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Chapter Ten: Just the First Week
It's been one week since I left Elmsworth.
One week since I started training under Monroe.
Honestly? It hurts. Not in the emotional sense. Just physically. Everything hurts.
Wake up at dawn. No breakfast. Just straight into push-ups, squats, planks, hill sprints—sometimes all at once. Monroe doesn't yell or motivate. He just points and watches. If I slow down, he stares harder.
After physicals, it's basic Soul Energy control. Sit, breathe, focus. Guide the energy through the limbs. Hold it in the chest. Move it to the fingers, then the toes. Don't let it scatter. Don't push too hard. Don't stop, even when my legs cramp.
He gives instructions in pieces, like puzzles I'm supposed to solve on my own. He rarely repeats himself.
Afternoons? Sparring.
If you can call it that.
He never uses his full power—not even close. And yet, every time we fight, I lose. He doesn't swing wildly or show off. He just waits, reads my movement, and shuts me down with a flick of his wrist or a turn of the shoulder.
Sometimes, I land a strike. Once, I even knocked him slightly off balance.
But I've never won a match.
Every evening, I'm sore. My arms feel like wet rope, and my legs burn like fire. But I don't complain.
This is what I signed up for.
And now, it's day seven. One week in.
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Late afternoon.
The training spot was quiet—just a clearing in the woods behind the guild outpost. Dried leaves scattered across the forest floor. The sun filtered in through the trees, light dappling the moss-covered ground.
Eli stood facing Monroe, holding a wooden training staff, chest rising and falling steadily. Sweat already covered his shirt. His stance was decent—feet shoulder-width apart, back straight, weight balanced.
Monroe stood a few paces away, coat off, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He didn't bother with a weapon. He never did. Just stood there with his hands in his pockets.
"Ready?" Monroe asked casually.
Eli nodded.
A second later, he charged.
He stepped in with a quick jab, then spun into a sweeping strike aimed at Monroe's side.
Monroe shifted slightly, letting the blow glide past his shoulder. He raised a hand, caught Eli's follow-up swing with his palm, and pushed it aside.
Eli jumped back, reset, and attacked again. This time with more force.
The staff whistled through the air as he struck high, then low, then high again. His movements were faster than the day before. Cleaner. More deliberate.
Still, Monroe dodged them all with casual steps, moving just enough to avoid contact.
"You're over-committing," Monroe said, side-stepping another swing. "Cut your windup by half."
Eli gritted his teeth and pivoted his stance.
They circled for a moment.
Then Eli dashed forward again—this time using Soul Energy to reinforce his legs. His speed spiked. The wind kicked up around him as he lunged for an overhead strike.
Monroe raised his hand to block—but halfway through the motion, he stopped.
Just stood there.
Staring at the sky.
Eli saw his chance.
He tightened his grip, poured Soul Energy into his arms, and twisted his hips into one final strike. His form was clean. Balanced. Fast.
The staff came down toward Monroe's head.
Then—
Tap.
A single finger flicked forward.
Right between Eli's eyebrows.
CRACK.
A dull shock ran through Eli's skull, and his whole body flew backward like he'd been punched by a horse. His back hit the ground, leaves kicking up around him, breath knocked clean out of his chest.
He lay there blinking up at the trees.
His staff rolled out of his hand and stopped beside him.
A few seconds passed.
Then Monroe stepped into view, looking up again.
Eli followed his gaze.
There was nothing in the sky. Just clouds.
"What were you looking at?" Eli muttered, still catching his breath.
"Mm. Thought I heard something," Monroe said.
He looked down at Eli and smiled faintly.
"You're improving."
"That was a flick."
"I didn't say how much you're improving."
Eli sat up slowly, rubbing his forehead.
"You're not staying, are you?"
"Nope," Monroe replied, cracking his neck. "I've got something to check out. Won't be gone too long."
"Where are you—?"
But before Eli could finish the sentence, Monroe turned—and with a sudden gust of wind, vanished into the woods, his silhouette gone between the trees in seconds.
Eli was left alone in the clearing.
He sat there for a moment, then looked at the staff beside him.
He picked it up, stood, and sighed.
"Alright," he muttered. "Back to it."