Chapter 38 - Research, Learning, Testing

  The excitement from Rocky's discovery still lingered in the air, but I remind myself to not neglect the current training session. The two princesses (one is a Saintes actually), along with Katherine and Kimberly, were still running through their laps, their breathing labored but steady. Moon and Night are also present as they calmly follow along from behind.

  I raised my hand, signaling them to stop.

  "Alright, gather around. Water break."

  They stumbled over, gratefully accepting the self made hydration water concocted in the kitchen. Isabella collapsed onto the ground without ceremony, while Celestine managed to maintain some dignity by sitting cross-legged. The twins remained standing, though I could see Katherine's legs trembling slightly.

  "Question for you all," I said, pacing in front of them. "Do you know why I've had you running since day one?"

  "Stamina," Isabella answered immediately, still catching her breath.

  "Resilience," Celestine added.

  "Overall wellness," Kimberly offered quietly.

  "Agility training," Katherine finished.

  I shook my head at each answer. "All valid points, but not what I'm looking for."

  Moon, who followed behind, suddenly spoke up with a low, rumbling murmur. "Master Milo, I do not understand why we must do so much running. In the wild, a hunter never runs unless they are in the final pounce. Running is... mmh... exhausting. A hunter must conserve their energy, stay in peak condition for the one true strike. Why do you make us wear ourselves out like this?"

  "Ah, an excellent observation, Moon. But tell me, how long did it take for those hunters in the wild to reach tier 1? Or perhaps even tier 2?"

  Moon's ears drooped slightly, and her tail gave a single, frustrated flick. "It would take many meownings... sometimes a decade or more to reach tier 2."

  "Exactly. And do you all want to wait that long?"

  Silence greeted my question.

  "I thought not. If you want to grow quickly, you run. Simple as that. Predators may stay in top shape, but they grow slowly, naturally. But you don't have that luxury. We're not apex predators, we're prey trying to become predators. And that requires pushing ourselves beyond what's comfortable."

  Isabella's eyes suddenly widened. "Wait. Don't tell me... you're teaching us to run because you literally want us to run away from battle?"

  Her tone was indignant, almost offended.

  "I don't need your protection or anyone else's! I'm a princess of-"

  "Yes," I cut her off. "That's exactly what I'm teaching you."

  The outrage on her face was almost comical.

  "Listen carefully, all of you. You are people of high standing. Isabella, you're the third royal princess and the granddaughter of the kingdom’s great mage. Celestine, you're the Saintes-in-training. Katherine, Kimberly, you're sworn protectors of royalty. Each of you has tremendous potential and value. Getting yourselves killed would be a colossal waste. And of course this is also applied to Moon and Night too"

  I let that sink in before continuing.

  "Running away isn't losing. Let me repeat that, escaping is NOT the same as losing. You're only not winning at that particular moment. As long as you live, even if you can't win, you will never lose. You can regroup, get stronger, come back with reinforcements, or find a better strategy. But if you die? It's all over. No second chances."

  "But-" Isabella started.

  "No buts. Pride is worthless if you're dead. Honor means nothing in a grave. The first rule of survival, the absolute number one priority, is to stay alive. Everything else comes second."

  I swept my gaze across them all. "You think running away is cowardly? A shrewd tactician would call it wisdom. The greatest hunters know that abandoning a hunt is better than becoming prey. Only a fool fights a battle already lost."

  Celestine frowned, her hand resting on her chest. "But what about protecting others? What about standing your ground for what's right?"

  "You are no shield for anyone if you're broken," I said, my voice sharpening. "You cannot fight for justice from a coffin. Your first duty is to survive. Your second is to get strong enough to make your survival mean something."

  I paused, letting the words sink in, my expression turning grim. "But understand this: what I teach you now is for when the situation is manageable. When you have the choice to run, you run. You live to fight smarter tomorrow."

  I leaned forward, my eyes hardening. "However... The day may come when there is no path left to run. When the den is surrounded and the pups are at your back. Then... that is when you stop being the hunter avoiding a trap. You become the cornered beast. You plant your feet, you bare your fangs, and you make your stand. Your goal is no longer to win, but to make the enemy's victory so costly, so bloody, that they regret it so much. You ensure that to kill you, they must agree to die with you. That is the other side of the same coin. But never, ever confuse the two."

  Moon’s tail gave a slow, thoughtful swish, a look of dawning understanding in her eyes. Beside her, Night gave a single, sharp nod, having followed Leon for some time, she was already familiar with the lesson in terms of tactics and efficiency.

