Forging the bond: Combat Training and the Art of Battle

"Put effort into it! More strength behind the punch! Each strike is crucial to landing a hit!" shouted a topless figure, levitating in the sky as he glared down at the descendants of the Demiurge clan.

They were spread across an open field, divided into teams of five. Each team was locked in combat with a humanoid puppet rivaling the cultivation base of a peak 4th-stage Body Tempering expert, while all of them were currently at the 2nd stage of the Body Tempering realm.

A year and a half had passed since their arrival at the sanctuary. During this time, they had been trained relentlessly in survival tactics across various terrains.

This preparation was essential, as spatial storms in the Shattered Heaven—though rare—could hurl anyone to unknown and often perilous places.

"ITS LEGS, URIEL! AIM FOR ITS LEGS!" Azrael yelled, his crescent-shaped blades flying through the air. The chain connecting them coiled tightly around the puppet's right arm as he pulled it sharply to the side.

Uriel moved swiftly, her greatsword already in hand. With practiced precision, she closed in and cleaved through the puppet's left leg in one clean motion. Spinning smoothly, she followed up by slicing through its right leg, leaving it defenseless.

Teng rushed forward, Qi flowing into his spear. In one decisive strike, he pierced the puppet's core, silencing its movements entirely.

During the year and a half in the sanctuary, the descendants were trained extensively to master weapons suited to their unique physiques. Every detail—body structure, muscle movement, bone density, and more—was taken into account.

Unlike most cultivators, who specialized in either close-range or long-range combat, they were trained in both hand-to-hand combat and weapon mastery, significantly improving their battle prowess and survival rate.

"I had to sleep only two hours a day just to understand this weapon. I had to strengthen my body to wield it properly.

After fighting this puppet every single day and losing most of the time, I've finally won," Azrael said to himself, a tired but satisfied smile forming as he watched the puppet collapse.

The record—304 losses, 60 draws and one victory didn't matter. The victory itself was all that mattered.

Azrael scanned the field. He noticed others beginning to win their battles, though some still struggled. As time passed, more descendants defeated their puppets, while a few continued to fall short, their efforts unyielding.

"GOOD, GOOD, GOOD! Those who defeated their puppets can rest for three hours. The rest are excused and will try again tomorrow, as usual," the topless man announced. With that, his body dissolved into the wind and vanished from sight.

Moments later, countless rain seagulls filled the sky, gliding rapidly toward the victors. As the seagulls landed gracefully, people dismounted from their backs, carrying large trays shielded by Qi barriers. They moved quickly, setting up picnic-like arrangements for each team.

Soft blankets were unfurled and spread out in neat circles, with the trays placed at the center. The Qi barriers shimmered before dissolving, revealing steaming plates of roasted Azure Fang boar, slices of Thunderstrike hawk breast, and bowls of Verdant Fang fish stew.

Alongside these were baskets of Spirit Grain bread and fresh fruits from the Ethereal Orchard, their colors vibrant and enticing. Crystal-clear Qi-infused water jugs glimmered in the sunlight, completing the feast.

The victors gathered eagerly, their exhaustion melting away as the aroma of spiritual beast meat and fresh delicacies filled the air. This was not just a meal but a well-deserved moment of respite.

"Ptui! Poisoned food, huh? Why am I not surprised? And they had to use Night Orchard—meant for complete paralysis, no less," Azrael muttered, devouring a chunk of meat before sighing in annoyance.

Even with his low cultivation base, Azrael still experienced hunger, though not as frequently or urgently as mortals. However, his appetite had grown significantly.

For him, even 60 kilograms of dense mortal food was barely enough to take the edge off. He required meals designed for cultivators—foods rich in Qi that he could refine to replenish his energy reserves and satisfy his appetite.

Despite the poison, the meat still served its purpose, absorbing the toxins was more of a nuisance than a challenge.

His frustration stemmed from the unnecessary trouble. "Can't they just give us something normal for once?" he grumbled, tearing off another bite with visible irritation but resolute determination.

Azrael looked at his right hand and sighed. He could sense that his authority had awakened, but frustration also lingered.

To use his authority, he needed to understand its fundamentals, much like how he had analyzed the regeneration of the bear during their fight.

His desire to end the bear had triggered his authority, and in that moment, he had unknowingly used it to kill the bear.

What bothered him now was that, aside from his mother, no one else could see his authority, and he couldn't understand why.

What he did realize, however, was that his authority didn't require Qi, energy, or a specific mechanism. It only relied on his intent.

Although it confused him, Azrael understood that everything depended on his understanding, and there was no instruction manual for how to use it properly.

"Brother, stop fooling around and focus," Uriel sighed, her gaze fixed on Azrael as she moved closer to him.

The sanctuary had helped her mature mentally beyond her years, so she couldn't help but notice Azrael's odd, introverted behavior.

"Uriel... do you miss home, do you miss mother" Azreal muttered as he continued to eat ignoring Uriel's gaze

"Of course I do," Uriel replied with a smile. "From what I've gathered from those who know about this place, Those who perform well in the trials can leave early.

Even if you fail, you can still leave at the age of fifteen. So, we might go home sooner than we thought."

Her smile faltered slightly, and Azrael could see the frustration hiding beneath it. She felt...abandoned by Haniel.

"Sister.. you're lying"

"No, I am no..."

"When you lie, your nose twitches for a moment. It's a trait we both share, unfortunately," Azrael said, pausing his meal as he looked at Uriel with a smile.

Hearing this, Uriel's lips twitched, and she sighed

"I'm angry and frustrated," Uriel admitted, her voice trembling. "I know the cultivation world is dangerous and unforgiving, and that's why she sent us here, trying to do what's best for us. But it feels like she failed as a mother.

We never got to see the cities or explore places like children... it feels like she just sent us away like we were a burden.

I don't even know much about her. I know she cares, but it always feels like something else comes before that care—making us stronger, forcing us to adapt, even when that's not what we want."

A tear escaped from Uriel's right eye, but she quickly squinted and gritted her teeth. With all her will, she forced the tear back, refusing to let it fall. As the older sibling, she didn't want to show "weakness" in front of her brother.

"At least you guys have parents, I am a bastard so I was sent here to die h..."

"Not now, Teng. You're ruining our bonding time. Why do you want to include yourself in our business?" Uriel asked, her gaze sharp as she looked at him.

Teng averted his eyes in shame. As someone without family, he felt a pang of envy toward their closeness.

Azrael shot Uriel a disapproving look, prompting her to quickly apologize. With that, Teng began to share his story, and just like that, the three hours slipped by in the blink of an eye.

"Time's up. To those who disarmed their puppets, you've earned your place in the next trial, just like those before you," the voice of the topless man echoed in their heads. As his words faded, those who had won began to disappear, one by one.

....