Chapter 12: The Swamp Dojo

  Age: 9 Years Old.Location: The Foggy Swamp (Zone 2 - The Toxic Fens).

  The swamp did not have a clock. It only had cycles of suffering. There was the cycle of heat, when the mist boiled and the mosquitoes grew to the size of fists. There was the cycle of cold, when the mud froze into jagged spikes. And then, there was the cycle of Pain.

  "It burns! Master, it burns! My skin is melting!"

  The scream tore through the humid air, sending a flock of jagged-beaked carrion crows scattering from the canopy above. In the center of a grove of withered, blackened trees lay a natural pool. The liquid inside wasn't water. It was a thick, viscous sludge that bubbled with a violent, neon-purple hue. It was a nesting pit for Venom Leeches blind, finger-sized parasites that didn't suck blood, but rather injected a necrotic neurotoxin that liquefied the victim's tissue for easy consumption.

  Submerged in this hellish broth, up to her chin, was Lysandra.

  One year had passed since I found her crying over a dead flower. She was no longer the starving skeleton I had met. Her shoulders were broader, her arms wired with lean muscle. But right now, she looked like a soul in purgatory. Her gray skin was flushed a dangerous shade of violet. Veins bulged on her forehead, throbbing in time with her frantic heartbeat. Sweat poured down her face, instantly evaporating into steam as it touched the boiling poison.

  "I can't take it!" she shrieked, her hands clawing at the muddy bank. "Let me out! I promise I'll train harder tomorrow! Just let me out!"

  Thwack.

  A small, smooth pebble sailed through the air and struck her precisely in the center of her forehead. It wasn't a hard throw, but it carried enough Qi to knock her head back.

  "Sit down," I said calmly.

  I was sitting on a large, dry rock about five meters away, safely out of the fume range. I held a piece of Ironwood in my hands, using a small carving knife to whittle it down. I was making chopsticks. The swamp was uncivilized, but that was no excuse to eat with one’s hands like a goblin.

  "But Master!" Lys gasped, tears mixing with the sweat. "The leeches... they're inside my clothes! I can feel them wiggling!"

  "Of course they are," I replied, shaving off a thin curl of wood. "They are attracted to your Mana. They are trying to eat you."

  "That's not comforting!"

  I stopped carving. I looked up, my red eyes piercing through the mist. "Lys. Do you remember the First Principle of the Heavenly Yin Poison Body?"

  She choked back a sob, sinking lower into the sludge as the heat intensified. "Control..." she wheezed.

  "Correct. Control," I stood up and walked to the edge of the pit. "Your body is a broken vessel. You generate an infinite amount of Yin Poison, but you have no lid to keep it in. That is why you leak. That is why you kill."

  I pointed the tip of my carving knife at the bubbling pool. "The poison in this pit is Yang-attribute Venom. It is hot. It is aggressive. It conflicts with the cold Yin-attribute poison inside your blood."

  I crouched down, ignoring the noxious fumes that would have knocked out a normal knight. "It is a siege, Lysandra. The external poison is attacking your body. To survive, your internal poison must stop leaking outward and instead retreat inward to defend your organs. I am using the pressure of this pit to force your energy back into your meridians."

  "It hurts..." she whimpered, her eyes rolling back slightly.

  "Pain is simply the sensation of weakness leaving the body," I quoted an old Murim proverb (mostly to annoy her). "If you climb out now, the seal will break. Your Yin Poison will explode outwards, and you will turn this entire forest into a wasteland. Do you want to be a walking plague again?"

  Lys froze. She remembered the dead flower. She remembered the look of horror on her mother's face years ago. She gritted her teeth. Her jaw muscles bulged. "No," she hissed.

  "Then breathe," I commanded, my voice dropping an octave, resonating with a hypnotic rhythm. "Don't fight the heat. Accept it. Visualize the pain as a river. Guide it down your spine. Store it in your Dantian. Compress it."

  Lys closed her eyes. Her breathing was ragged, terrifyingly fast. Huu... Haa...Huu... Haa...

  I watched with my Spirit Vision. Inside her body, the chaotic purple storm was raging. The heat from the leeches was pushing against her aura, compressing it like a blacksmith hammering steel. Slowly, agonizingly, the leaking gas around her stopped. The purple mist that usually drifted from her skin was sucked back into her pores. Her aura condensed. It became sharper. Darker. Denser.

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  Pop. One of the leeches attached to her neck exploded. It had tried to drink her blood, but her blood had become so potent that it overdosed the parasite. Pop. Pop. Pop. More leeches burst, floating to the surface like dead fish.

  "Good," I whispered. "The vessel is hardening."

  I went back to my rock and picked up my carving knife. "Thirty more minutes," I called out. "If you faint, I'll drag you out. But if you quit, you don't get dinner."

  At the mention of "dinner," Lys’s eyes snapped open. A new fire burned in them. "I... I won't quit," she growled.

  I smirked. The stomach truly was the strongest motivator.

  The Kitchen of Hell.

  Two hours later. Night had fallen over the Foggy Swamp. The temperature dropped rapidly, turning the humid air into a bone-chilling frost. The sounds of the day the buzzing flies, the screaming monkeys died down, replaced by the chittering of nocturnal horrors.

  But in our small clearing, it was warm. I had built a fire pit using Bone-White Wood. This rare timber was found only in Zone 3. It was difficult to harvest because it grew on the backs of giant skeletal tortoises, but it was worth the effort. It burned with a pure white flame, producing high heat and almost zero smoke. Perfect for stealth camping.

  I stood over a flat slab of slate that I was using as a griddle. On the stone, a massive cut of meat was sizzling.

