Snow still blanketed parts of the Duskwither Clan grounds, but the rising heat of exertion and soul power turned the training courtyard into a steam-laced battlefield. The air shimmered with intensity. Grunts, short cries, and the sound of fists meeting flesh echoed in rhythm. There were no swords drawn. No spirit skills flaring. Only muscle, instinct, and will.
Li Rong's knuckles cracked against the reinforced training post, the wooden beam groaning from the impact. His breath was calm, steady—each strike calculated to test and strengthen his raw physical power. Around him, the younger elites of the clan—Li Xue, Ren Yao, and Li Shen—trained without pause. Every swing, punch, or block was born of hardened flesh, not forged steel.
They were learning a hard truth.
As soul masters grew, weapons dulled. Forged metal without soul power behind it shattered upon contact with reinforced bodies or spiritual defenses. The clan elders had drilled that lesson into them repeatedly: "Rely on your flesh. Hone your claws. You are wolves, not men with toys."
Li Rong paused, drawing in breath. Sweat streaked his chest, steam rolling from his bare shoulders. His body ached, not from weakness, but from constant tempering.
Across from him, Ren Yao slammed his shoulder into a wooden target padded with soul beast hide. The hide shook, but didn't tear.
"Harder!" Elder Li Jian barked from the raised platform.
Ren Yao growled, set his stance again, and this time charged forward with the full momentum of his body. The hide cracked—fibers splitting from raw force alone. He stumbled back, panting, but his grin said everything.
Li Xue practiced sharp elbow strikes, turning and spinning as her Frostfang Wolf spirit flickered behind her. Her attacks weren't flashy. Each blow landed with precision on sandbags suspended from high poles. Where others struck with fists, she used forearms, knees, and the edge of her palms, focusing on speed and clean hits that would shatter joints or nerves in close combat.
Li Shen practiced low sweeping movements, his body dancing between cones of resistance. Though his Windhowl Wolf spirit specialized in mobility, he was training his physical reflexes—rolling from attack to attack, launching palm strikes and elbow jabs with fluid momentum.
Li Jian stepped down from the stone dais and walked among them, speaking without slowing.
"You've all been given strength by your spirits. That's not enough. Steel bends. Armor cracks. But the body you forge now will carry you farther than any weapon."
He stopped in front of Li Rong and watched him circle a hanging slab of spirit beast bone. "You—Rong. Again. This time, don't hold back."
Li Rong nodded. No words. No waste.
He took a step, then twisted his body mid-motion, driving his elbow into the beast bone slab with a vicious crack. The impact echoed across the courtyard. The slab didn't shatter—but it swayed violently, and a spiderweb of cracks spread from the point of contact.
Li Jian smiled faintly. "Good. Keep that up, and no armor will stop you."
As training continued, the group began coordinated body drills—grappling techniques, pressure point targeting, and takedown maneuvers that made no use of flashy spirit skills. Only pure body control and cultivated strength.
By dusk, their limbs burned. Their knuckles were scraped raw. But no one complained.
Later, in the stillness of twilight, Li Rong sat cross-legged atop a lone stone outcropping overlooking the courtyard. The moon rose behind him, casting his shadow long across the training field. His breathing had steadied, soul power circulating through every muscle fiber. A dull ache resonated in his bones, but beneath it, strength brewed.
He opened his eyes and whispered to the night.
"Shadowstep."
And in that moment, he disappeared—only to reappear several meters away, not as a flash of light, but as a blur of movement and force. He didn't invoke the ring's power again. Instead, he began refining his body to match its speed naturally.
If he could move like a shadow without relying on the skill, then when he did use it… it would be terrifying.
Inside his soul sea, the Duskwither Moonfang Wolf loomed larger. Its presence had grown subtly, like it was watching him from behind the veil. Studying his progress. Approving, silently.
He could feel something building.
Not yet a breakthrough.
But it was coming.
And when it did, he'd be ready.
Elder Li Jian POV :
As the night deepened and the clamor of training faded into stillness, Elder Li Jian stood at the edge of the stone training grounds, his hands clasped behind his back. His sharp gaze lingered on the retreating forms of the four youths as they disappeared into the misty paths of the Duskwither compound.
The training had been grueling—by design. It was no longer enough to rely on spirit techniques alone. Against true foes, only tempered bodies and honed instincts could decide life or death. And these four… they were beginning to understand that.
Li Rong led them in more than just name. The boy's discipline was iron-bound, his mind unshaken by hardship. He had reached 19 soul power already, but it wasn't the number that impressed Li Jian—it was the way he moved. Each strike was precise, every step deliberate. The synergy between his wolf spirit and his physical combat technique had matured far beyond his age.
Li Xue had shed a layer of restraint today. Her soul power sat at 18, and her control over her frost-based qi had grown colder and more forceful. She was learning to convert her inner stillness into terrifying explosive bursts—her blade had started to feel like a proper extension of her will.
Ren Yao, ever the bull-hearted fighter, had clawed his way to 18 through sheer tenacity. What he lacked in finesse, he made up for in raw resilience. His strikes were becoming heavier, his stance more grounded. The path of brute force had always been narrow—but Yao had found a foothold on it.
And Li Shen… the quiet one. Fast, fluid, and calculating. His growth was subtle, but Li Jian saw it all. At 19 soul power, Shen's reaction speed and spatial awareness were beginning to surpass even his cousin Li Rong's in some moments. His strikes never wasted energy, and his reads in sparring were nearly flawless.
None of them had broken through yet—but they were close. Very close.
Li Jian closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the cold night air. These children, once unruly cubs, were beginning to show their fangs. The next generation of Duskwither was no longer merely surviving.
They were sharpening—quietly, relentlessly—like wolves preparing for the long hunt.