  "Right," I clapped my hands once, ordering for attention. "Back to running. Give me another five laps."

  A collective groan echoed. Isabella's voice rose above it, sharp with disbelief. "Five? We just finished ten! My lungs are on fire!"

  "Your hearing is fine. Five more laps. Go."

  "But we want to learn that!" Katherine protested, jabbing a finger toward Rocky, who was still lost in the joy of controlling earth. "That fancy magic!"

  "And you will. But later after I make sure that it is safe for you to learn," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Moreover, your foundations are not good enough to learn more advanced things anyway. So move!"

  Celestine pushed herself to her feet, her legs trembling. "You... you promise? Later?"

  "I give you my word. Once your basics are solid, that is. Now go."

  They went, though not without a chorus of grumbles and a volley of resentful glances. Isabella’s mutter of "...sadistic drill trainer.." was perfectly audible and did indeed make me smirk.

  An interesting shift, however, was visible at the front. Night, as expected, had settled into a relentless, efficient stride, her discipline unwavering. But to my surprise, Moon matched her pace, her earlier languidness is now replaced by a predator's focused intensity. It seemed Night's zealous discipline was contagious.

  Leon chuckled beside me, watching the girls stumble into another lap. "You enjoy playing the villain a little too much."

  "Can you blame me? I can get results and enjoyment after all." I turned to Rocky and Leon.

  "Alright, while they're busy, let's explore this 'control arts' business."

  We moved to a shaded area, and I pulled out my clipboard, another piece of Earth technology that had been introduced to my army. "Let's start with the facts. Rocky discovered earth control through an instinctive Justice-style counter-attack. Leon, you unlocked sword control through... well, desperate inspiration and months of secret practice."

  Leon had the decency to look sheepish.

  "The question is, what's the underlying principle? Why does matching a physical movement to an elemental affinity create this effect?"

  "Master Milo," Rocky began, his voice thoughtful. "When I did it, it didn't feel like I was forcing it. It was like... my movements were speaking the earth's language. I was asking it to move with me, not commanding it."

  "Interesting. A dialogue, not a command. Leon?"

  "For me, it was about connection," Leon said. "I can't control a sword in flight. But I can feel it in static. It somehow feels like the blade itself became a limb I never knew I had."

  I scribbled notes furiously. "So, Hypothesis One: It's not about commanding, but resonance. A matching movement creates a harmony that allows for control."

  "That's the polar opposite of magic casting," Leon observed.

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  "Exactly! Magic is about imposing your will onto the world. This... this is a negotiation. You move in harmony with the element's nature, and it agrees to respond."

  "But Master Milo," Rocky interjected, "The Justice Style indeed feels like the earth element. But what about the other elements? What martial arts would speak their languages?"

  I paused. This was the problem.

  Back when I watched that show about the master of the four elements, I'd never bothered to look up the details. My knowledge about martial arts was embarrassingly superficial, cobbled together from pop culture and fighting games. I knew for certain that Water was based on Tai Chi, I'd have seen enough demonstrations to recognize that flowing, circular style in water bending. But Fire and Air?

  "Water is definitively the Flow Style," I stated, tapping the clipboard. "The circular movements, the redirection of energy, the emphasis on adaptability. Even the name itself is a perfect match."

  "And Fire?" Leon pressed.

  "My first thought was the Fiery Punch Style," I mused. "The direct, close-quarters strikes, the explosive power…"

  "I disagree," Leon cut in.

  I blinked. He rarely contradicted me so directly. "Go on."

  "Fiery Punch is about control and efficiency. Trapping, structure, dominating the center line. That's about taming fire. But fire isn't meant to be tamed. It's about raw, aggressive, overwhelming power. It needs to be unleashed."

  Leon and Rocky exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them.

  "There's really only one style for that," Leon said, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

  Rocky nodded, a grin spreading across his own face. "Indeed that's the only one."

  "Rope Style!" they said in unison.

  I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "You mean the Eight Limbs Style. That one is undoubtedly fiery."

  I have renamed Earth's martial arts to avoid explaining languages that didn't exist here. "Flow Style" was for Tai Chi, "Fiery Punch" for Wing Chun. And the "Eight Limbs Style" was my name for Muay Thai. But the orphans had stubbornly dubbed it the "Rope Arts" after the cords I wore on my arms during training, and the name had stuck as a running joke. And all I wanted was to show the kids how an authentic Muay Thai fighter looks like.

  Unbeknownst to me, the name Rope Style would actually be a perfect match for its relation with fire element control but that story would be for sometime in the future.

