Chapter 12

"I'll remember that."

Zhao Yu replied.

The air carried the mingled scent of old books and sandalwood.

Faint footsteps drifted in from the distant courtyard beyond the window, sometimes light, sometimes heavy, as if someone were pacing back and forth across the stone path.

Kamidar's gaze settled on the young man, and only after a pause did he continue.

"If you feel anything unusual during training, you must inform your instructor immediately."

His tone grew heavier than before. "In the initial stages, apprentices are often unable to guide energy steadily.

"If the body cannot withstand that kind of impact, hidden injuries will accumulate.

"By the time you notice them later, it may already be too late to undo the damage."

Zhao Yu nodded silently.

His fingertips unconsciously brushed over the rough weave of his robe, the texture slightly prickly.

He recalled the faint soreness around his shoulder blades after practicing these past few days—did that count as abnormal? Perhaps he should find time to ask his instructor.

Kamar-Taj had always been cautious when teaching advanced techniques.

Most students had to wait until they were close to advancement before they could learn more complex methods of application.

If energy went out of control, backlash against the user was hardly rare.

Though Kamidar did not often take part in combat training, he had clearly heard of many such cases.

"Don't think it's a bother."

The older man said at last, his voice so low it was almost a murmur to himself. "Ask one more question now, and you may avoid a hurdle in the future."

Zhao Yu looked up just in time to see the other man's retreating back.

The hem of his robe swept over the threshold, stirring a faint breeze that disturbed the dust floating in the shaft of light.

He remained where he was until the footsteps vanished completely at the end of the corridor.

He truly could not afford to be careless.

Thinking that, he reached up and pressed his shoulder.

He would ask tomorrow what that vague, intermittent soreness really meant.

Kamidar handed him medicine meant to repair bodily injuries.

The glass bottle felt cool against his fingertips.

"Advanced Combat will drain ** energy reserves."

The mage's voice was calm, as though he were stating a law proven long ago. "Many fighters overexert themselves when they're young, and by old age, even bending over becomes a problem."

Zhao Yu accepted the bottle.

The surface left a faint damp mark in his palm.

"I understand."

He answered with his back straight. "I won't disappoint you."

The lines at the corners of Kamidar's eyes relaxed slightly.

What he admired most was this kind of attitude—no questioning, no arguing, like a piece of dark cloth that absorbed all light.

But there were things the mage did not know: the gaps in energy that might tear muscles apart and drain marrow from bone had long ceased to be a problem for Zhao Yu.

Something moved within him, drawing nourishment from unseen crevices.

"Let me see how far you've progressed."

Kamidar said suddenly.

The air began to fold.

The walls flowed like melting wax, the ceiling curved downward, and the floor rose into an arc.

The Mirror Dimension—a domain only a few veterans could construct.

Zhao Yu had seen it described in records, but witnessing it with his own eyes still made his throat tighten.

The light became viscous here, and footsteps echoed with a hollow resonance.

"Is this really appropriate?"

Zhao Yu shifted half a step back.

"Worried you'll hurt me?"

The mage smiled as he adjusted his cuffs. "Don't let my paperwork fool you. I fought on the front lines in my day.

"Come at me."

Zhao Yu took a deep breath.

His nostrils filled with the scent of old parchment and dust.

When he assumed his opening stance, Kamidar remained where he was, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.

But Zhao Yu saw it—the mage's left heel turned outward by three degrees, and his shoulder blades drew inward by half an inch.

It was the preparatory stance of someone who had faced life and death.

His first punch shot out with a gust of wind.

Kamidar did not dodge.

He raised his left hand, fingers spread as though he were about to catch a falling leaf.

The fist abruptly slowed when it was still two inches from his palm, as if it had struck invisible gel.

Zhao Yu felt his arm muscles being pulled in the opposite direction.

"Your speed is enough."

The mage commented, "but your force is too direct."

The second punch came up from beneath his ribs.

This time, Kamidar turned sideways and drove his elbow down at a forty-five-degree angle.

The dull impact sounded strange within the warped space, like thunder heard through a layer of water.

Zhao Yu spun with the momentum, whipping his leg toward the side of the other man's knee—only for the top of a foot to lightly brace against his ankle midway through.

