"A State?" I asked, leaning forward, the wooden chair creaking beneath me. "How do I train it? Do I meditate? Do I lift heavier rocks?"
Mr. Ghale shook his head, pouring himself a cup of tea. "That's the thing, kid. You don't."
I blinked. "I... don't?"
"You can't force a State like you force a muscle to grow," he said, taking a slow sip. "You just have to hope it activates. You have to push your instincts so far past their limit that your body takes over before your brain can interfere. Remember when I told you to stop overthinking? To just move?"
He set the cup down with a sharp clack.
"I wasn't just teaching you to dodge pebbles. I was teaching you the foundation of one of the 12 Pillars."
"Pillars?" I asked. "What are they?"
"The Twelve Pillars of Art," Ghale recited, his voice taking on a rhythmic, chanting quality. "They are the martial disciplines of all races. Every master belongs to one. Listen closely."
He held up his fingers, listing them one by one:
Wu Fu Shi (The Mirror): The art of reflection. You use the opponent's own attack against them, magnifying the force by ten.
Zen Zhi (The Phantom): The art of absolute evasion. You disappear and reappear using momentum. A true master can dodge with their eyes closed—or even while unconscious.
Gen Qiu (The Mountain): The art of pure durability. You become an immovable object, crushing opponents through sheer tanking ability.
Sky Heaven (The Ascendant): The art of aerial combat. You dominate the air, using your legs to rain death from above.
Cho Dhe (The Opportunist): The art of improvisation. There are no rules; you use everything—dirt, light, debris—to win.
War Chi (The Living Weapon): The art of the body. Fists, elbows, knees, head—every inch of you is a lethal blade.
Go De (The Steel): The art of the weapon master. The blade becomes an extension of the soul.
Gho Ust (The Shadow): The art of silence. Stealth, assassination, and the ability to kill without a whisper.
Pre Cise (The Needle): The art of efficiency. You use the environment to recover stamina and strike with perfect, mathematical accuracy.
Ki Zen (The Flow): The art of minimal effort. You inflict maximum damage with the lightest touch, fighting on autopilot using only 20% of your mind.
Gu Shen (The Furnace): The forbidden art. You burn your own body heat to drastically increase speed and power. It destroys the user—unless perfected.
Hhem (The Deceiver): The art of words and spirit. You use deception to confuse the enemy, while a calm mind allows for rapid self-healing.
Mr. Ghale leaned back, a proud smirk returning to his face.
"And I," he pointed a thumb at his chest, "am a Master of Zen Zhi."
"Whoa," I breathed, looking at the man across from me with new eyes. A Master of Zen Zhi. A phantom of the battlefield. "Mr. Ghale, you're... you're amazing. I'm truly lucky that you're the one teaching me."
For a second, the legendary warrior looked almost embarrassed. He cleared his throat, looking away toward the steam rising from the hearth.
"Ahahaha! Stop that, kid," he barked, though there was a soft, genuine smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're giving me far too much credit. I'm just a man with some old tricks. It's your own will that kept you alive in that crater. It's all you."
He stood up, grabbing a wooden ladle and scooping a thick, hearty broth into a clay bowl. He set it down in front of me with a heavy clack.
"Enough of the chit-chat and the flattery," he grumbled, though his eyes were kind. "Eat. You need the nutrients to mend those bones. Then get some sleep. Tomorrow, we start turning you into a ghost."
I took a sip of the broth. It was salty, warm, and tasted like home. Or at least, a new kind of home.
The next morning, the "peace" ended.
Mr. Ghale led me to the base of a jagged peak that pierced the clouds. At its foot lay a boulder—a massive, moss-covered heart of stone twenty times my size.
"Push," was all he said.
The first month was agony. Every inch I gained felt like my muscles were being shredded from the bone. My newly hardened skeleton groaned under the pressure; I could feel the microscopic cracks forming in my shins and spine. Just as I reached my breaking point, Ghale would toss me a vial of glowing, bitter liquid.
