First person
Morning drills begin before sunrise. The barracks ring with coughing, boots, and the metallic scrape of swords. Most of the recruits are still half-asleep. I'm not one of them.
I lie awake long before the horn sounds, listening to the rhythm of the building—the breathing of fifty men packed into one hall. Every snore, every sigh, every heartbeat. I can match them if I want. Control the tempo. A single deep inhale, and half the room unconsciously syncs with me. They think it's coincidence. I know better.
Conqueror Breathing isn't just power. It's influence.
When the horn blares, I move with them, blend in. The instructor, a scarred veteran named Vorran, watches us from the yard. His voice cuts through the chill air.
"Form lines! The demons don't wait for sleep!"
He doesn't see me the way others do. He sees potential—something he can shape. I let him believe that. Every master likes to think they're the one in control.
We train until our lungs burn. Vorran shouts about discipline, rhythm, focus. He doesn't know he's describing my own doctrine.
By mid-morning, several recruits collapse. I stay standing, breathing slow and deliberate. Vorran notices. He nods once.
"You—Ryu, was it? You hold your breath like a hunter already. Keep that up."
I bow slightly. "Yes, sir."
Inside, I file his words away. Respect is a weapon if you know how to wield it.
Third person
The Hunters' Guild was built like a maze of stone and discipline. Recruits rose through ranks by merit—or by illusion of merit. Ryu learned the rules faster than anyone expected.
He studied maps when others slept. He memorized the shift schedules, the patrol routes, the supply ledgers. Information was power, and power fed his breathing.
At night, when the torches dimmed, he trained alone in the courtyard, moving through slow forms that looked like meditation. Each breath drew frost from the air. Each step whispered across the ground.
The guards sometimes watched from a distance, whispering about the new recruit who never tired.
First person
Weeks pass. My control grows sharper. I've defined five forms now, each born from necessity.
First Form – Assertion: Claim the moment.
Second – Overtake: Outpace intention.
Third – Assimilation: Vanish inside another's rhythm.
Fourth – Command: Bend the environment's flow.
Fifth – Dominion: Stillness that forces obedience.
The fifth is incomplete. It scares me a little—how quiet the world becomes when I use it.
During sparring drills, I test fragments. A step too fast, a swing that shouldn't land but does. Vorran's eyes narrow more each day. He knows something's off, but he can't explain it.
Third person
Rumors began to circle the Guild. Some called Ryu gifted, others cursed. A few said he breathed differently, as if the air itself answered him.
One night, Vorran summoned him to the observation tower. The older man poured two cups of black liquor, handed one over.
"You learn quickly," Vorran said. "Too quickly. Tell me, where did you train before this?"
Ryu met his gaze calmly.
"Everywhere life tried to kill me."
Vorran laughed, a dry rasp. "That's as good a teacher as any." He took a drink, then turned to the window. "You've got hunger in your eyes, boy. Just remember—out here, hunger eats itself if it's not disciplined."
Ryu's reply was soft but steady.
"Then I'll teach hunger discipline."
Vorran didn't know whether to be impressed or afraid.
First person
He thinks he's warning me. He's really giving me permission.
Every night after that, I train longer. The fifth form grows clearer. The air thickens when I hold it; sound bends. Animals stop moving. Even the wind hesitates.
It costs something—pain behind my eyes, blood in my throat—but the control is intoxicating.
Sometimes, when I release the breath, I swear I hear whispers riding the exhale. Not words, just acknowledgment. The world noticing me.
That's the real danger of power. It notices you back.
Third person
By the end of his first month, Ryu had risen to the elite patrol units. Officially, it was because of skill. Unofficially, because no one could look him in the eye for long without feeling like they'd forgotten how to breathe.
He never boasted. He didn't need to. Every motion carried quiet authority, and people filled the silence with their own awe.
The Guild began assigning him missions deeper into the wild zones—where demons were older, smarter, crueler.
He accepted each one without hesitation.
First person
Out there, the air tastes different. Heavier.
Demons here aren't mindless beasts—they're remnants of something greater, ancient hunger given shape.
The first time I faced one alone, it spoke. Its voice was like stone grinding against itself.
"You're not like the others, little hunter."
I tightened my grip on the sword. "No," I said. "I'm what comes after."
We circled. It moved with speed that should've been impossible.
I inhaled—slow, deliberate—drawing every scent, every vibration.
"Conqueror Breathing—Fifth Form: Dominion."
The forest stilled. Even the demon froze for half a heartbeat, confused. That was all I needed.
The blade cut clean. Black mist scattered into the air.
When the stillness broke, I realized I was smiling.
Not from joy. From recognition. This world wasn't trying to kill me anymore. It was challenging me.
Third person
Ryu cleaned his weapon, standing amid the fading ash. The sound of his breathing filled the empty clearing—steady, absolute.
