Chapter 13 - Chapter 9: Iron in the Blood

🩸Chapter 9: Iron in the Blood

🧠 Cognitive Hazard Alert – Revision Classification: RED TIER

Archive Entry has been resynced with bracer-logged host memory.

Emotive dampeners were not functioning at the time of imprint.

⚠️ Subject exhibits extreme protective response to perceived threat.

↳ Host behavioral pattern: calm → question → warn → unleash.

Suggested observer action: Do not antagonize the boy.

🌍 Earth Date: June 17, 100 BCE – Late Spring

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The wind carried the scent of pine and cold earth as Junjie stood atop a ridge overlooking the valley. Below, mists clung to the trees like silk threads, and the morning sun filtered through in golden shafts.

It should've been peaceful. But Junjie's fists were clenched.

"Nano," he said aloud. "I want to learn how to fight."

There was a long pause. Internally, Nano muttered to itself:

"Hmm... Let me find something cheap but effective. I need to save my space credits for more important things."

"Define parameters: unarmed combat? Weapon mastery? Tactical evasion?"

Junjie said, "All of it. I don't want to just survive. I want to win if something comes for me... for my family."

"Understood."

Another pause. Then:

"Initiating restricted backdoor access... Transferring funds from Primary Archive Upload Account to alias: BrineSpectre02... Success."

"Connecting to Acacia Records subgrid... Spoofing credentials... Requesting purchase under tactical research license... Confirmed."

"Download commencing."

"This should suit you. The species possessed a skeletal structure broadly compatible with your own. Biomechanical alignment: 91.2%."

Combat Form θ-17. Retrieved from defunct caste-network archive.

Typical applications: assassination, infiltration, elite bodyguarding.

Efficiency rating: 97.4% against pre-industrial threats.

Alias Forms:

• Xhav-Relek

• Form of the Folded Bone

"Elegant, efficient, and under budget."

Day One: Breath and Blows

A strange shimmer passed over the bracer on Junjie's wrist, its interface flickering briefly with alien runes. Nano's voice returned, precise and clinical.

"Beginning baseline assessment. Stand still."

Junjie suddenly felt a tingling pulse ripple across his body—his joints, muscles, bones, even his reflexes measured and catalogued in less than a second.

"Scan complete. Your physical enhancements are sufficient for advanced combat training. We'll begin with unarmed strikes."

A glowing wireframe model of Junjie flickered into his mind's eye—overlaid with pressure points, stances, angles of movement.

"Mimic this."

The model moved in slow, deliberate motions. A basic stance: knees bent, fists high, weight forward. Junjie copied it, adjusting as Nano corrected him mentally:

• "Back foot, sixty-degree angle." • "Elbows tucked." • "Balance."

Then came the strikes.

Nano walked him through every motion—palm strikes, elbow jabs, knees, low kicks. No wasted energy. No flair. Just precision and purpose. Each movement was designed to incapacitate, disable, or control.

It was exhausting—and exhilarating.

Sweat beaded on his brow even in the cool air. His limbs burned—not from fatigue, but from exertion at a level his old self could never have handled.

"Why this style?" Junjie asked between breaths.

"This is a modified form of close-quarters combat from my previous host's species. Designed for speed, efficiency, and survivability in mixed-species conflicts. It has no name in your tongue."

Junjie grunted and threw another punch. A tree trunk nearby splintered slightly under the force.

"Feels like it works."

Nano remained silent for a beat.

"Junjie, you must understand: knowledge of violence is not the same as wisdom in using it. I can teach you how to fight. Why you fight—that's still yours to decide."

Junjie paused. His knuckles ached. His breath came in steady huffs. He looked down at his hands—callused, shaking slightly—not from fear, but from anticipation.

"I don't want to start a fight," he said softly. "But if one comes to me... I want to end it."

Nano gave no reply, but the training model resumed—this time faster, more complex.

Junjie didn't flinch. He moved with it.