  It was the Tail Fillet of a Rank 2 Hydra. Hunting a Hydra at age nine was suicidal for most. They had regenerative capabilities and spat acid. But I had discovered a flaw. Hydras were gluttonous. I had baited one with a bundle of explosive swamp-rats, blew off its heads, and harvested the tail before it could regenerate.

  The meat was magnificent. It was marbled with toxic fat that, when properly rendered, tasted like spicy wagyu beef.

  Sizzle. I pressed the meat down with my cleaver, searing the crust to a golden brown. The smell wafted through the clearing. It was a complex aroma rich, gamey, with notes of iron and ozone, layered with the pungent spice of Ghost Peppers and wild Star Garlic I had foraged earlier.

  "Done," I muttered.

  I heard a shuffle behind me. Lysandra dragged herself out of the shadows. She looked terrible. Her clothes were soaked in sludge. Her hair was plastered to her skull. She was shivering uncontrollably from the aftershocks of the poison training. But she was alive.

  "Master..." she croaked. "I smell... heaven."

  "Wash," I ordered, pointing to a hollowed-out log filled with filtered rainwater. "You look like a slime monster. I don't eat with slime monsters."

  Lys groaned, but she obeyed. She stripped off her ruined outer rags and scrubbed the purple sludge from her skin. As the grime washed away, I noticed the change. Her skin was no longer the dull, dusty gray of a corpse. It had taken on a luster. It looked like polished obsidian or dark hematite. It glowed faintly in the moonlight. Her meridians were no longer leaking; her presence was contained. She was becoming a true Cultivator.

  She dressed quickly in her spare set of leathers (stolen from a dead adventurer) and sat by the fire, hugging her knees. She stared at the steak with an intensity that could melt steel.

  "Plate," I said.

  She immediately held out a large, clean banana leaf. I sliced the Hydra steak. The knife slid through the meat like it was butter. The inside was a perfect medium-rare pink. I slapped a massive portion onto her leaf.

  "Eat," I said. "Your Dantian is empty. If you don't refill it with high-grade energy, your body will start cannibalizing your muscles."

  Lys didn't wait. She grabbed a chunk of the steaming meat with her bare fingers and shoved it into her mouth. "Hff! Hff!" She blew out hot air, her eyes widening.

  The flavor exploded in her mouth. The Hydra fat coated her tongue, rich and savory. Then came the kick of the Ghost Peppers a sharp, numbing heat that cleared her sinuses and warmed her frozen core. The Star Garlic added an earthy, pungent finish.

  "Oh my god..." Lys moaned, closing her eyes. A single tear of joy rolled down her cheek. "Master... you are a demon... but you cook like a god."

  "Flattery will not get you a second serving," I said coldly, plating my own portion. I sat opposite her, using my newly carved chopsticks. I took a bite. I chewed thoughtfully.

  ‘Texture is good,’ I analyzed. ‘The heat sear locked in the juices. But the Ghost Pepper is slightly overpowering. I need something acidic to balance the fat. Maybe squeeze some Lemon-Ant abdomen juice next time?’

  "Master," Lys asked, her mouth full. "Where did you learn to cook? Do all human nobles cook like this?"

  I scoffed. "Nobles? Those useless pigs don't know how to boil water. They think boiling a vegetable until it turns into gray mush is 'cuisine'." I swallowed. "I learned because survival is not enough. Living efficiently means maintaining morale. Good food keeps the mind sharp. Bad food makes you sloppy."

  Lys looked at me. In the firelight, with my long hair shadowing my face and my red eyes glowing, I must have looked terrifying. A nine-year-old boy who hunted monsters and tortured elves. But to her, I was the only person who had ever fed her. Her parents had thrown scraps at her from a distance, afraid to touch her. The village elders had left rot-bread outside her hut. But Cain... Cain cooked for her. He sat with her. He touched her.

  "Thank you," she whispered, looking down at her leaf.

  "Eat," I said, ignoring the sentiment. "You'll need the strength."

  "Why?" She paused mid-chew.

  I pointed my chopsticks at her. "Because the Leech Pit was just the warm-up."

  Lys went pale. "Warm... up?"

  "You have stabilized your Core," I explained. "You can now hold the poison inside. That means you are ready for Phase Two."

  "Phase... Two?"

  I grinned. It was a sharp, jagged grin that showed too many teeth. "Combat. Starting tomorrow, you stop being a punching bag. You start hitting back." I reached behind me and pulled out a weapon. It wasn't a sword. It was a pair of Dual Daggers I had fashioned from the teeth of the Crocodile we killed last year. They were crude, serrated, and coated in a natural neurotoxin.

  I tossed them to her. Clatter. They landed by her feet.

  "Pick them up," I ordered.

  Lys put down her meat. She reached out and grasped the bone hilts. They felt light. Balanced. Deadly. "They're... for me?"

  "An Assassin does not fight fair," I said, staring into the fire. "You are small. You are weak. You cannot overpower a Knight. You cannot out-magic a Mage." I looked her in the eye. "So you will be faster. You will be quieter. And you will be deadlier."

  I stood up and kicked dirt over the fire, dampening the flames to a low glow. "Sleep now, Disciple. Dream of pleasant things." I turned my back and walked toward my sleeping mat. "Because when the sun rises... I'm going to hunt you."

  Lys sat alone in the dim light. She looked at the daggers in her hands. She looked at the empty leaf where the best meal of her life had been. She looked at the back of the boy who was both her tormentor and her savior.

  A shiver ran down her spine. It wasn't fear. It was anticipation. She gripped the daggers tighter. Her purple eyes glowed in the dark. "I won't let you down," she whispered to the darkness. "Master."