Special Training

In the courtyard.

Li Hanche looked at the dark silver bracelet on his left wrist.

With a thought, he activated onefold gravity.

Pressure descended from all directions at once.

It squeezed his skin, muscles, bones, and even his internal organs from every direction.

He adapted for a few breaths. Then he raised his right hand, and the Dark Nether Ice Soul Spear condensed in his palm.

The instant the icy blue spear shaft appeared, his wrist suddenly sank. The spear's weight had doubled as well.

The forms of the Cold Gleam Spear Art unfolded once more under onefold gravity.

First form, Frost Mark.

The spear tip traced an icy blue arc through the night, at least thirty percent slower than usual.

What had once been a smooth, flowing thrust became sluggish. When the spear tip reached its intended point, it dipped and missed by half an inch.

He did not stop. With a turn of his wrist, the spear's momentum shifted from Frost Mark's straight thrust into the second form.

Second form, Ice Blade.

The spear tip changed from a thrust into a sweep, carving a crescent-shaped icy blue arc before him.

Third form, Cold Abyss.

The spear tip cleaved downward from above, and his entire body pressed down with the spear's momentum, his knees bending to an almost horse-stance squat.

At that moment, gravity became an ally. It magnified the force of the downward strike, and the spear tip's sharp, brief shriek through the air sounded like a sheet of thin ice being suddenly crushed beneath a foot.

When he withdrew the spear, he felt his abdominal muscles trembling. It was not exhaustion, but the natural reaction of muscles working continuously under gravity.

Fourth form, Dragon Chant.

The spear tip trembled, shaking out a cluster of icy blue spear blossoms.

Each blossom was an extremely small thrust and retraction. Under gravity's pull, the burden on his wrist multiplied.

The web between his thumb and forefinger began to go numb, and the soreness in his forearm muscles rapidly accumulated. He could feel his wrist bones being pressed tightly toward the ground by the gravity field. Every time he flicked out a spear blossom, he had to use far more strength than usual to "lift" the spear tip.

The spear blossoms bloomed and withered in the night.

Fifth form, Formation Breaker.

This was the final form of the Cold Gleam Spear Art that he currently mastered, and the only purely offensive spear technique.

Man and spear became a straight line, spear tip in front and body behind. All strength, all weight, all potential energy converged upon that pinpoint of icy blue chill at the spear tip.

His body charged forward through the gravity field, each step striking the bluestone slabs with a dull boom.

Centered on each landing point, fine cracks spread across the bluestone in every direction like a miniature spiderweb.

The spear tip pierced the thick wooden stake in the corner of the courtyard, sinking several inches into the wood. Cracks spread from the point of impact across the entire stake, and the wood let out a groan under the strain.

After completing the full spear routine, his breathing was twice as heavy as usual.

His back was already soaked with sweat, and beads of perspiration slid down his cheeks.

He stood with his spear withdrawn, the butt of the spear planted against the ground, his chest heaving violently.

Under onefold gravity, even breathing took more effort than usual. The muscles between his ribs had to overcome twice the gravity to expand his chest enough, and every breath felt like fighting an invisible hand for air.

He lowered his head and looked at his hands. His spear-holding right hand was trembling. He could feel his stomach sinking, his intestines sinking, all his soft internal organs dragging downward with twice their usual weight.

He gritted his teeth and raised the spear tip again.

"Everyone on Douluo Continent is made of glass. Endure it. In the future, I'll knock out one kid at a time with every punch in Heaven Dou City."

After saying that, the corner of his mouth unconsciously curled up. It was as if he were finding himself a reason to continue, one more concrete and more hopeful than simply "becoming stronger."

The spear tip thrust out again.

On the second-floor balcony, Ning Rongrong's slender legs dangled in the air, gently swinging.

With her chin resting in both hands, she watched the figure in the courtyard thrusting and withdrawing his spear over and over.

She had been watching for nearly half an hour, ever since Li Hanche began practicing the first round of spear forms.

During that half hour, aside from stopping midway to catch his breath a few times, that figure had not left the center of the courtyard even once.

Her lips were slightly pursed.

She did not understand. She could not understand the difference between those spear forms, could not understand why the same movement had to be repeated dozens of times, and understood even less why Li Hanche still trained so desperately when he could already defeat Soul Masters above his level at the Great Soul Arena.