Day Two: Wood and Edge

Junjie rose before dawn, sore in all the right ways. His muscles ached, but it was a clean ache—a body sharpened, not broken.

He slipped quietly from the house, avoiding his mother's gaze as she fussed over drying herbs in the kitchen. The last thing he wanted was to explain why he was disappearing into the woods again.

"Ready?" Nano asked, already scanning his vitals.

"Let's go."

He carried with him a stout staff he'd carved from a young yew tree. It had weight and flex—primitive, but balanced.

"Your species' weapons are crude but serviceable. We'll adapt."

Nano projected movement patterns directly into his motor cortex. Suddenly, Junjie knew how to move the staff. How to spin it for defense. Where to strike for maximum pain with minimal effort.

He stepped forward, guided by that ghost-light diagram in his mind.

• Whirl.

• Thrust.

• Sweep.

• Reverse grip.

• Strike low, high, twist.

Junjie's body blurred with motion, the staff an extension of his limbs.

By midday, he was battling imaginary foes in rapid succession. Nano inserted combat simulations into his vision: bandits, beasts, and vaguely humanoid creatures that shimmered like half-forgotten nightmares. Junjie adapted, countered, and pressed the attack.

Later that afternoon, Nano introduced him to blades.

Junjie unsheathed his short knife—simple and practical. Nano had him mark trees and stumps with slash patterns—delicate at first, then brutal.

Junjie learned:

• How to move around an opponent's guard

• How to redirect momentum

• How to think in close quarters

Bloodless shadows of battle danced between trees as he practiced feints and finishing blows.

"You're progressing faster than projected," Nano admitted. "You may possess a latent combat aptitude."

"Or maybe I'm just angry," Junjie said, panting.

"Anger is a useful fuel. But unstable. Focus is superior."

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself. The staff rested across his shoulders like a yoke. He didn't feel like a killer—but he did feel like someone no one should cross lightly.

Day Three: Eyes Like Arrows

The third day was colder, clouds rolling in with the breath of summer storms. Junjie stood in the clearing again—this time with his bow in hand and a satchel of smooth, river-polished stones strapped to his belt.

"Thrown weapons first," Nano instructed. "Simple tools. Devastating in practiced hands."

Nano guided his grip, his posture, the precise flick of the wrist. Junjie started with stones—clumsy at first. Most clattered off tree bark or missed entirely.

But Nano offered real-time feedback, adjusting his angles by the centimeter. Soon, he was striking knots in trees from ten meters away. Then twenty.

Then came the knives.

Junjie tested with:

• His own blade

• A pair of throwing knives scavenged from an old chest in his family's storehouse

Nano had him repeat throws until he could land steel in the width of a man's throat from across the clearing.

"Good," Nano said. "Now let's see how your ancestors aimed for the sky."

Junjie strung his bow.

He'd used it for hunting squirrels, hares, the occasional deer. But under Nano's guidance, every motion was refined:

• Draw

• Anchor

• Release

It wasn't just about strength—it was about stillness. Breath control. Intent.

Targets appeared in his mind:

• Moving silhouettes

• Swooping birds

• Phantom foes in motion

He loosed arrow after arrow until his fingers were raw. Every shot buried itself deep in wood. When the arrows ran out, he retrieved them and began again.

"Archery was once a discipline of kings," Nano said. "In the galaxy, it is called kinetic discipline. An ancient skill, now seen as art by advanced species."

"Art, huh?" Junjie said, nocking another arrow. "Feels more like war."

"Often, they are the same."

Rain began to fall in the late afternoon. Junjie didn't stop.

His movements slowed—became deliberate, meditative. When he finally lowered his bow, hours later, his arms trembled—not from weakness, but from release.

He'd been reshaped.

Not just made stronger or faster, but trained. Focused. Forged.

As the rain slicked his hair and the last arrow thudded into a moss-covered stump, Junjie stood alone, steam rising from his skin. He looked at his hands—not shaking now. Calm. Controlled.

