Returning to the Western Barracks was like stepping back into a cage after a brief taste of freedom. The air was thin and stale, a stark contrast to the vibrant purity of the Elder's sanctum. The contemptuous stares and hostile whispers of his peers felt distant now, like the buzzing of harmless insects. The trial in the Font had burned away much of Ren's fear and uncertainty, replacing it with a cold, sharp clarity of purpose. He had a path, and it was his alone.
His next scheduled class was, fittingly, another combat session with Instructor Borin. As he entered the sun-baked training grounds, he could feel the immediate shift in the atmosphere. The mockery was still there, but it was now tinged with caution. His victory over Joric had been inexplicable, and the unknown was always more unsettling than simple failure. Lin Fei and his cronies watched him from across the yard, their expressions a mixture of hatred and wary curiosity. Anya Volkov observed him with her usual intense, analytical gaze, clearly trying to dissect his previous performance.
"Alright, you maggots!" Instructor Borin's roar silenced the chatter. "Yesterday, some of you learned that Aether isn't everything. Today, you'll learn that control is more important than power. The exercise is simple: Target Practice."
He pointed a thick thumb towards a row of archery targets set up a hundred feet away. Next to them was a rack of simple, unadorned wooden spheres, each the size of a fist.
"You will stand at the firing line. You will not throw the sphere. You will use a single, controlled pulse of Aether to propel it towards the target. This isn't about strength; it's about precision. I want to see a focused push, not an explosion. Form a line!"
A smug grin spread across Lin Fei's face. This was the perfect test to expose Ren. It required the explicit, external projection of Aether, something the "Aether-Deaf" freak had proven utterly incapable of.
One by one, the students stepped up. Most managed to nudge the sphere off its pedestal, sending it rolling pathetically into the dust. A few, like Anya Volkov, managed a clean push, sending the sphere flying in a true, straight line to thump satisfyingly against the target. When Lin Fei's turn came, he gave Ren a pointed sneer before executing a flawless pulse, striking the target dead center. It was a clear display of orthodox skill, meant to highlight Ren's own impending failure.
"Ren!" Borin called out, his voice neutral. "You're up."
All eyes were on him. Ren walked to the firing line and placed the wooden sphere on the pedestal before him. He could feel the anticipation in the air, the collective, malicious hope that he would fail spectacularly.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ignoring the world outside. He was forbidden from circulating the Aether of his Spirit Soul. A conventional "Aether pulse" was impossible. But the Elder's words echoed in his mind: I said nothing about the Aether you absorb directly into your flesh.
He focused his will, not on the sphere itself, but on the air directly behind it. He visualized the skin-tight barrier he had forged in the Font, and then he commanded a gate to open—not on his own body, but on that barrier, a few inches from the sphere. He didn't project his own energy. Instead, he commanded the ambient Aether of the training grounds to rush into that single, focused point.
Then, with a second act of will, he hardened the barrier in front of that point of influx, creating a tiny, invisible wall. The Aether, rushing into a space that was suddenly sealed, had nowhere to go. It compressed, its density skyrocketing in a microsecond.
He had created a tiny, localized pocket of high-pressure air directly behind the sphere.
To the outside world, nothing had happened. There was no glow, no hum, no visible sign of Aether manipulation. Instructor Borin frowned, ready to call out the failure. Lin Fei's grin widened.
Then, Ren opened his eyes and took a small step back. With a final thought, he dissolved the barrier.
POP.
The sound was barely audible, like a cork being pulled from a bottle. The compressed pocket of air expanded with explosive force, acting like a miniature cannon. The wooden sphere shot off the pedestal, not with the gentle push of the other students, but with the velocity of a rifle bullet. It didn't fly; it was a blur, a streak of brown that crossed the hundred-foot distance in an instant.
It didn't just hit the target. It blasted through it, punching a perfectly round hole in the thick wood and straw before burying itself deep in the earthen bank behind it with a heavy thump.
Dead silence.
The entire class, including Instructor Borin, stared at the hole in the target, then back at Ren, their faces a mask of utter, dumbfounded disbelief. He hadn't produced a glow. He hadn't made a sound. He hadn't moved a muscle. From all appearances, he had done absolutely nothing. And yet, the result was more powerful and more precise than anyone else's, including the top students.
"What... what was that?" one of the students stammered into the silence.
Lin Fei's face was pale, his smug confidence shattered. This wasn't just an anomaly; it was impossible. It broke the known rules of cultivation.
Instructor Borin strode forward, his face a thunderous mask of confusion. He knelt, examining the pedestal, then marched down to the target, poking a thick finger through the clean hole in the wood. He looked at the sphere, half-buried in the dirt bank. He turned and stared at Ren, his veteran's eyes searching for any sign of trickery, any hidden device, any hint of what he had just witnessed. He found nothing but the same unnerving calm.
"Ren," Borin said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Report to Elder Tian. Now."