The next morning, Mark settled onto the floor in a meditative pose, his eyes shut, legs crossed, and arms positioned carefully in his lap. He inhaled deeply, and in that quiet stillness it felt as though he had become a vessel of flowing mana, his body slowly channeling it through the deeper reaches of his soul and mind.
He wanted to practice the principle of mana maintenance, since his current tier still left him incapable of holding a reserve for very long. He also hoped to understand how best to use that mana to enhance his muscle mass and overall physical attributes, hoping it would eventually boost factors like his speed, endurance, and defense.
He inhaled once more and remained perfectly silent, allowing a quiet sense of equilibrium to settle through his body as mana surged steadily around his soul like the current of a slow moving river. The feeling was cyclical in nature, the flow always circling back and following the very same familiar route each time. It did not take long before he began to notice the strength in his arms increasing, if only slightly.
Suddenly, Mark rose to his feet in one smooth motion, requiring no support at all, and began throwing practiced katas of jabs, crosses, and high kicks into the empty air in a continuous, flowing sequence of patterns. His movements grew quick enough that they began to blur faintly at the edges. He could feel mana burning away rapidly from the effort of his muscle work, much like calories spent during intense exercise.
The air itself seemed to ripple as his legs cut through it with invisible high kicks, side kicks, front kicks, and a final, sweeping roundhouse strike that split the surrounding space apart with a sharp, satisfying swoosh.
Tasha appeared in the entrance of the apartment, her eyes still groggy with sleep, yawning lazily as she stretched both arms high above her head like a cat waking from a long nap. Her hair was messy and disheveled from the night’s rest, and her skin appeared noticeably paler now, though somehow still brighter, a sign of how well she had slept.
Her eyes fluttered slightly at the sight before her, and she planted both hands firmly on her hips. Still, a small smile slowly crept onto her lips as she watched Mark move through his vigorous katas with practiced precision.
"One day, when we’ve actually got the time, the two of us should go for a proper jiyu kumite. I’ve gotten a lot better at Japanese kickboxing all on my own," Tasha challenged, leaning casually against the doorframe with her legs crossed at the ankle.
Although she had been born without the natural offensive or combat oriented elements typical of a summoner, relying instead on support type abilities, she had specialized heavily in kickboxing thanks to years of rigorous training under their grandfather’s mentorship since childhood, well before Mark had ever come into the picture. Because of her longer, more focused exposure to these particular combat styles, she had picked up several refined techniques that had gone on to shape her stance and instincts in battle.
As the family’s inborn summoner, she had received the most rigorous and hands on training out of the two of them from the very beginning.
Their grandfather had come from their mother’s side of the family, which meant he had never been a summoner himself, only an ordinary mundane. That distinction, however, had never once diminished him, since he had still managed to display a level of mixed martial arts skill impressive enough to earn him a respected title of his own within certain circles.
He had been the one to help arrange their mother’s hospital registration and treatment after she had been struck down by the grave infection, staying by their side through all of it until he passed away himself a year later, back when Tasha and Mark were only ten and seven years old respectively. It had been an incredibly difficult period for the both of them, one that ended up shaping the rest of their childhood in ways neither of them had truly been prepared for.
Mark paused mid motion, halting his katas as he glanced toward her from the corner of his eye. "How about we settle it at Dragon Gym? Our old childhood training ground, where all of this really started. It would be nice to go back somewhere familiar, somewhere with a little nostalgia attached to it."
"That’s actually a really good idea. Yeah, let’s go with that place," Tasha said with a nod, a competitive spark lighting up her expression. "And just so you know, I’m still stronger than you."
"Actions speak louder than words, Miss," Mark replied, flexing the muscles of his arms until they cracked faintly from the strain. "Don’t get too proud just because you’ve had more years of training than me. Underestimating your opponent is usually the first thing that gets you beaten on a real battlefield."
"Whatever. I’m going to go make breakfast and hit the shower," Tasha said with another yawn, waving her hand dismissively before turning and disappearing down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Mark smirked faintly once she was gone. "She doesn’t want to admit the truth, I can sense it clearly enough," he muttered quietly to himself, more amused than anything else.