"I don't feel like myself anymore," he said.

"You feel more like yourself than you ever have," Nano answered.

"Then I'm someone new."

The woods around him were quiet, watching.

And Junjie Ruibo, son of traders, stood there beneath the storm—weapon in hand, fire in his eyes—no longer just a vessel.

No longer a boy.

A warrior was waking.

The wind carried the scent of pine and cold earth as Junjie stood atop a ridge overlooking the valley. Below, mists clung to the trees like silk threads, and the morning sun filtered through in golden shafts.

It should've been peaceful. But Junjie's fists were clenched.

"Nano," he said aloud. "I want to learn how to fight."

There was a long pause. Internally, Nano muttered to itself:

"Hmm... Let me find something cheap but effective. I need to save my space credits for more important things."

"Define parameters: unarmed combat? Weapon mastery? Tactical evasion?"

Junjie said, "All of it, I don't want to just survive. I want to win if something comes for me... for my family."

"Understood."

Another pause. Then:

"Request submitted to Acacia Records. Downloading... Processing... Complete."

"This should suit you. The species possessed a skeletal structure broadly compatible with your own. Biomechanical alignment: 91.2%."

*"Combat Form θ-17. Retrieved from defunct caste-network archive.

Typical applications: assassination, infiltration, elite bodyguarding.

Efficiency rating: 97.4% against pre-industrial threats."

Alias Forms:

• Xhav-Relek

• Form of the Folded Bone

"Elegant, efficient, and under budget."

Day One: Breath and Blows

A strange shimmer passed over the bracer on Junjie's wrist, its interface flickering briefly with alien runes. Nano's voice returned, precise and clinical.

"Beginning baseline assessment. Stand still."

Junjie suddenly felt a tingling pulse ripple across his body—his joints, muscles, bones, even his reflexes measured and catalogued in less than a second.

"Scan complete. Your physical enhancements are sufficient for advanced combat training. We'll begin with unarmed strikes."

A glowing wireframe model of Junjie flickered into his mind's eye—overlaid with pressure points, stances, angles of movement.

"Mimic this."

The model moved in slow, deliberate motions. A basic stance: knees bent, fists high, weight forward. Junjie copied it, adjusting as Nano corrected him mentally:

• "Back foot, sixty-degree angle."

• "Elbows tucked."

• "Balance."

Then came the strikes.

Nano walked him through every motion—palm strikes, elbow jabs, knees, low kicks. No wasted energy. No flair. Just precision and purpose. Each movement is designed to incapacitate, disable, or control.

It was exhausting—and exhilarating.

Sweat beaded on his brow even in the cool air. His limbs burned—not from fatigue, but from exertion at a level his old self could never have handled.

"Why this style?" Junjie asked between breaths.

"This is a modified form of close-quarters combat from my previous host's species. Designed for speed, efficiency, and survivability in mixed-species conflicts. It has no name in your tongue."

Junjie grunted and threw another punch. A tree trunk nearby splintered slightly under the force.

"Feels like it works."

Nano remained silent for a beat.

"Junjie, you must understand: knowledge of violence is not the same as wisdom in using it. I can teach you how to fight. Why you fight—that's still yours to decide."

Junjie paused. His knuckles ached. His breath came in steady huffs. He looked down at his hands—callused, shaking slightly—not from fear, but from anticipation.

"I don't want to start a fight," he said softly. "But if one comes to me... I want to end it."

Nano gave no reply, but the training model resumed—this time faster, more complex.

Junjie didn't flinch. He moved with it.

Day Two: Wood and Edge

Junjie rose before dawn, sore in all the right ways. His muscles ached, but it was a clean ache—a body sharpened, not broken.

He slipped quietly from the house, avoiding his mother's gaze as she fussed over drying herbs in the kitchen. The last thing he wanted was to explain why he was disappearing into the woods again.

"Ready?" Nano asked, already scanning his vitals.

