The sun had barely risen, yet the stone courtyard of the Duskwither training ground was already alive with motion.
Elder Li Jian stood before the four youths, his presence silent but commanding. Around them, the crescent-shaped runes etched into the flagstones began to shimmer faintly—activating a special formation known only to the upper ranks of the Wolf Clan. This was no ordinary cultivation drill. It was the beginning of their initiation into the Duskwither Combat Method—a secret technique passed down through generations of elite warriors.
Li Jian's voice broke the silence, low and deliberate. "This method you are about to learn is not merely for display. It is forged from centuries of blood, carved into the bones of every true Duskwither warrior. It is not beautiful—it is brutal. And it will keep you alive when all else fails."
He walked slowly before them, eyes like blades. "You must forget everything soft. A wolf does not dance with prey—it strikes, breaks, and moves on. Every motion should kill. Every breath should count."
He clapped once.
The runes flared to life, forming a pulsing pattern beneath their feet. The air itself seemed to weigh down upon them, their limbs suddenly sluggish, as though resisting the very movement of their muscles. This was the heart of the Duskwither formation—it challenged not just their physical limits but the harmony between body and spirit.
"Now," Li Jian commanded, "mirror me. Observe. Listen. Memorize."
He began with the foundational stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent slightly, arms loose yet coiled. "This is the Root of the Fang. Your center must never waver. No matter how fast the enemy moves, your balance is your weapon."
Then he stepped forward—not fast, but deadly. His body flowed like a predator, every motion sharp, calculated, and purposeful. The strike that followed was a closed-fist hook, paired with a sudden side-step that mimicked a shadow's flicker.
"Strike with weight. Step with purpose. This movement is called 'Wolf's Lunge.' It is meant to break ribs and vanish before retaliation. Repeat it. Again."
The youths obeyed, copying his movements as best they could.
Li Rong felt the strain immediately. The technique demanded not just power, but flow. Every movement had to be connected to the next. He moved, stepped, struck—and felt something resonate inside him. His Shadowstep instinctively responded, blending with the Wolf's Lunge. The shift in his footwork grew smoother, his presence lighter.
Li Jian noticed. His eyes flicked briefly to Li Rong. "Good. You begin to see it. Let your spirit guide your motion. The wolf within you knows how to kill."
Beside him, Li Xue mirrored the form, her movements razor-sharp. Ice misted from her breath, coiling around her limbs as her inner qi flowed in sync with the form.
Ren Yao's form was initially too rigid, brute force making his footwork clumsy. Li Jian strode over and struck him sharply on the back with a bamboo rod. "Control your power. A hammer that swings without aim is useless. Anchor your weight. Strike like a falling cliff, not a flailing tree."
Ren grit his teeth and focused, adjusting his stance. Slowly, his weight began to shift correctly.
Li Shen's movements were elegant, his Windhowl Wolf spirit granting him remarkable agility. His speed made the strikes flicker like shadows. But Li Jian called him out too.
"Speed is a blade, but a blade must be sharp. You're fast—but you telegraph. Cut the excess. Flow like wind, but strike like thunder."
For hours, they repeated forms—Wolf's Lunge, Crescent Slash, and Moonveil Step—all movements designed to kill quickly and fade into shadow.
Sweat poured. Muscles screamed. Qi twisted and surged. But none of them faltered.
At the end of the grueling session, Li Jian nodded. "You are not yet Duskwither Fangs. But today, you've tasted the blood in your bones. Let it guide you. This method will evolve with you. Adapt it to your path. Make it yours."
By midday, the four were standing at the edge of the Duskwither Hunting Grounds, a dense and ancient jungle nestled beyond the clan's borders. Mist clung to the mossy trees like memory, and shadows whispered through the underbrush. It was said that even the spirits of old wolves lingered here, watching, judging.
"This jungle is your trial," Li Jian said. "Work together. Survive. Do not overreach. And remember—one mistake in front of a soul beast, and your training ends in a grave."
Each of them wore a talisman—a signal stone that would flare if they were in critical danger. But to use it was to admit failure.
With a nod, the elder turned and vanished into the woods. The hunt had begun.
Li Rong motioned silently, taking point. They moved like a pack now, their formation practiced. Li Shen flanked right, Li Xue held the rear, and Ren Yao stood ready to break forward or fall back as needed.
The jungle was alive. Not with birds or beasts—but with intent. With power.
Li Rong's senses stretched outward. His Duskwither Moonfang Wolf stirred in his soul, alert and eager.
A faint rustle in the brush. A scent on the wind. The subtle vibration of padded paws on the ground.
Their first target was close.