August, as was routine, stepped forward first.
The training chamber was vast—spanning a space large enough to rival four grand royal parlours combined. Though it held no training dummies or lavish adornments, the sheer scale of the room gave it a presence of its own. Enough room to fight fiercely, move freely, and make mistakes carelessly.
He reached for his familiar choice—a wooden katana—and gripped it with practiced ease. Drawing a slow breath in, then releasing it, he raised the blade forward with a relaxed expression, calm yet razor-focused.
Young leaned over to Carla and whispered, his tone was as teasing as ever, though his words bore more truth than jest.
"His martial arts skills are clearly better than yours... and that won't be changing for at least another nine years."
It was a taunt disguised as banter, but Carla, ever composed, gave no reaction. Still, within her, a quiet fury stirred—an urge to drive his face into the floor and carve out his tongue with the edge of any blade available. But she held her peace. For now.
Young wasn't just provoking for the sake of it. His remark had merit. August's skill in martial arts was, without question, superior to theirs. While they trained diligently, August was relentless—rarely seen resting, seldom caught sleeping. He lived in pursuit of mastery.
Though the three of them had long surpassed the basics together—Iron Form Posture, Three-Step Flow, Breathing Anchor Method, Circular Guard Drill, Twin Palm Parry, Crossblade Momentum, Basic Pressure Slash, Echo Lunge, and Foundation Break Stance—they were still progressing through the intermediary stages.
August, however, had widened the gap considerably.
Yet one obstacle remained immovable: Sir Lionel.
None of them had ever landed a strike on him—not once. His stance, his movement, his flow... all seemingly untouchable. He read them like open books. Even his mistakes, August had observed, were deliberate—designed to create opportunities. Yet even with those openings, none had succeeded.
They had once attempted a coordinated three-versus-one assault. Despite Sir Lionel weaving in clear errors, they were defeated soundly.
But today... perhaps today would be different.
August steadied himself. His stance solid, his grip assured, he locked eyes on Sir Lionel. The master stood near the open window, letting the cold wind buffet his body, unmoving, gazing out at the endless tundra beyond—vast, white, and empty.
And yet, despite his stillness... the pressure in the room began to shift.
Sir Lionel grinned briefly before adopting a serious expression.
'Why do I feel like his aura has changed so much? It's almost as though I can no longer pinpoint his stats… It's all unstable.' he mused mentally, casting a quick glance at August, who was already poised and ready.
The master possessed a unique ability to sense his opponent's stats when they were within close range, even before the engagement began. It could have been considered a skill, but it wasn't; rather, it was an enhancement from his awakening. Every Exalted had one or two enhancements, most commonly improvements to their physical attributes.
Typically, the human body possesses five basic senses: sight, hearing, touch, taste, and smell. All of these senses were enhanced to superhuman levels once one became Exalted. However, the human body also had additional senses—balance, pain perception, temperature detection, and a heightened sense of awareness—which Sir Lionel had particularly refined, making him unique among his peers. He had reached the [Above] Rank and, having long since stopped engaging in battles to avoid corruption, had instead taken on the role of the clan's personal trainer. His three trainees were the only ones he currently instructed.
Although Sir Lionel was in his early fifties, he did not appear as such. He looked to be in his thirties, with broad shoulders, a tall frame, nut-brown eyes, and a bald head. True to his eccentricity, he had a habit of wearing pyjamas until three in the afternoon as a ritual, believing it kept his appearance youthful.
Of course, it was a ridiculous belief.
In reality, being an Exalted actually slowed the aging process, as Render continually refined the body, warding off the usual factors that accelerated aging, such as cellular degeneration and the effects of time.
Setting aside such musings, the master turned away from the window and faced August. It had been three months since he had last seen the young man.
"I could say you've refined yourself beyond the fortress, but regardless, you will feel the consequences of straying, no matter how minor it may seem."
Discipline was a cornerstone of Sir Lionel's philosophy, always placed above everything else. August found a sense of similarity in this moment—Sir Lionel would not ease up on him, no matter what. The master would push him to his limits.
'If the new soul core has truly enhanced my body stats by fifty percent, I might stand a chance against this old man. However, I won't fail again. I can't afford to rely on the system just yet…' thought August, his determination growing.
Sir Lionel lowered his katana to his left side, poised towards the ground, while August raised his weapon high, his expression one of defiance, almost proud to be facing the master again.
He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting his thoughts, focusing on his martial techniques, ensuring he didn't act like an amateur.
Then, after a brief pause, he struck first, aiming a diagonal slash at Sir Lionel's shoulder, hoping to catch him off guard. He was faster and more fluid than he had been three months ago. But before the blade even neared its target, the master moved—so sharply that it was as if the wind itself had struck. The only sensation left behind was the trail of movement and the faintest touch.
With a simple shift and a pivot of his foot, Sir Lionel landed four strikes: one to August's side, one to his head, another to his back, and finally a blow to his ankle. A final, powerful push from the tip of the sword struck his chest, sending August backward.
