The routine became a brutal, inescapable cycle.
Wake up at dawn. Swallow a bowl of cold rice in the sanctuary dining hall. Step onto the oiled glass in the obsidian pit. Suffer for sixteen hours. Collapse onto a wooden cot. Let [Endless Resilience] mend my torn ligaments overnight. Repeat.
By Day Three, Master Vane ceased testing single turns. He demanded multi-vector chaining—a ninety-degree snap to the left immediately followed by a forty-five-degree snap to the right, executed in less than a second.
The physical toll was atrocious. Double-snapping put a horrifying amount of torque on my knee joints. Time after time, my ligaments strained to the point of tearing, my joints popping like dry twigs under the sudden shift in momentum. Pain became a constant, living companion, a sharp fire that lived in my lower back and ankles.
Yet, amid the agony, a strange, dark sense of enjoyment began to take root.
There was a addictive rush in mastering something so unnatural. Every time my boots slid across the slick glass and executed a sharp, physics-defying turn without making a sound, my heart hammered with pure adrenaline. I wasn’t just surviving Vane’s hellish training anymore. I was conquering it.
On Day Four, Vane added obstacles to the pit.
He suspended dozens of heavy iron pendulums from the cavern ceiling, setting them swinging in erratic, overlapping arcs across the oiled floor. My task was simple: glide from one end of the pit to the other, cut three wooden target posts with my dual katanas, and reach the far wall without getting struck by the iron weights.
The first three attempts ended with an iron pendulum smashing into my ribs, hurling me into the stone wall. My [Adaptive Resonance] worked in overdrive, analyzing the speed of the swinging weights and adjusting my reaction time by micro-seconds.
By the end of the fourth day, I was weaving through the swinging iron like a ghost. I’d glide forward, vector-snap beneath a descending pendulum, deliver two clean cuts to a target post—Pi, Ci—and snap sideways before the next weight could graze my jacket. The glass floor was no longer a hazard. It had become my playground.
On Day Five, the focus shifted to Aether efficiency.
Without the System’s old 10x novice buffer, every micro-burst of Aether released from my heels during a vector-snap cost a precious portion of my limited pool. If I used too much energy on a turn, I’d run out of Aether before completing a single blade combination.
Vane stood at the edge of the pit, watching stoically as I refined the energy output. I learned to shave the Aether release down to the absolute minimum required to cancel my forward inertia—a tiny, needle-point pulse of energy from the center of my heel plate.
It was delicate, meticulous work, requiring intense focus while moving at thirty miles an hour. But as the hours bled together, the micro-bursts became as natural as breathing.
By Day Six, my body stopped fighting the technique.
The conscious mental effort required to execute the Sinuous Step dissolved. My [Adaptive Resonance] had mapped the biomechanics directly into my nervous system. I no longer had to think about dislocating my ankle or timing the Aether pulse. My body simply read the space ahead, shifted its center of gravity, and executed the snap automatically.
The pain in my joints had dulled into a deep, resilient strength. My dual katanas felt lighter in my grip, their weight moving in perfect harmony with the turns of my hips.
Finally, Day Seven arrived.
The alchemical lanterns in the obsidian pit burned dim as Master Vane stepped onto the glass. He didn’t carry wooden training swords or iron weights today. He stood at the far end of the pit, twenty yards away, three wooden target dummies positioned between us.
"One final test," Vane said, his raspy voice completely neutral. "Cross the pit. Destroy the three targets. Stop before my blade reaches your throat."
He drew a single, thin stiletto from his sleeve.
Without uttering any word, I drew my dual katanas, letting the twin blades rest low at my sides. I dropped my center of gravity into my lower abdomen, inhaled deeply, and initiated the Sinuous Step.
I glided forward.
No friction. No sound of boots on glass. I reached the first target, executed a ninety-degree Vector-Snap to the left, and brought my right katana across its neck—Pi. The wooden head flew into the air.
Without stopping, I snapped forty-five degrees to the right, sliding between two stone pillars, and drove my left katana through the second target’s chest—Ci.
The final target stood directly in front of Vane. I executed a double-vector snap—right, then left—appearing instantly in Vane’s blind spot. I swung both katanas in a cross-slash, obliterating the third dummy into wooden splinters, and brought the tips of both blades to a halt half an inch from Vane’s throat.
Vane hadn’t even had time to raise his stiletto.
Silence fell over the cavern.
I stood there, my dual katanas holding perfectly steady at his neck, my breathing low and silent. The oiled glass beneath my boots was completely undisturbed.
Vane looked at the two steel blades hovering at his throat. His yellow, viper-like eyes flicked up to meet mine.
Slowly, Vane lowered his stiletto and offered a single, curt nod.
"The Intermediate Stage of the Sinuous Step is mastered," Vane said neutrally. "Your movement is no longer that of an amateur."
I sheathed both katanas with a sharp clink, letting out a long, slow breath. Every muscle in my body was sore, my clothes were stained with sweat and old blood, but a deep, profound sense of satisfaction washed over me.
Seven days of pure hell. Seven days of breaking my body and rebuilding it piece by piece.
I looked at my hands, feeling the quiet, lethal flow of Aether resting inside my veins.
I was no longer just relying on Valeska’s raw power to carry me. I was becoming a weapon in my own right.
"Get some rest, Cross," Vane said, turning toward the dark corridor. "Tomorrow, you will get assigned to another mission."