After the quick battle, Dante and Tyler ran to the training field. Dante stood there, four weighted rings strapped to his body, each one fifty kilograms. The pressure was overwhelming, even for his newly enhanced body.
Making it worse, Tyler hurled stones at him relentlessly. Dante was not allowed to block them; he could either dodge or take the impacts head-on.
His master had told him he had to choose: training for strength or endurance to begin his adaptation. Of course, Dante chose endurance first — attempting heavy training without a solid level of resistance would be madness, especially for a body with freshly opened meridians.
With the rings weighing him down, dodging was nearly impossible. His master seemed to throw each stone with the intent to injure, leaving marks of bruising and redness. Tyler used his speed to overwhelm Dante's instincts, throwing stones in every direction — head, neck, legs — leaving no room to react.
Yet Dante was resilient. He wouldn't claim he could endure any challenge, but he tended to stay on his feet in most situations.
The stones came and went without rhythm, further confusing his senses. The weighted rings restricted his movements, and the impacts left marks not only on his skin but also on his muscles, which began to burn painfully, limiting his motion. Over time, blood started to spray from his body.
Still, Dante's mind remained completely focused on the training. His feet continued to move in an unrelenting effort to dodge.
Clack — a stone struck his spleen, sending extreme pain through his body. Another hit his lung, making breathing and movement difficult. The next struck precisely at his throat, blocking his airway and aggravating the hit to his lung.
Track — two stones struck his knees, forcing Dante to fall to his knees, gasping for air. At the same time, Tyler stopped throwing stones, as if acknowledging Dante's partial defeat.
"Only two hours? Insufficient. From now on, your routine will be sixteen hours of training and eight of sleep," Tyler said, his voice deep and disappointed. Dante, kneeling on the ground, breathed heavily, trying to regain his breath.
Bum bum bum — internal sounds. Tyler looked on curiously; he knew what Dante was attempting but couldn't believe he would dare. Dante was stimulating one of the lung meridians to improve his pulmonary activity and regain normal breathing.
Tyler merely laughed at Dante's audacity. To do something like this, at least three lung meridians needed to be open. Dante's attempt lasted only three seconds. It worked, but not by mastery: a sharp pain ran through his left lung, striking the meridian in the lower lobe. Breathing happened out of sheer desperation — a stroke of both luck and misfortune that would be etched into his mind.
Dante's body collapsed to the ground, both arms supporting him, and a liquid, like water and air, escaped from his lungs.
Old Tyler approached and lifted him by the collar. "Well, kid, I didn't think you'd try something this daring so early. But you are brave."
Standing, Dante wiped his mouth with his hand, clearing the remaining liquid while muttering insults about old Tyler, fully aware that he had probably heard.
"Stop muttering and let's move on to the second phase of training," Tyler said, dragging Dante to a place that already made his stomach turn — two pools, one boiling and the other freezing.
"Shit," Dante muttered, already knowing what awaited him.