Chapter 12: The First Step

The eastern training grounds of Sylvia’s estate occupied enough land to swallow several ordinary mansions whole.

A high wall of dark stone surrounded the rectangular field, its surface reinforced with formation lines designed to contain stray Vis released during training, while elevated walkways ran along the top for guards and instructors to observe from a safe distance.

The ground itself had been divided according to purpose. One section contained rows of wooden weapon racks and training dummies scarred by years of punishment, another held circular sparring platforms built from reinforced black stone, while the far end contained enormous iron pillars, weighted blocks, archery targets, and several strange mechanisms

Sigurd still hadn’t been permitted to touch. Beyond them stood a line of old ash trees separating the training grounds from the residential quarter.

The morning air was cold enough that every breath left a faint cloud before disappearing, but Sigurd barely noticed it.

He stood near the center of an empty training circle with his hands clasped behind his back, dressed in a simple black training uniform rather than the expensive clothes Sylvia usually preferred forcing onto him.

Standing opposite him was the man House Zierghardt had assigned to oversee the foundations of his martial education.

His name was Osric Halbrecht Von Zierghardt, a forty-six-year-old instructor from one of the clan’s oldest vassal lines.

Osric wasn’t particularly imposing by Zierghardt standards. He stood slightly above six feet, with broad shoulders that had begun thickening with age, short dark hair touched by grey around the temples, and a rough beard kept close to his jaw.

A pale scar crossed the bridge of his nose and disappeared beneath his left eye, while two missing fingers on his right hand spoke more clearly about his past than the plain instructor’s coat he wore.

Sigurd had learned that Osric had spent nearly twenty years serving among the clan’s field forces before an injury ended his active career.

He had subsequently become an instructor, and unlike several tutors Sylvia had considered, he possessed neither the habit of flattering direct descendants nor the suicidal stupidity required to treat them disrespectfully.

Osric slowly circled Sigurd once before stopping several paces away. Their morning lessons normally began with physical conditioning, but today no weapons had been removed from the racks.

Instead, Osric folded his arms across his chest and studied his five-year-old student with the same stern expression he had worn throughout the previous month.

"We’ve spent enough time teaching you the individual pieces, Young Master. Before I allow you to continue attempting Core Formation, I want to know whether you actually understand how those pieces fit together. Memorizing definitions is easy. Understanding what they mean when your life depends on them is another matter."

He paused, apparently waiting for some reaction, but Sigurd merely nodded.

Osric’s mouth twitched faintly. "Good. Then we’ll begin with the obvious question. What is a Martial Soul?"

"A Martial Soul is the spiritual foundation awakened by a person during Soul Revelation,"

Sigurd answered without hesitation. "It determines the supernatural characteristics available to that person, but it isn’t the same thing as strength. Awakening a powerful Martial Soul gives someone greater potential, not the ability to immediately use everything associated with it. The Vessel still has to cultivate Vis, strengthen the Martial Soul, learn its abilities, and develop enough control to actually use them."

Osric raised one eyebrow. "Vessel?"

"The person bonded to the Martial Soul."

"Correct. Continue."

Sigurd considered the question for another moment before adding, "Martial Souls also aren’t limited to weapons or beasts. They can manifest as plants, elements, natural phenomena, objects, or stranger things that don’t fit neatly into those categories. Two people can awaken similar Martial Souls without developing identically because cultivation, techniques, understanding, resources, and individual compatibility affect what they eventually become."

This time Osric gave an approving nod. "Better than the answer most fifteen-year-olds give me. People become obsessed with the grade stamped beside a Martial Soul and forget that a magnificent foundation can still produce a worthless building if nobody knows how to construct on top of it. A high-grade Martial Soul increases the ceiling and usually provides advantages along the way, but I’ve buried talented idiots who believed their awakening made them invincible."

His gaze settled pointedly on Llewellyn. "You awakened something extraordinary. That makes this lesson more important for you, not less."

"I understand."

"I hope so." Osric unfolded his arms and walked toward the edge of the training circle, where several fist-sized crystals rested on a low stone table.

He picked up one cloudy shard and tossed it toward Sigurd, who caught it with both hands.

A faint warmth immediately spread across his palms. "Next question. What is Vis?"

Sigurd looked down at the shard. "The fundamental energy used by martial practitioners. It exists naturally throughout Eden, although its density differs depending on location. Living creatures can absorb it after awakening their Martial Soul, refine it within their bodies, and use it to strengthen themselves, activate Martial Soul abilities, reinforce weapons, or perform martial techniques. Vis can also accumulate naturally inside certain materials and creatures, which is why Vis Shards and similar resources are valuable."

"And why can’t you simply drag as much Vis as possible into your body right now?"