"Your sense of balance is good."

Kamidar's voice was close to his ear. "Unfortunately, your intentions are too obvious."

They separated by three paces.

Zhao Yu adjusted his breathing as sweat slid from his temple to his jaw.

The light of the Mirror Dimension left half the mage's face submerged in shadow, while false window panes cast the other half deathly pale.

On his third attack, Zhao Yu changed his rhythm.

He feinted left, but his weight remained on his right leg, and only in the last half-second did his fist shoot out from the completely opposite angle.

The shriek of torn air was brief and sharp.

Kamidar's eyes flashed.

He no longer blocked.

The body beneath those administrative robes leaned backward at an unbelievable angle. The fist passed just past his nose, stirring several strands of silver hair.

At the same time, the mage extended his right index finger—not to attack, but merely to press lightly against the inside of Zhao Yu's elbow.

His entire arm instantly went numb and sore.

Zhao Yu staggered back and crashed into a stone pillar that had appeared from nowhere.

The rough surface dug into his shoulder blades, and he heard his heavy breathing repeatedly refracted through the distorted space.

"Very good."

Kamidar withdrew his hand.

The Mirror Dimension began to fade. The flowing walls solidified once more, and the false window panes melted into ordinary patterns on the ceiling. "Much better than I expected."

Zhao Yu leaned against the real wall, waiting for the numbness in his arm to fade.

He watched the mage turn toward the desk, the hem of his robe sweeping over the floor and leaving behind a faint trail.

"But remember,"

The voice came from his back. "Energy can be replenished, but some injuries are irreversible.

"Remember to take the medicine on time."

"Yes."

Zhao Yu flexed the fingers that still tingled.

The medicine bottle rested against his thigh in his pocket, radiating a steady coolness through the cloth.

The Mirror Dimension unfolded soundlessly, and Zhao Yu lowered his gaze in acknowledgment.

No gleam from any magical artifact appeared between them.

When Kamidar raised his hands, pale golden arcs condensed in the air—not in the shape of shields, but more like half of an upturned bowl.

Another dark current wound out from his sleeve, forming loops of chain three feet above the ground. The faint scrape of metal was clearly audible.

The person opposite him did not chant.

Magical particles surged from Zhao Yu's palm, stretching, flattening, and compressing into the outline of a blade.

When the long saber took shape, it even produced a faint pressure of wind. Its surface bore the dull sheen of tempered steel.

"Please."

The older mage said.

Zhao Yu's blade was already slashing down.

There was no probing, no circling.

The hiss of the blade cutting through the air was as brief as a sigh.

Kamidar's pupils contracted sharply—too fast, so fast that he barely had time to raise the shield fully.

What chilled his spine even more were the sparks exploding beneath Zhao Yu's feet. Those scattered points of light still hung in the air when the figure was already upon him.

How was that possible?

The technique of applying magic to one's own body required precise control over magical particles. Even the slightest imbalance could injure the bones.

Yet every step Zhao Yu took left a burning mark on the ground, as if he were treading upon invisible coals.

Those sparks were not decoration. They were evidence of overflowing energy—he was actually using such a brutal method to gain speed.

Kamidar slid backward, the chains twisting toward the blade like living snakes.

The tremor of colliding metal traveled back through the magical connection to his fingertips, numbing the web between his thumb and forefinger.

Ripples spread across the shield's surface as it barely deflected the second diagonal slash.

One day.

This young man had only studied combat techniques for one day.

The old mage gritted his teeth.

He had seen too many apprentices: some trained for months before they could maintain a stable magical shield, while others never learned in their entire lives how to shape an offensive spell into a weapon.

But this saber before him—the distribution of its weight, the curve of its edge, even the inertia it carried as it swung—felt terrifyingly real.

The magical particles had been compressed to nearly the density of matter. What kind of terrifying control did that require?

The chains suddenly went taut.

Zhao Yu did not dodge.

The blade scraped upward along the inner side of the chains, throwing sparks like a blacksmith's hammer.

Kamidar felt his magical structure being violently dismantled, every link crying out.

He had no choice but to relinquish part of his control over the chains and reinforce the wavering shield instead.

There was no wind in the Mirror Dimension, yet the paths crossed by the two of them stirred the air.

