A Test of Patience (Part 1)

We had been searching for the White Sage for days, but it was nowhere to be found. The frustration etched deeper into Ruan Yanjun's face with each passing hour. I knew part of his irritation wasn't just about the elusive herb—it was me. My exhaustion had worsened, and my faltering steps didn't escape his notice. Though he never said it outright, I could sense his fear that my condition might worsen.

Eventually, he made the decision for both of us. "We're heading to the next city," he announced, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Once there, he rented an entire courtyard in a quiet inn, ensuring I had a comfortable place to recover. The room was peaceful, the bedding soft, and for the first time in what felt like ages, I could rest.

I spent the next three days confined to the bed, my body refusing to move beyond the occasional effort to sit up. During that time, Ruan Yanjun hardly left my side. He was surprisingly attentive—bringing me meals, forcing me to drink bitter medicinal teas, and ensuring I stayed warm. His care was relentless, almost tender, until he opened his mouth.

"Open up," he teased one evening as he held a spoonful of soup to my lips. "You can't even eat by yourself now? Should I start feeding you like a baby bird?"

I shot him a glare, snatching the spoon from his hand. "Lord Ruan, I'm not helpless."

"Oh?" he smirked, leaning back in his chair. "You're certainly convincing when you collapse after just sitting up for five minutes."

My gratitude for his care always seemed to evaporate the moment he spoke. But even as I muttered curses under my breath, he stayed. If I needed nothing, he would sit by the table, his posture relaxed as he read scrolls or wrote notes with a calm precision that somehow irritated me more than his teasing.

By the fifth day, my strength had returned enough for me to leave the bed, though I still moved cautiously. Ruan Yanjun wasted no time resuming my training.

"We'll take it slow," he assured me, leading me to the courtyard. The late afternoon sun painted the space in warm hues, but the intensity of his gaze was anything but gentle. "You need to focus on your dark core."

I stiffened. He had mentioned this before—his belief that strengthening my dark core would fortify my defenses against the White Vulture. But I had no desire to listen. Every time I tapped into that dark energy, a whisper crept into my mind, tempting me with cruel thoughts. It wasn't just energy. It was a voice, a wickedness that scared me.

So I avoided it. I relied solely on my light core, channeling its pure, steady warmth even when it left me at a disadvantage.

Ruan noticed. His gaze narrowed as I deflected his attacks with sluggish, half-hearted blocks. "You're still refusing," he said, his tone sharp.

I didn't respond, focusing on my footing.

He sighed, shaking his head, but let it go—for now. "We'll continue tomorrow."

Days passed, and we resumed our journey north. Our progress was slow, not because of the terrain, but because Ruan Yanjun insisted on training me every morning and afternoon. His patience with my refusal to use my dark core wore thin. It wasn't long before he noticed that the energy in my dark core was weakening—a direct result of my deliberate suppression.

"You're trying to starve it out," he said one evening, his tone accusatory.

I didn't deny it. "If it weakens enough, maybe my light core will devour it."

His laugh was sharp, almost mocking. "Naive."

When we reached the border, he rented another courtyard. This time, the training escalated.

"Defend with your dark core," he commanded one afternoon as we sparred.

As much as I wanted to obey, I was too afraid to try. I struggled to deflect his relentless strikes instead.

He didn't hold back, forcing me into a corner with attacks that pushed me harder than ever. "Stop resisting it," he said, his voice cold. "You won't survive if you don't learn to manage both cores."

"I don't need it," I insisted, blocking another strike with trembling arms.

"Then prove it," he snarled, his strikes growing fiercer.

When I still refused to tap into my dark core, he paused. I thought the lesson was over—until he summoned an orb of dark energy. The black sphere pulsed with raw power, its ominous hum sending chills through me.

My instincts screamed at me to summon the dark core, to shield myself. I reached for it, but the moment I felt its chilling touch, doubt froze me.

"Lord Ruan," I said, my voice shaking. "What are you doing?"

"This is your final warning," he said, his gaze steady and unyielding. "The only way to block this is to use your dark energy."

Fear rooted me in place. I could feel the orb's energy even from where I stood, a suffocating weight pressing against my chest.

He hurled it at me without hesitation.