said to Lian, "The training is... intense. I'm learning that one week isn't enough to actually get good at fighting, but apparently it's enough to get better at looking like I know what I'm doing."
"The cold face is definitely improving," Lian agreed, here was something almost proud in his tone. "When you walked up just now, you looked very... mysterious-ish. Very intimidating."
"That's just my resting face now. I'm too tired to emote properly."
Lian laughed, bright and kinda cute, several people in the crowd whispered louder, he didn't notice though . "Well, it's working. I heard half the Academy candidates this year are intimidated by you already, and the trials haven't even started." He pushed the pill case across the table. "These should last you through the trials. Take one every three days, same as before. And—" He pulled out another small vial, this one filled with pale green liquid. "—this is a muscle recovery tonic. Free sample, because you look like you need it."
"Thank you," Ryker said, meaning it sincerely. "You're better at this than I deserve."
"You're working hard," Lian said simply. "You deserve support." His green eyes held Ryker's for a moment, something strange in his expression. "I'll see you at the trials, right? We can suffer through them together."
"Looking forward to it," Ryker lied, because he was actually dreading the trials with every fiber of his being, but Lian's enthusiasm was infectious enough that he almost believed himself.
He paid for the pills, pocketed the recovery tonic, and walked back through the marketplace with whispers trailing him like ghosts. Nobody challenged him. Nobody even approached him. The reputation he'd accidentally built had created a bubble of social distance that was both useful and deeply lonely.
At least he had Elio's hellish training to look forward to tomorrow morning.
And Lian's small bond reminds him that not everything in this world is complicated.
Just most things.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------
"Your stance is perfect but you're still telegraphing every attack like you're sending engraved invitations," Elio said, circling Ryker with his sword resting casually on his shoulder. "Why?"
"Because I'm thinking about the attack before I do it?" Ryker offered, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
"Exactly. Stop thinking. React." Elio blurred forward—not using his full speed, but fast enough that Ryker's brain stammered—and his sword came in low toward Ryker's left side.
They had been practicing reaction today, elio told him that while he had good form and reaction speed, he was still hesitating, thinking during battle wont do him any good if he cant use it in enough, so they were doing this, he had to keep doing this until he could react without a thought while simultaneously thinking, his thinking hurt.
Ryker blocked on pure instinct, his body moving before his thoughts caught up, and Elio's approving nod felt better than it probably should have.
"Better. Again."
It had been hours now, running through the same drill until Ryker's arms were numb and his footwork had become automatic. The thousand slashes each morning had built muscle memory, the ten-kilometer runs had built endurance, and the constant sparring was slowly, painfully, teaching him how to move in combat without thinking himself into paralysis.
He was still terrible. A week of training hadn't transformed him into a sword saint—he was maybe slightly less incompetent than a complete beginner now, which in cultivation world terms meant he'd probably die slightly slower when someone actually tried to kill him.
But Elio seemed pleased with the progress, which was something.
"Break," the elf announced after another brutal exchange left Ryker gasping on the ground. "Drink water. Catch your breath."
Ryker collapsed against a tree trunk and pulled out the waterskin, gulping down half the contents before he remembered to breathe. Elio settled gracefully onto the grass nearby, pulling out some dried fruit from his bag and offering half to Ryker without being asked.
"You're getting stronger," Elio said quietly. "Not just in cultivation—your body is adapting faster than I expected. Whatever pills you're taking, they're quality."
"Lian makes them," Ryker said between bites of fruit that tasted like apples but sweeter. "The merchant with the silver hair? He's talented."
"The pretty one you keep visiting?" Elio's tone was carefully neutral, but there was definitely amusement lurking underneath.
"He's a friend," Ryker said firmly. "Just a friend."
"Mm-hmm." Elio didn't push, just ate his fruit with that same elegant precision he applied to everything. After a moment of comfortable silence, he added, "You know, when you first stumbled into this clearing asking about herbs, I thought you were going to be one of those arrogant young masters who expected everything handed to them."
"Instead I'm an incompetent young master who expects to get killed embarrassingly?"
