The training hall was filled with the quiet hum of focused breathing, the scent of incense lingering in the air as students sat in neat rows, their bodies still, their minds reaching inward. The soft flickering glow of essence-infused lanterns lined the walls, casting shifting shadows across the polished wooden floor.
Agrona moved among them with a measured grace, her sharp eyes observing each student's form. Her long silver hair was tied in a loose bun, and her well-fitted mage's robes swayed with each step. Pushing her thin-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose, she studied the struggling students—each at different stages of mastering essence circulation.
Her voice, calm yet firm, carried through the hall.
"Calm your minds. Do not force the flow—let the essence move naturally, like a river winding through the land."
She stopped beside a boy trembling slightly, his hands shaking as he tried to channel his essence from his dantian, the core of his power, toward his limbs. His brow was furrowed in frustration.
"Breathe in deeply. Expand your core with each breath. Essence moves with your intent, but it must not be forced—let it be a companion, not a beast to be tamed."
She gently pressed two fingers against his back, just between his shoulder blades. "Straighten your posture. The energy flows through seven core points, forming a complete circuit. It moves from your dantian, flowing downward toward your knees, then upward along your shoulders, passing through your head, down to your chest, and finally back to the dantian."
The student gulped, nodding.
Agrona gave a small nod of approval before continuing her rounds, her flowing robe whispering against the ground. Her steps slowed as she stopped in front of Denwen.
He sat with his legs crossed, his hands resting lightly on his knees, his jaw clenched in frustration. His eyes were shut tight, but the faint tremor in his arms showed his struggle. Unlike the others, his essence refused to circulate properly. Every time he managed to push a small amount of energy out of his dantian, it stalled, like a flame struggling to stay lit in a storm.
'His posture is correct… His willpower is strong… But it's a shame—he's only a D-grade.'
Agrona sighed inwardly, watching as Denwen's fingers twitched, his breathing unsteady. The others had begun to form smooth cycles of essence flow, but he was still stuck at the first step.
Still, she saw something in him.
With careful precision, she knelt beside him, placing a gentle hand on his upper back. Denwen flinched slightly, but her voice remained steady.
"Your core is fighting against itself."
Denwen's eyes snapped open, confusion flickering through them.
Agrona adjusted her glasses. "You are trying to push the essence forward, but energy is not meant to be driven like cattle—it must be guided."
She took his right hand, lifting it slightly.
"Imagine your essence as a river, but your dantian as the mountain it flows from. You cannot force the water down—you must create a path for it."
Denwen took a deep breath, nodding slowly. He closed his eyes once more.
This time, instead of forcing the essence, he envisioned it flowing—a slow but steady stream weaving through his body.
Agrona observed the faint flicker of success before standing and turning her attention to another student—Rose, whose small frame trembled under the strain. Sweat dripped from her forehead, her hands nearly slipping apart.
Agrona's voice softened. "Oh, Rose—keep your palms connected properly." She gently repositioned the girl's hands, stabilizing her form. "This will help keep the circuit strong. Essence travels best when the pathways remain open. If your flow breaks, your energy will disperse before completing the cycle."
The girl nodded weakly, exhaling a slow breath.
Agrona stood, her hands clasped behind her back. "Remember, true mastery comes when you no longer think about this process. When it becomes as natural as breathing, you will be ready to move to the next stage—transferring essence into your weapon. And only once you've mastered that…" she paused, her silver eyes sweeping across the room, "…will you be strong enough to attempt a breakthrough."
A thud echoed across the hall.
A student collapsed, gasping for breath, his body trembling as mental fatigue overtook him. The room went silent, save for his ragged breathing.
Agrona was beside him in an instant, kneeling as she placed two fingers against his wrist, feeling the faint pulse of his depleted essence core.
Her voice remained calm but firm. "This is the cost of overexertion." She turned to the others. "Your essence determines your stamina, whether in cultivation or battle. If you drain yourself too quickly, your mind will collapse before your body does."
The lesson was clear.