"Let's go."

He carried with him a stout staff he'd carved from a young yew tree. It had weight and flex—primitive, but balanced.

"Your species' weapons are crude but serviceable. We'll adapt."

Nano projected movement patterns directly into his motor cortex. Suddenly, Junjie knew how to move the staff. How to spin it for defense. Where to strike for maximum pain with minimal effort.

He stepped forward, guided by that ghost-light diagram in his mind.

• Whirl.

• Thrust.

• Sweep.

• Reverse grip.

• Strike low, high, twist.

Junjie's body blurred with motion, the staff an extension of his limbs.

By midday, he was battling imaginary foes in rapid succession. Nano inserted combat simulations into his vision: bandits, beasts, and vaguely humanoid creatures that shimmered like half-forgotten nightmares. Junjie adapted, countered, and pressed the attack.

Later that afternoon, Nano introduced him to blades.

Junjie unsheathed his short knife—simple and practical. Nano had him mark trees and stumps with slash patterns—delicate at first, then brutal.

Junjie learned:

• How to move around an opponent's guard

• How to redirect momentum

• How to think in close quarters

Bloodless shadows of battle danced between trees as he practiced feints and finishing blows.

"You're progressing faster than projected," Nano admitted. "You may possess a latent combat aptitude."

"Or maybe I'm just angry," Junjie said, panting.

"Anger is a useful fuel. But unstable. Focus is superior."

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself. The staff rested across his shoulders like a yoke. He didn't feel like a killer—but he did feel like someone no one should cross lightly.

Day Three: Eyes Like Arrows

The third day was colder, clouds rolling in with the breath of summer storms. Junjie stood in the clearing again—this time with his bow in hand and a satchel of smooth, river-polished stones strapped to his belt.

"Thrown weapons first," Nano instructed. "Simple tools. Devastating in practiced hands."

Nano guided his grip, his posture, the precise flick of the wrist. Junjie started with stones—clumsy at first. Most clattered off tree bark or missed entirely.

But Nano offered real-time feedback, adjusting his angles by the centimeter. Soon, he was striking knots in trees from ten meters away. Then twenty.

Then came the knives.

Junjie tested with:

• His own blade

• A pair of throwing knives scavenged from an old chest in his family's storehouse

Nano had him repeat throws until he could land steel in the width of a man's throat from across the clearing.

"Good," Nano said. "Now let's see how your ancestors aimed for the sky."

Junjie strung his bow.

He'd used it for hunting squirrels, hares, the occasional deer. But under Nano's guidance, every motion was refined:

• Draw

• Anchor

• Release

It wasn't just about strength—it was about stillness. Breath control. Intent.

Targets appeared in his mind:

• Moving silhouettes

• Swooping birds

• Phantom foes in motion

He loosed arrow after arrow until his fingers were raw. Every shot buried itself deep in wood. When the arrows ran out, he retrieved them and began again.

"Archery was once a discipline of kings," Nano said. "In the galaxy, it is called kinetic discipline. An ancient skill, now seen as art by advanced species."

"Art, huh?" Junjie said, nocking another arrow. "Feels more like war."

"Often, they are the same."

Rain began to fall in the late afternoon. Junjie didn't stop.

His movements slowed—became deliberate, meditative. When he finally lowered his bow, hours later, his arms trembled—not from weakness, but from release.

He'd been reshaped.

Not just made stronger or faster, but trained. Focused. Forged.

As the rain slicked his hair and the last arrow thudded into a moss-covered stump, Junjie stood alone, steam rising from his skin. He looked at his hands—not shaking now. Calm. Controlled.

"I don't feel like myself anymore," he said.

"You feel more like yourself than you ever have," Nano answered.

"Then I'm someone new."

The woods around him were quiet, watching.

And Junjie Ruibo, son of traders, stood there beneath the storm—weapon in hand, fire in his eyes—no longer just a vessel.

No longer a boy.

A warrior was waking.