  "Call it what you want," Leon said, his smile widening. "But you can't deny its spirit is pure fire. It's relentless, powerful, and doesn't know the meaning of 'step back'."

  I stared at Leon, then slowly nodded, a grin spreading across my face. "You're absolutely right. Fiery Punch is about containment. But fire... fire is about burning and consuming. The Eight Limbs Style is pure, untamed aggression. It doesn't control, it pulverizes."

  I scribbled on my clipboard. "Fire Control: Eight Limbs Style." I pointedly ignored the two of them snickering at my refusal to use their "Rope Style" joke.

  "Now for Wind element..." I trailed off, my pen hovering over the paper.

  This was the real problem. My knowledge was a blurry memory. I only remember spinning footwork, circular evasion, but no concrete style.

  "It must be something fluid and circular," I mused aloud. "Have you seen how a breeze spirals dried leaves? I imagine the style would revolve on that principle, free like the wind, elusive, never meeting strength with strength."

  Leon tilted his head. "But wind can also be a gale. How about the Fist Style? Its footwork is all about constant, evasive motion. Hit and run, like a sudden gust."

  Fist Style, the renamed version of boxing. That’s too far from wind control. The hit and run style of boxing sounds close though.

  "Or perhaps it's in the legs," Rocky added, sweeping a foot through the air. "The Leg Style generates its own wind with every kick. Or even the fancy Break-Dance Style if you want to be extra stylish, it’s all about spins, momentum, and unpredictable movement."

  Leg Style would be Tae Kwon Do and Break-Dance Style is Capoeira. Indeed those martial arts could generate a lot of wind but, where’s the gracefulness and elegance?

  I found myself shaking my head almost instinctively. "No, those feel too... violent. Too direct. Wind should be serene, elusive…"

  "Master Milo," Leon interrupted, his voice gentle but pointed. "I feel like you’re having weird preconceptions again. I feel like you are trying to create a pacifist fighting style rather than a fighter. But please remember, when a storm comes, is it 'serene'? Who needs gentle art when facing a monster?"

  His words stunned me. He was right. I was still clinging to the image of peaceful monks from the show. I had forgotten that the same wind that cools your brow can also become a tornado that scatters entire villages.

  "You're right," I admitted, the frustration clear in my voice. "My pride for the knowledge I have keeps blinding me. Wind is freedom, but that freedom can be chaotic and destructive. We're trying to find a martial art that fights, not one for meditates."

  I looked at my notes, then back at them. "The truth is, I don't know a single style that perfectly captures it. Perhaps the true Wind Control Art doesn't exist yet. Perhaps it must be created, a hybrid that uses the evasive footwork of the Fist Style, the powerful, sweeping kicks of the Leg Style, and the flowing momentum of the Break-Dance Style."

  I closed my clipboard with a definitive snap. "But that's a project for another day, and for those who have Wind affinity. None of us have it. Our job is to lay the groundwork, to give them the principle of 'resonance.' I will leave the honor of founding the style for Wind element control to the future wind masters upon the foundation we create."

  I looked down at the clipboard, the names staring back at me. “Justice Style, Flow Style, Eight Limbs Style... They all have such authoritative names. With the Wind control style yet to be created, it would be a shame for it to be stuck with a joke.”

  I made one last, futile attempt to get Leon and Rocky to abandon the "Rope Style" moniker, arguing it would sound ridiculous next to the others. My pleas, as always, fell on deaf ears, met with their shared, knowing smirks.

  “Master Milo,” Rocky interjected, his voice cutting through my frustration. “We should call the Wind control style the Tempest Style.”

  I looked at him, waiting for an explanation. He merely shrugged. “It was just a whim. But as the ones laying the foundation, we can at least try to persuade the future wind masters to use a name we suggest.”

  A name we suggest. He had a point. It was a good name... strong, descriptive and fitting.

  Also, the name could become a guide to direct the development path of the style.

  “Tempest Style it is, then,” I declared, scribbling it onto the clipboard with a sense of finality.

  Reflecting on everything we had just uncovered, I felt a new layer of understanding click into place. Viewing it through this new lens, the old show's mysteries made more sense. The existence of non-benders could be explained by societal oppression, lack of systematic training, or even the presence of undiscovered affinities, like my own connection to shadow.

  But my Shadow Control was different. It felt less like a martial art resonating with an element and more like a sublimation of a mage's path, a form of puppetry mimicking the techniques of that game's Blind Shadow Assassin. Though, my main character in that game was his love interest, another assassin who controlled her... hair.