She stood, adjusting her glasses once more. "Alright, everyone. Take the next hour to meditate and recover your essence." Her tone softened. "Overcoming these hurdles is part of your growth. Do not be discouraged."
She turned toward the doorway. "Those who have passed this stage, follow me to the next room. The rest of you—focus on recovery."
As the door closed behind her, Denwen clenched his fists.
—
The air inside the furnace-like training hall was suffocating, the heat pressing against Roy's skin like an iron brand. Sweat dripped down his temple, soaking into his uniform, but he remained unwavering—his grip tight around the wooden sword, his breathing controlled.
Emerald green essence pulsed through his body, flowing into the blade, causing it to shimmer with raw power. With a sharp exhale, he swung downward—
BOOM!
The force of his aura surged forward, carving through the air like a guillotine, slamming into the reinforced training puppet. The ground trembled, dust scattering into the air—
But the puppet stood firm, only slightly shaken.
"Tsk tsk tsk…"
A slow, unimpressed shake of the head came from Dvalin, the battle-hardened dwarven principal, his metal-plated arms crossed over his chest. His deep, gravelly voice carried an air of absolute authority.
"Still too weak, boy."
Roy gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.
Dvalin took measured steps forward, the heavy clang of his boots echoing through the room. His gray beard swayed slightly as he approached, his sharp, steel-colored eyes locked onto Roy's with an intensity that felt immovable.
"An A-grade talent means nothing in the grand scheme of things."
Roy flinched slightly at the words.
"It gives you an advantage, yes. You have a full core, you recover faster, you refine essence more efficiently, but you must understand this—" Dvalin's voice dropped into something darker, something absolute, "talent does not define the pinnacle of strength."
He lifted a single finger, flicking the air.
A concentrated surge of energy blasted outward—CRACK!—shattering the puppet Roy had barely managed to damage.
Roy's breath caught.
Dvalin lowered his hand, his gaze never leaving Roy's.
"Innate ability."
The words hung in the air like an unshakable truth.
"This is the dividing line between the strong and the weak. Between those who scrape by with borrowed power… and those who carve their names into history."
He started pacing slowly, his heavy mechanical arms whirring faintly as he gestured.
"Essence alone is like a blade—it can be wielded, sharpened, and mastered. But an innate ability? That is the difference between a mere warrior and a legend."
He pointed at Roy's chest. "Your talent is a tool. But your ability? That is your truth. The very force that will set you apart from the countless others who have an A-grade."
Roy's breath steadied, his hands tightening around the sword's grip.
Dvalin smirked slightly. "Look around, boy. Out there in the open world, there are thousands—no, millions—born with A-grade essence talent. And do you know what most of them become?"
He let the words sink in before answering his own question.
"Foot soldiers. Cannon fodder. Nobodies."
Roy's fingers twitched.
"Your talent puts you ahead. But only your ability can truly make you unmatched. Some never awaken theirs at all. Some spend their entire lives searching for it. Some only stumble upon it by accident. And by then—" he snapped his fingers, "it's too late."
Roy's breathing quickened.
Dvalin's expression hardened. "You, however, don't have the luxury of waiting. There are rapid undercurrents going on that threatened our very world, and they seek talented individual like you, no one can protect you better than you with your own strength"
He raised his hand, summoning another puppet from the ground.
"You have an innate ability—you just don't know what it is yet."
The puppet stood tall, its runed body pulsing, waiting for Roy's next strike.
Dvalin folded his arms, watching Roy with sharp, expectant eyes. "Before you can master your ability, you must first uncover it. The key to that?"
He pointed at Roy's chest again.
"Emotion. Instinct. Purpose."
Roy swallowed, his heart pounding.
"In battle, in life, your ability will not awaken from mere training. It will come when you push beyond your limits. When you abandon all restraint. When you are on the verge of either breaking or ascending."
His voice became a low growl.
"You want to be strong, boy?"
Roy nodded, his emerald eyes burning with determination.
Dvalin's grin was fierce.
"Then stop thinking like a talented brat."
He pointed at the puppet.
"Again. This time, don't just attack. Search for what lies dormant inside you."
Roy exhaled sharply, lowering his stance.