The young mage's attack rhythm was utterly irregular. At times, he unleashed seven consecutive slashes like a raging storm; at other times, he abruptly paused for half a second, then rushed in again the instant Kamidar adjusted his center of gravity.

This style did not resemble that of a beginner. It was more like that of a veteran steeped in battle for years—no, worse still, like some beast driven by instinct **.

"Stop!"

Kamidar finally shouted.

The shield shattered into motes of light. He staggered back two steps, fine sweat beading at his temples.

Zhao Yu sheathed his blade.

Starting from the tip, the saber dissipated into firefly-like glimmers that sank into his palm.

His breathing was steady. Only a lock of hair dampened by sweat at his temple revealed the intensity of the exchange just now.

The old mage stared at his trembling hands.

The magical chains had completely collapsed, and the lingering prickling pain still pulsed at the ends of his nerves.

He recalled the rumors from the day the London Sanctum fell: three to five traitors had defeated the entire garrison.

At the time, he had thought the guards were simply lax. Now, however, he suddenly understood—when the gap in skill reached a certain extent, numbers truly meant nothing.

"You..."

Kamidar's voice was dry. "Yesterday, Mordo taught you only the basic footwork."

"Yes."

"Then this..."

He pointed toward the gradually dying sparks on the ground.

Zhao Yu lowered his head and looked at his boots. "I didn't think I was fast enough, so I added a little thrust."

The casual tone made the old mage's stomach twitch.

A little thrust—as if he were sprinkling pepper into soup.

Yet that required maintaining protective spells over the legs, directing particle jets, and cushioning the balance of the entire body at the same time... most mages would get splitting headaches simply simulating that process in meditation.

Kamidar wiped his face.

He recalled records from certain ancient scrolls: a rare few whose souls resonated with the source of magic. For them, casting spells was not like constructing a model, but like breathing.

He had once thought that was mythological exaggeration.

Now, the myth stood before him, dressed in plain training clothes, with the reserved gaze of an apprentice still in his eyes.

"Shall we continue?"

Zhao Yu asked.

The old mage took a deep breath and raised his hands again.

This time, what formed was not a shield, but layers upon layers of hexagonal light screens, like a honeycomb and a turtle shell.

He gave up attacking and poured all his mana into defense—he wanted to see just how sharp this young man's blade could be.

When the longsword took shape again, its edge gleamed with a frosty hue.

Within the Mirror Dimension, the sharp clang of metal striking metal rang out again and again.

Kamidar's arm gripping the shield was jolted numb.

He stared at the young man a few steps away as he lowered his center of gravity once more, his breathing slightly ragged.

In that head-on clash just now, he had used nearly all his strength just to barely push the other man back—but he had only pushed him back.

Zhao Yu did not stop.

The arc of light traced by the blade chased along the shield's edge, so fast that there was no time to catch one's breath.

Kamidar could only block, retreating step by step as his heels ground across the cold floor.

In all his years of life, he had never imagined that an apprentice who had only encountered magic for a single day could force him into such a state.

With every block, the web between his thumb and forefinger felt as though it had been struck by an iron hammer.

Yet the young man's movements grew smoother and smoother, as though every exchange was feeding him.

Zhao Yu could feel the heat at his fingertips, his blood surging beneath his skin, every trajectory in his vision becoming unnaturally clear.

The angle at which the shield rose, the faint tension in his opponent's shoulder blade, even the hiss of air torn apart by the blade's tip—all of it poured into his suddenly awakened senses.

So this was "comprehension."

.

It was not a sentence on a page, nor an admonition from a mentor, but the tremor that exploded when bone collided with bone.

He flicked his wrist, and the blade swept upward at an angle. Kamidar hastily twisted aside; the shield's rim scraped across the edge, spraying a string of dazzling sparks.

Sweat beaded at the old mage's temples.

Yet amid the rapid exchange, Zhao Yu heard the pounding of his own heart, each beat heavier and steadier than the last.

Strength surged up from the depths of his limbs, like a tide washing over tidal flats.

He suddenly withdrew half a step, not in retreat, but to gather strength—

Then his entire body shot forward like a drawn bowstring.

The shield met him.

"Clang—!"