Above him, dawn bled through the clouds. The light turned the mist gold for a moment, framing a single man and a thousand unspoken ambitions.
Somewhere beyond the forest, the Hunters' Guild rang its morning bells, unaware that one of its own was no longer a servant of its order but the seed of something greater.
First person
I've learned enough of their language, their habits, their fears.
Now I'll learn how to command them.
Survival was step one.
Power is step two.
And after that—conquest.
First person
Power doesn't come from strength. It comes from perception.
If they believe you're unbreakable, then you are.
That's what I've learned in this place. Every bow, every salute—it's a kind of worship.
And worship can be redirected.
The barracks buzz with rumor again. Whispers of how I killed the forest demon alone. How I came back without a scratch. I don't correct them.
I don't have to. The legend grows on its own.
During drills, I slow my breathing. The men around me unconsciously match my pace. It's subtle, like a rhythm spreading through the air. They fight better when they move with me.
Vorran notices. "You make the whole unit sharper," he says. "Keep doing whatever you're doing."
I nod, hiding the smile threatening to escape.
He doesn't understand—it isn't teamwork. It's alignment. They're starting to breathe as I do.
Third person
Weeks turned into months.
The Hunters' Guild prided itself on unity, but unity is fragile when rooted in fear.
Ryu's influence crept through its ranks like smoke—unseen until it filled every space. He spoke little, yet recruits began to imitate his posture, his rhythm, his silence. They followed him not by order, but by instinct.
Even Vorran, the old instructor, began to feel it. When Ryu entered the yard, his presence shifted the air itself. Drills became sharper, conversations quieter. The Guild was unknowingly bending around him.
First person
Sometimes, I test how deep the pull goes.
A few words in the mess hall.
A glance during formation.
A breath released at just the right pitch.
They respond every time.
I can make men hesitate, move, or act without knowing why. It's not hypnosis—it's resonance. Conqueror Breathing isn't just a weapon now. It's a language.
And like all languages, it can command.
But command brings attention. The Guild Masters are starting to watch me.
Good. Let them.
Third person
The Guild's central hall stood like a cathedral of discipline—columns carved with ancient symbols of flame and shadow. There, the Masters met once a month to evaluate their soldiers.
Ryu stood before them for the first time, calm under the heavy gaze of ten veterans.
One of them—a woman with hair like polished iron—spoke first.
"Ryu of the southern detachment. You've shown unusual progress. Explain your technique."
He bowed slightly.
"Discipline of breath, Master. I listen to the world until it listens back."
A murmur passed through the chamber. Some nodded in approval. Others frowned.
Another voice, harsher:
"You've caused… changes in your unit. Some claim you manipulate them."
Ryu met his eyes without flinching.
"I only show them how to survive. The air does the rest."
The Masters whispered among themselves. When the judgment came, it was unanimous.
Promotion. Command over his own patrol.
Outside the hall, Ryu let the smallest smile touch his lips.
The higher he climbed, the easier it would be to reshape everything below.
First person
My first command—five soldiers. Broken men. Replacements. The kind the Guild sends to die so the records look cleaner.
Perfect.
I don't need loyalty. I need obedience.
The first night, I train them in silence. We breathe together until the stars fade.
I teach them how to hold the air, how to feel its weight. They don't understand what they're learning, but they feel stronger.
By the third night, they move as one.
By the fifth, they stop questioning.
"Breathe," I tell them, and they do.
"Fight," I whisper, and they move before thinking.
The results are undeniable. Missions that should fail end cleanly. Demons die faster. The Guild takes notice again.
Third person
Ryu's patrol became a legend within the month. Other units started imitating their training, though none could match their precision.
The Guild Masters called it "spirit synchronization," a phenomenon they couldn't explain but refused to question. Success blinded them to its cost.
When Ryu walked through the barracks now, soldiers stood straighter. When he spoke, silence followed. Even the torches seemed to burn steadier near him.
A leader had been born in the heart of an army that didn't yet realize he wasn't one of them anymore.
First person
The Guild wants to send me north—to the frontier where demons are thickest. They think it's a test. They're wrong.
It's an opportunity.
Beyond those mountains, there are old ruins, whispers of a demon lord—ancient, intelligent, ruling over tribes of monsters.
If I can bend humans to my breath, what about demons?
What happens when the hunted learn to breathe like the hunter?
That thought keeps me awake at night. Not from fear, but anticipation.
Conqueror Breathing isn't finished yet.
It's only begun.
Third person
That night, under the frozen moon, Ryu's patrol marched into the northern wilds. Behind him, the Guild watched proudly, unaware that their perfect soldier had already stepped beyond their control.
Ahead, in the darkness, something vast stirred—something that could feel the pull of his breathing from miles away.
The first seeds of conquest had been planted.