He pulled off his outer shirt, left wearing only his undershirt, and dropped down to begin a set of diamond push ups, the movement pumping steadily through his upper body, arms, and core with each rep. After reaching a hundred and fifty repetitions, feeling a sharp strain building behind his eyes, he finally allowed himself a short break. Endurance had always been one of his more difficult attributes to improve, so he had made a deliberate point of focusing on it, and the effort seemed to be paying off.
A faint sheen of sweat had gathered across his skin, highlighting the defined shape of muscles that had been carefully forged through months of disciplined, consistent training.
He rested only briefly before moving into a set of squats, the burn spreading quickly through the muscles of his legs. His workout routine was never limited to just one part of his body, and he made a point of never skipping leg day, determined to keep every part of his physique balanced, strong, and evenly developed.
An hour later, he finally slumped against the door frame, his chest rising and falling heavily like the steady swell of a wave. His eyes had grown hazy with exhaustion, though he still clung stubbornly to consciousness. In total, he had completed three hundred additional diamond push ups on top of his earlier set, bringing the count to four hundred and fifty, along with two hundred and fifty incline push ups and three hundred and fifty squats.
And this had only been his warm up, meant to prepare him for that evening’s dungeon raid. Not long ago, he hadn’t even been able to cross eighty repetitions in any single one of these exercises, but things were clearly different now. It was proof, plain and simple, of just how far he had come.
He still had not managed any pull ups for the day, simply because there was no equipment nearby for it.
His entire body felt close to shutting down from the sheer exhaustion pressing down on him, his muscles aching fiercely with every small movement. Everywhere around him had gone quiet, save for the sound of his own heavy, labored breathing and the steady, rhythmic beeping of the life sustaining machines surrounding his mother’s pod nearby.
Tasha appeared in the doorway a short while later, her eyes catching on the defined shape of his body outlined beneath his tight undershirt. She had originally come to remind him about breakfast, fully intending to tease him about being weaker than her along the way, but the sight in front of her left her thoughts momentarily tangled.
"Get. Those. Vests. Off."
***
At night, the bright glare of a taxi’s headlights flashed briefly as the car rolled to a stop before an old, rusted gate at the edge of a narrow road lined with cracked and broken asphalt. The area beyond looked like a thoroughly desolate construction site, scattered with faded caution signs. Given how ominous the whole place appeared, the driver could not help but shoot his passenger a wary, suspicious glance in the rearview mirror.
Mark only shrugged in response before pushing open the door. "Thanks for the ride." He turned, pulling up the hood of his green jacket, and walked off without another word. Moments later, he climbed the old gate with practiced ease and hoisted himself over to the other side in one light, fluid motion.
He walked straight toward an unfinished building constructed from rough stone brick and weathered wood planks. It appeared to be a three storey structure at first glance, though the topmost floor had never been completed past its halfway point, leaving only the lower two floors truly usable. Its surface looked colorless and coated in a thin layer of dust.
Waiting near the building’s entrance stood a man with neatly combed black hair, dressed in a business suit with his long tie loosened around his collar. A carefully practiced, professional smile spread across his face as Mark approached, hands tucked casually into the front pockets of his jacket.
The man checked the time on his antique watch. "Well, look who it is. You’re a full thirty minutes early. What a pleasant surprise. Plenty of people show up late, and some never bother showing up at all."
Mark nodded, glancing briefly around the dilapidated, half finished area surrounding them. "Thanks."
"A young summoner at your tier doesn’t usually carry this much confidence in himself, yet you clearly do. You’re different from the rest."
"Thanks," Mark replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he raised an eyebrow. "So it’s a fifty fifty split on the resources if I clear the dungeon entirely on my own, with no entrance fee involved?"
"Yes, of course." The vendor’s professional smile never wavered, not even slightly. "I’ll simply wait here until you’re finished. Good luck out there."
Mark glanced past him and noticed a blue sedan parked quietly beside the building. He studied the vendor briefly from the corner of his eye. "Someone must have driven in and left their car here at some point."
"No need to worry about that. It’s an abandoned property that’s been sitting here for longer than anyone can really remember," the vendor reassured him, his voice carrying an easy, casual confidence.