  Wait. Control?

  “Someone, get Jane! Now!” The inspiration struck me like Truck-kun.

  Leon and Rocky jolted at my sudden outburst, but they didn't question it, recognizing the fire of a breakthrough in my eyes.

  After a while, Jane arrived, still in her prim and proper maid-act regardless of having to rush here. “You called for me, Master?”

  “Jane, thank you for coming. Rocky and Leon have made a revolutionary discovery.” I quickly summarized the principles of Earth and Sword Control, watching as her eyes widened with dawning comprehension.

  “So, physical resonance can manifest control... and Leon can command blade...” she murmured, connecting the dots with a sharp intellect.

  “Exactly. And that made me think of your problem.” I met her gaze, and a flicker of vulnerability crossed her face. We both knew I meant her cursed strength, the power that made her a weapon in herself but denied her the use of any other.

  “What if,” I said, stepping closer, “you stopped trying to wield a tool that breaks and started learning to control something else? Something that can’t shatter because it's a part of you?”

  Her brow furrowed. “What part?”

  In answer, I willed my shadow to rise from the ground, shaping it into long, sinuous tendrils that flowed through the air. “Your hair, Jane. Control your hair.”

  Her hands flew to the double buns that crowned her head. “My... hair? But how?”

  “The same principle. Movement, resonance, connection. Don’t force it. Ask it to follow.” I move my body around mimicking the hair assassin lady move-set from the game as an example while also controlling my shadow to follow the hair movement.

  Jane’s expression shifted from confusion to intense focus. With deliberate slowness, she reached up and pulled the pins from her hair. The dark cascade tumbled down, falling like a silken curtain nearly to her waist.

  She closed her eyes, her entire being stilling. The world seemed to hold its breath.

  For a long moment, nothing happened.

  Then, a single strand at the very end of her hair twitched.

  “It moved!” Rocky whispered, his voice hushed with awe.

  Jane’s eyes flew open, wide with shock and a dawning exhilaration. “I felt it,” she breathed, staring at the offending strand as if seeing it for the first time. “It was like... for a second, it was listening.”

  A grin spread across my face. “That’s it. That’s the connection. That’s the first step. Now you just have to practice until it becomes as natural as breathing.”

  A familiar, stubborn light gleamed in Jane’s eyes. It was the same determined fire I had seen years ago when she first insisted on becoming my combat maid, a role that I’m still uncomfortable with because of my modern sensibilities.

  "I will practice every day," she vowed, her voice steady and sure. "I will master this."

  "I have no doubt." A thought occurred to me. "And Jane? Once you have the basics, don't just think of it as a weapon. Explore the soft applications, too. Weaving, sewing, cleaning... you might be able to cut several ingredients at once, or dust a chandelier without a ladder. The utility is endless."

  She nodded, but her attention was already turning inward, her focus consumed by the faint, twitching movements of her hair. She was already on her way.

  A genuine smile touched my lips. For the first time, she could see a path forward, a light at the end of the tunnel that was hers alone to walk.

  "Right," I announced, clapping my hands once to shift the group's focus. "Phase two: systematic testing. Rocky, I need a detailed breakdown of every movement that triggered your earth control. We're documenting the form. Leon, I want you to expand your scope. Try controlling daggers, axes, even a kitchen knife. Test different sizes, weights, and metals. We need to find the rules and the limits."

  "And the princesses?" Leon asked, a familiar smirk playing on his lips. "They're nearing their fifteenth lap."

  I glanced toward the track. A small surge of pride washed over me. Isabella and Celestine were now running stride-for-stride, their bodies shimmering with the sustained glow of mana reinforcement. Even the twins and Moon were pushing through their exhaustion, their own auras flickering stubbornly. I'd worried the orphanage's calm life would soften Moon, but she was proving to have a hidden tenacity.

  "Let them run," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "A sturdy foundation is the basics. Besides," I added with a grin I didn't try to suppress, "You won’t learn about happiness without suffering."

  Leon barked a laugh. "You're cruel, Milo."

  "I prefer 'master drill instructor', thank you." I corrected, turning back to my clipboard. "Now, let's move on. I want a solid set of preliminary data before we even think about teaching others."

  "Understood!" Rocky and Leon responded in unison, their voices sharp with purpose.

  As we dove into our experiments like mapping Rocky's stances and charting Leon's effective range, a thrilling certainty settled in my chest. This was bigger than a new combat technique. Control Arts was a new frontier, a free real estate on learning new ways we can interact with the element.

  And we were just writing the first word.