One soul ring against three soul rings, more than a dozen consecutive victories, beating those opponents until they had no chance to fight back.

He was already so powerful. Why did he still have to train this desperately?

She lowered her head and looked at her own hands. They were fair, small, and soft, without even a single callus on her palms.

In the courtyard, Li Hanche withdrew his spear and stood still. He bent over, bracing both hands on his knees as he gulped down air.

Every muscle in his body was sore and swollen, but the sensation was not unpleasant. It was a sign that the Nine-Turn Tyrant Body Art was repairing and strengthening him.

He straightened and deactivated the bracelet's gravity.

His body suddenly became light. Light as a feather, as though he could leap from where he stood straight up to the second-floor balcony.

He rolled his wrists and ankles, his joints producing several crisp cracks. Then he pushed off the ground, swept onto the roof, and sat cross-legged beneath the star-filled sky.

The Mind-Clarity and Nature-Seeing Art began to circulate, and spiritual power poured out from his sea of consciousness.

Onefold gravity had almost no effect on spiritual power. Gravity was pressure on the physical level, while spiritual power existed on another dimension.

But he discovered that after his body endured gravity, the speed at which his spiritual power condensed during meditation was faster than usual.

Perhaps after the body was suppressed, the consciousness instinctively sought a broader space of perception to make up for the unease caused by physical limitations.

His breathing gradually steadied, and his consciousness sank into that deep sea made of pure perception.

When the first thread of gray-white light appeared on the horizon, Li Hanche opened his eyes. After meditating through the night, his spiritual power had grown a fraction more solid than the night before.

It was minuscule, but over time, a trickling stream would eventually become a river.

He leaped down from the roof and landed in the courtyard.

The gravity bracelet on his wrist glimmered faintly, and onefold gravity enveloped his body again.

He began to run, circling the courtyard again and again.

By the thirtieth lap, sweat had begun dripping from his chin.

By the fiftieth lap, his breathing had become heavy yet steady. By the eightieth lap, he stopped.

Then came push-ups.

Every push-up felt like carrying an invisible iron plate on his back. By the twentieth, his arms had started to tremble.

By the thirtieth, his chest muscles burned as if they had been roasted over fire.

After the fortieth, he lay on the ground and panted for several breaths before climbing up, turning over, and beginning sit-ups.

By the time his morning training ended, the sky was fully bright.

He sat on the ground with his back against a stone pillar in the courtyard, his chest heaving violently.

Sweat had soaked through his cloth clothes again and again, and a layer of salt frost had formed around his collar and across his back.

He turned off the bracelet's gravity. That sudden sensation of lightness always made him grin uncontrollably, as if he had crawled out of a swamp and become light enough to float away.

But that "lightness" was an illusion, a misconception caused by switching out of the gravity environment.

His real improvement had been forged inch by inch while gravity pressed down upon him, through countless push-ups and countless spear thrusts.

The days passed one by one like that.

In the morning, physical training and spear practice under onefold gravity. In the afternoon, Sword Douluo's martial arts lessons.

Later in the day, practical sparring against the young disciples of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, beginning with one-on-one matches and later progressing to one against two, then one against three.

At night, extra spear practice under onefold gravity, followed by meditation on the roof until late at night.

The gravity bracelet's multiplier was never increased. It was not that he did not want to increase it; onefold gravity was already enough.

Every muscle, every bone, every organ in his body was repeatedly tempered beneath onefold gravity. Combined with the body-forging effects of the Nine-Turn Tyrant Body Art, his progress was visible every single day.

On the morning he left the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, Li Hanche stood before the mountain gate.

Ning Fengzhi, Sword Douluo, and Bone Douluo had all come to see him off. Ning Fengzhi came out of courtesy, Bone Douluo came to watch the fun, while Sword Douluo had truly come to send off his disciple.

Ning Rongrong stood at Sword Douluo's side, wearing a little blue dress, her lips pressed together as she stood there quietly.

Li Hanche bowed to the three elders, then turned to Ning Rongrong.

"Little sister, I'm leaving."

Ning Rongrong gave a cold snort.

"The next time you come, this young lady will make you call me big sister willingly."