Training And First Trouble

Three days had passed since I threw myself completely into training. The room at the Rosford Orphanage was humble—polished wooden floors beneath my feet, and walls reinforced with mana-infused stones that had absorbed the energy of countless warriors before me. The orphanage had seen hundreds of young fighters come and go, each taking their first steps toward greatness. But none of them seemed to catch Joseph's eye like I did.

I could feel it every time I trained. His silent gaze tracked my every movement, measuring, evaluating. His presence lingered at the edge of my vision, but I didn't let it distract me. I was fully absorbed in my task—grinding away at the fundamentals. Every punch, every step, every breath carried a weight to it. The room itself felt heavy with expectation, like something was about to shift.

Sweat drenched my skin, soaking through my clothes as the hours wore on. My body protested, muscles aching from endless repetitions, but I wasn't done. I couldn't stop. My mind kept circling back to one thing—the fusion of Basic Mana Breathing, Celestial Body Arts, and Vajrastava Martial Arts. Each technique was crucial, like a piece of a puzzle, and I was determined to fit them together.

As morning light streamed through the high windows, I sat cross-legged on the cool floor, letting the warmth of the rising sun wash over me. My breathing slowed, and I focused on drawing mana into my body. Each inhale was deliberate, every exhale precise. The surrounding mana flowed in like a gentle stream, syncing with my rhythm, coursing through my veins. I could feel it now, clearer than ever—a calm yet powerful energy threading itself into every fiber of my being.

Time passed slowly as I soaked in the mana, refining my control. My body felt lighter, my mind sharper. In just a few days, I had improved—more than I had thought possible. Joseph saw it too; I could feel his attention never wavering, as though he was waiting for something to happen.

It was then that I rose to my feet and shifted into the next phase of my training. The Celestial Body Arts were a perfect extension of my mana training. My muscles moved before I consciously thought about it—the 13 strikes and 6 intricate steps flowed together in perfect harmony. My fist crashed into the practice dummy, and the crack of knuckles against wood echoed through the room. The force of the blow sent a tremor through the floor, but I didn't falter.

Each movement felt more precise than the last, my strikes sharper, faster, filled with the raw energy of mana surging through me. The dummy before me stood no chance, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't just rely on brute strength. I needed to refine everything—my footwork, my balance, my focus. The steps of the Celestial Body Arts were like a deadly dance, and I was becoming a master of the rhythm.

As the sun set, casting long shadows across the room, I felt the strain beginning to take hold. But I wasn't done yet. The final test of the day awaited me—Vajrastava Martial Arts. The technique demanded more than physical endurance; it required the ability to channel mana into something greater: Ki Energy.

I closed my eyes, centering myself. Sweat dripped down my face as I drew all of my remaining mana inward, compressing it into my core. My body trembled with the effort, my mind a razor's edge of focus. At first, nothing happened. The frustration built, every second feeling like an eternity. But I refused to give up. I couldn't give up.

And then, finally, I felt it—a faint glow, like the flicker of a candle within me. Slowly, the light grew stronger until it hovered just above my palm—a small, shimmering orb of Ki Energy. I stared at it, breathless, barely believing it was real. It was small, insignificant perhaps, but it was mine. It was progress.

With a deep breath, I let the orb dissolve back into me, the energy flowing through my core like a river. It wasn't perfect, not by a long shot. But it was a step forward—a step toward the power I knew was within my reach.

Joseph didn't say a word, but I could feel his silent approval. I wasn't just training anymore. I was evolving. Every breath, every strike, every moment brought me closer to unlocking the deeper potential within me. Basic Mana Breathing balanced my energy, Celestial Body Arts refined my movements, and Vajrastava transformed my mana into something tangible, something powerful. Slowly but surely, they were merging into a single, unified force.

I knew I was far from finished, but for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was on the right path.

Exhausted from the intense session, I made my way to the canteen. My body ached, and my mind buzzed with fatigue. The Rosford Orphanage was kind to its residents. Everything—food, clothes, basic necessities—was provided, whether you were a normal child or an awakened one like me. I grabbed a tray of food, ready to relax for a moment, but as I walked toward a table, a voice rang out behind me.

"Hey, orphan bastard!"

I turned, half-wondering if I had misheard. But no, the sneering voice was all too clear. This was a familiar scene. Most of the kids here were orphans like me—70-80% of them had nowhere else to go. The remaining 20% were from noble families, sent here to train because of Joseph's reputation. They thought they were better than us, as if their family names meant something in this place.

"What's your problem?" I asked, my voice calm but my muscles tense. I wasn't looking for trouble, but trouble seemed to have found me anyway.

A boy stepped forward, his chest puffed out with arrogance. "I'm Roger Dwan, heir to the Dwan family," he said with a smirk. "You should kneel before me, you low-born dog."

I blinked. Was this kid serious? The absurdity of it almost made me laugh, but I wasn't in the mood for games. I turned to walk away, but I felt it—a shift in the air, a warning from my heightened senses. I spun around just in time to dodge a punch aimed at my head.

"Really?" I muttered under my breath. I had trained too hard, sacrificed too much, to be taken down by some noble brat.

Four boys had surrounded me now, closing in with sneers plastered across their faces. Their arrogance was suffocating, their taunts endless.

"You think you're tough, huh?" one of them jeered. "Bet your mother was some filthy whore, just like the rest of the orphans here."

The words cut through me like a knife. My heart pounded, anger bubbling up inside me, hotter and more dangerous than ever before. I clenched my fists, trying to keep it together, but I could feel my control slipping. The room seemed to close in on me, the insults echoing off the walls, growing louder and louder until I could barely think straight.

Then, amidst the chaos, a voice broke through. Soft, feminine, and filled with sorrow. "My son, protect yourself. I am sorry."

The words reverberated inside my mind, striking at something deep and raw within me. I didn't know where the voice had come from or what it meant, but it felt...familiar. A memory? A figment of my imagination? I wasn't sure. But it stirred something inside me, something primal.

The next thing I knew, I was moving. My hand shot out, grabbing one of the boys by the collar—one of Roger's lackeys, the one who had laughed the loudest. I yanked him forward, hard, forcing him down to his knees in front of me. My body was trembling, my heart racing, and I could feel the weight of my emotions pressing down on me like a vice.

The laughter around me faded, replaced by stunned silence. I could see the shock on their faces, the fear in their eyes. But none of it mattered. All I could hear was that voice, echoing in my mind.

"My son, protect yourself."

I stared at the boy kneeling before me, my grip on his collar tightening. I didn't want this. I didn't want to hurt anyone. But I couldn't stop myself. The anger that had been simmering inside me for so long was spilling over, and I was powerless to contain it.

With a low growl, I released the boy, letting him slump to the ground. My hands shook as I turned toward Roger. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me, waiting to see what I would do next. The energy inside me was surging, out of control, and I knew that if I didn't find a way to contain it, something terrible was going to happen.

I grabbed Roger by the collar, lifting him off his feet. He stared at me, wide-eyed, his bravado crumbling. For a moment, I saw myself in his fear—a reflection of all the anger and pain I had been carrying for so long. But this wasn't just about him. This was about me. About everything I had been fighting against, everything I had been trying to bury.

The tension in the air was suffocating, the room deathly quiet as I held Roger in front of me.