"You're not incompetent. You're inexperienced—there's a difference." Elio's violet eyes were serious now. "Incompetent people don't show up before dawn every morning for training. Incompetent people don't push through a thousand slashes when their arms are shaking. You're dedicated, and you're honest about your limitations. That's rarer than you'd think"
Something warm settled in Ryker's chest—it was not the meridian humming, just appreciation for the compliment. He arranged his face into what he hoped was cool nonchalance, the same expression he'd been practicing. "Thanks, I guess."
Elio laughed, bright and clear. "There's that face again. You look like you're trying to solve a complicated math problem."
"It's my serious face."
"It's your constipated face."
"Everyone else thinks it's mysterious!"
"Everyone else hasn't spent a week watching you make that exact expression, I admit, at first I also thought it was mysterious" Elio's smile was gentle, teasing. "I'm not everyone else though"
Fair point. Elio had seen him at his worst—gasping for air after runs, collapsing after drills, swearing creatively when his footwork failed. The cold face didn't work on people who'd watched you nearly vomit from exertion.
"Do you want it to work on me?" Elio asked after a moment, his tone shifting to something more careful. "The distant mysterious thing? Because if you need space, I can—"
"No," Ryker said quickly, surprising himself with how much he meant it. "No, this is... this is good. You're good. I mean, the training is hellish and I'm pretty sure you're secretly trying to kill me, but you're—" He fumbled for words. "—you're a good friend."
Elio's expression softened into relief "Good. You're a good fr-friend too." He stood smoothly, offering a hand to pull Ryker up. "Come on. Let's run through the sequence five more times before sunset. I want that footwork burned into your muscle memory before the trials."
Ryker let himself be pulled to his feet, noting distantly that his body no longer screamed in protest at the movement. A week ago, this level of training would've hospitalized him. Now it just felt like normal suffering.
Qi Condensation Rank Four was apparently enough to survive hellish elf training.
—---------------------------------------------------
The marketplace was closing down for the night when Ryker passed through on his way back to the estate, vendors packing up their stalls, the crowd thinning to evening stragglers. People still whispered when they saw him, still gave him space, His reflection in a shop window caught his eye, and he paused.
The person staring back looked different from the Ryker who'd woken up in this world two weeks ago. Broader shoulders, defined arms visible even through his robes, a certain hardness to his expression that he did not remember having. His face had lost that soft uncertainty—whether from cultivation or just exhaustion, he couldn't tell.
He looked like a cultivator now.
He still fought like someone whose previous life involved keyboards instead of swords, but apparently looks were what mattered to reputation.
"Three days until trials," Zyx said from his collar. "You ready?"
"Absolutely not," Ryker said honestly. "I'm going to embarrass myself spectacularly."
"Probably," Zyx agreed cheerfully. "But you'll do it with style. And you've got friends now—Elio will be cheering you on, and Lian will be there suffering alongside you. That's more than you had two weeks ago."
True. Two weeks ago he'd been alone, crippled, and considered trash by everyone including his own family. Now he was still somewhat incompetent, but at least he had people who believed in him for reasons he didn't fully understand.
Progress was progress, even if it came wrapped in absurdity
"Home," Ryker said, mostly to himself. "Food, bath, sleep. Then two more days of hell before the trials."
"That's the spirit!" Zyx's enthusiasm was deeply inappropriate given the circumstances. "Embrace the suffering! It builds character!"
"I have enough character. I want competence."
"You can't have everything."
Ryker walked through the estate gates as the sun set behind him, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple that would've been beautiful if he'd had the energy to appreciate them. Somewhere in this city, other aspirants were probably doing normal training—meditation, forms practice, pill consumption in controlled environments.
He'd spent the week getting beaten up and building a hidden technique which he himself did not know
His cultivation path was officially the weirdest in recorded history.
And somehow, against all logic, it was working.
Ryker dragged himself to his quarters, collapsed face-first onto his bed still wearing his training robes, and decided that future Ryker could worry about the Academy.
Present Ryker needed approximately ten hours of unconsciousness.
He was asleep before Zyx could make another comment.
Hey guys, Author here, just wanna ask about your thoughts and look on the story, dont worry this is like 5% of the comedy and action to come, peace.