The potion was like liquid fire. It knit my bones back together instantly, leaving them denser and stronger than before. Break. Heal. Grow. That was the cycle.
When the sun reached its peak, the physical labor stopped, and the "dance" began. We sparred with wooden swords until we were both coated in sweat and dust. He was teaching me to be a ghost, and I was learning to haunt him.
One Year Later
I stood at the summit of the mountain, looking down at the valley. I wasn't the scrawny boy who had watched his village burn. My shoulders had broadened, and my movements were fluid, like water.
I closed my eyes, reaching for that spark deep in my marrow. I didn't need a crisis anymore—just a surge of pure, cold determination. I felt the "Body Enhanced State" click into place, my skin tightening and my heart rate slowing to a powerful thrum.
Mr. Ghale walked up behind me, looking at the invitation in his hand.
"You've outgrown this mountain, Sogha," he said quietly. "I've recommended you to the Great Mage and Warriors University. It's time you saw the rest of the world."
My heart hammered. Excitement, fear, and a lingering grief swirled in my chest. I was going to the heart of the world—the place where the strongest mana-users gathered.
"I'm ready to go," I said, looking at the invitation. "But first... I need to see how far I've come."
I didn't wait for his permission. I blurred forward, my feet barely touching the grass. In an instant, I was standing before a massive, ancient cedar. I didn't use a sword. I reached deep for that cold spark of determination, felt my muscles tighten into the Body Enhanced State, and unleashed a single, driving punch.
CRACK.
The trunk didn't just splinter; it shattered. The massive tree tipped, groaning as it fell. I turned back to my master, my breath steady.
"Throw them," I challenged. "The pebbles. All of them."
Mr. Ghale let out a boisterous, barking laugh. "Careful what you wish for, kid!"
He didn't reach for a pocket. He slammed his foot into the gravel path, launching a mountain of small stones into the air, and with a sweeping motion of his arms, he sent them whistling toward me. It wasn't a volley; it was a deluge. A million grey streaks filled my vision like a horizontal rainstorm.
I stepped into the storm.
My mind went quiet. I didn't "think" about the stones. I became a ghost. I twisted, leaned, and pivoted in a blur of motion so fluid it looked like I was vibrating. Stones hissed past my ears and grazed my tunic, but not a single one touched my skin. I moved through the center of the chaos, a calm void in the middle of a whirlwind.
When the last pebble clattered to the dirt, silence returned to the mountain.
Mr. Ghale stood there, his arms dropped to his sides. For the first time, he didn't look like a teacher—he looked like a proud father.
"You've done it, Sogha," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You've passed my teachings. As of this moment, you are officially a User of Zen Zhi."
The morning air felt different—charged with the energy of a new beginning. I visited the local market, the heavy coin purse Mr. Ghale gave me jingling at my hip. I bought durable traveling clothes and the crisp, formal uniform of the University. Folding the fabric, I realized this would be my skin for the next few years.
"You'll be living there until you graduate, Sogha," Mr. Ghale said as we packed my small bag. His voice lacked its usual boisterous edge. "The Capital is a different beast entirely. You'll see things there—technologies, magics, and people—that don't exist in a place as small as this."
He paused, staring at the horizon where the mountain peaks met the sky.
"I was a teacher there, once," he admitted quietly. "A long time ago. The University is the heart of the Kingdom. It's a place of ancient rules and even older egos." He turned to me, his expression uncharacteristically stern. "Listen to me: the Capital is full of vipers. If someone looks important—if they wear the crest of a High House or a Royal Seal—you bow. You keep your head down. Don't let them see the fire in your eyes until you're ready to burn them."
I nodded, feeling the weight of his words. To the world, I was just a mana-less boy from the sticks. To Mr. Ghale, I was a weapon in training.
It was time to see if the Capital was ready for a Ghost.