"Because unrefined Vis isn’t automatically mine." Sigurd turned the shard between his fingers before placing it back on the table. "My body has limits, and I don’t have a Core capable of properly storing or circulating large quantities yet. Taking in more energy than my channels can withstand could injure them, damage my organs, or interfere with Core Formation."

Osric stared at him for several seconds before releasing a quiet grunt. "At least I won’t have to spend the next month stopping you from exploding yourself."

Sigurd said nothing, wisely deciding not to mention what he had been doing inside the private cultivation chamber.

Osric continued without noticing. "Now we reach the important part. If Vis is the fuel, what is a Vis Core?"

"A cultivated energy center formed by gathering, refining, and compressing Vis until it becomes stable enough to exist independently within the Vessel. The Core stores refined Vis, controls its circulation, and provides the foundation required to properly enter the martial path."

"Not bad. What happens when you form your first?"

"I enter the Awakened Martial Rank."

Osric nodded and began walking slowly around him again. "The first Core begins as Embryonic. Crude, unstable compared with what it will eventually become, but functional. From there you cultivate until it develops into the Nascent stage, then finally Ascended. Only after completing the required development and satisfying the conditions of your Martial Rank can you attempt the next major breakthrough. Every higher Martial Rank demands more from the Vessel, and additional Cores become part of that progression. That is why we don’t measure real martial strength by how impressive someone’s awakening looked when they were five years old."

Sigurd understood the warning beneath the explanation. During the past month, practically everyone who met him had found some indirect method of mentioning what happened at the Martial Soul Hall.

Osric was one of the few people who treated the phenomenon as irrelevant during training, and Sigurd preferred him for precisely that reason.

"A Martial Soul defines what I may eventually become," he said, following the instructor’s reasoning. "Vis provides the energy required to pursue it, and the Cores provide the foundation for controlling that energy."

A genuine smile briefly appeared beneath Osric’s beard.

"Exactly. Three things connected, but not interchangeable. A powerful soul without cultivation is potential sitting idle. Vis without proper control is dangerous. And a badly constructed Core can cripple everything built upon it afterward. Which is why," he added, stopping directly in front of Llewellyn, "I have repeatedly told a certain impatient young master not to rush his first Core simply because he dislikes waiting."

Sigurd maintained an innocent expression.

Osric stared at him.

Neither spoke for several seconds.

"That face might work on Lady Sylvia," Osric eventually said. "It doesn’t work on me."

"I wasn’t doing anything."

"That somehow makes me trust you less." Osric sighed and rubbed the scar across his nose before glancing toward the cultivation wing visible beyond the ash trees. "Fine. Theory is finished. Tell me honestly where you are with Core Formation. You’ve had almost a month of proper cultivation since your Soul Revelation. Can you reliably gather Vis around the Core point yet?"

Sigurd’s expression changed. It was subtle, but Osric noticed immediately because the boy who normally regarded praise, criticism, and provocation with virtually identical calm suddenly smiled.

"Yes," Sigurd answered. "The gathering stage is already stable. Compression is the only remaining problem, and that’s improving faster than I expected. If nothing goes wrong, I should have my first Embryonic Vis Core formed before the end of this month."

Osric’s face became completely blank.

For a moment, Sigurd wondered whether the man had misunderstood him. Then Osric stepped closer, crouched until their eyes were nearly level, and studied his expression for any sign that the five-year-old was joking.

"Before the end of this month?" he repeated carefully. "You’re telling me you’ve already reached stable compression?"

"Not stable compression. Stable gathering," Sigurd corrected. "Compression still fluctuates. That’s why I said before the end of the month."

"I heard what you said." Osric rose slowly, his earlier composure gone. Most talented children required six months merely to construct a functional Embryonic Core.

A year wasn’t considered shameful. Even among the direct descendants and elite branches of House Zierghardt, finishing within several months was enough to earn serious attention.

The Second Pillar, whose childhood records were still used as instructional examples, had required approximately a month and a half.

Only one person in the clan’s recorded history made those numbers look ordinary.

The First Pillar had formed hers in seven days.

Osric looked down at Sigurd again, excitement gradually replacing the disbelief in his eyes.

One month wouldn’t match that monstrous record, but records alone weren’t what unsettled him.

Sigurd was progressing this quickly while his instructor was deliberately restricting his cultivation and emphasizing foundation over speed. If the boy truly completed his Core before the month ended, the implications were impossible to ignore.

Perhaps the phenomenon at the Martial Soul

Hall hadn’t been an exaggeration after all.

Perhaps the Tenth Young Master standing before him possessed the potential to someday stand beside the First Pillar.

Osric’s scarred face slowly broke into a grin. "Then I suppose we’d better stop wasting time talking."

Sigurd returned the smile. "I was wondering when you would say that."