His strike never landed. Pain exploded through his ribs as he braced himself, but he managed to stay upright, avoiding collapse onto his back. He skidded to a knee under the force of the blow, yet miraculously, the pain subsided almost instantly.
'Another benefit of the soul core?' he thought, looking down at his chest with a grimace.
August had expected to be outclassed by the master, but that didn't mean he wasn't willing to push further. He picked up his katana and stood.
Young, who had been watching, wasn't surprised by August's relentless attitude, but he couldn't help but comment with a smirk.
"Nah, if that was me, I would've stayed on the ground. That hit could've broken a rib if our bodies weren't reinforced, but even so, the pain would've kept me…"
Carla finished his sentence, glancing at Young.
"…On the ground?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't expect him to do that, do you?"
"Well, no. I don't. He's a training beast, after all. I really wish I had his mindset and dedication."
"Then work for it, don't wish. You know better than anyone that no one in this clan believes in things like hope, wishes, or miracles. We believe in results and effort."
Young glanced down, disheartened by her words. He understood the truth of her statement, yet felt he was still far from being able to change his mindset. Carla's gaze lingered on him for a moment before she shifted her attention back to the training.
The situation now was as follows:
August had crashed onto the mat once again, the air knocked from his lungs. The tip of Sir Lionel's wooden katana hovered just an inch from his throat.
Not a single breath had been wasted.
The entire exchange had lasted barely three seconds.
Yet August quickly recovered, pushing himself off the ground and attempting a spinning kick to unbalance the master. Sir Lionel, however, had already propelled himself into mid-air, executing a backflip to distance himself.
August followed with a precise strike, but was swiftly knocked off balance once more when Sir Lionel landed a quick blow to his head. Reeling, August staggered backward, though the pain quickly faded again. But he was undeterred, pushing himself even harder.
Fifth hit! Seventh hit! Tenth hit! — That was how many times he had fallen, yet no matter what, he stood back up and struck again.
Twelfth hit!
Now, he was kneeling on the ground. Refusing to let frustration take control, he pushed his emotions aside, remaining calm and willing himself to rise once more.
Sir Lionel watched him, shaking his head slightly before resting the wooden katana on his shoulder.
"You haven't changed one bit since your early training days. My, my... I truly admire that about you. However, let your blood relatives test themselves today."
Sir Lionel, after all, was also of the clan's bloodline — their uncle, to be precise.
August glanced up, using his katana as support, grounding himself. He caught sight of the master approaching swiftly, rotating the wooden sword in his grip — flipping the blunt end to the handle and the handle to the point — and holding it like a baseball bat.
August moved to defend himself, already knowing what was about to happen, but the master accelerated before he could react.
Instinctively, and almost unconsciously, Carla and Young made a motion to intervene, to shield August from the blow — but they were too late.
Sir Lionel struck hard.
August crossed his arms over his chest just in time to absorb the blow, but the impact was ferocious. A thunderous boom echoed across the hall as he was flung backwards, slamming into the wall with brutal force. He spat, his eyes wide, his body slumped and barely held together.
Carla and Young scowled, shaken by the master's near-lethal strike.
August's head hung low, barely able to lift his gaze. His chest was red and scorched from the blow, but worse were his arms — trembling and locked in their defensive posture, they had borne the full brunt of the impact. His forearms were swollen, contusions blooming dark beneath his torn sleeves, and the skin had begun to fissure where the force had compressed muscle against bone.
His hands quivered uncontrollably, the knuckles abraded and raw, and his fingers spasmed involuntarily, as if rebelling against impending paralysis. Beneath the skin, a deep, resonant throb radiated — a harrowing pulse of fractured tissue and strained tendons.
Every breath he drew was shallow and uneven, steeped in pain. He attempted to unclench his arms, but his body defied him — paralysed by trauma and shock.
The blow had ravaged him.
And yet… he remained conscious.
Just barely, though.
The once-familiar voice resonated within his mind once more:
"Minor damage sustained. Healing currently unavailable."
August couldn't respond. But there was something deeply unsettling about that message.
Minor?
How could the system consider that impact minor???
If this was minor... then what on earth would qualify as critical?
Sir Lionel glanced down at the wooden katana, noting that it had splintered beyond further use. With a faint smirk, he discarded it and turned towards Carla and Young.
"Shall we get this over with, then?" he asked flatly.
However, neither Carla nor Young flinched. They remained composed, though traces of indignation lingered after the earlier ordeal.
"Come now… I'm in desperate need of my morning tea. I developed quite the fondness for it during my time in Britain. You should try it if you ever get the chance — it's the epitome of all beverages. And if cigarettes happen to be around, I wouldn't turn one down. Not that I'd recommend the habit — dreadful, really — but alas, I've grown accustomed to it."
He flexed his fingers with a wry glint in his eye.
"Now then… shall we begin?"