The final day of the wait arrived, and the air in the academy felt like it was vibrating with anticipation. Instead of the lazy and somewhat comical Yami Sensei, the students were met by a man who looked like he had been carved out of the very mountains surrounding the school. He was in his 50s, with a perfectly bald head that caught the dim light of the classroom and a long, snow-white beard that flowed down to his chest. He wore simple, loose-fitting monk robes that seemed to hum with a quiet, peaceful energy.
"My name is Master Gohan," the old man said. His voice was not loud, but it had a resonant quality that made the stone walls seem to echo his words. "I am a practitioner of Saint Magic—specifically, the Buddha Fraction. My role here is not to teach you how to blow things up or how to tear the earth apart. I am here to teach you the most basic, yet most important skill you can possess: hand-to-hand combat."
A ripple of whispers went through the room. These were students who could drown kingdoms, split mountains, and erase matter with a touch. To them, punching and kicking seemed like a step backward. Valen, sitting in the back, looked ready to scoff, but the memory of Yami Sensei kept his mouth shut.
Gohan didn't make them stand up. He didn't make them strike at the air. Instead, he remained seated and began to explain the deep theories of combat. He spoke about the "Anym-Circuit" within the human body, explaining how physical movement was the ultimate conductor for magical energy. He taught them how to predict an opponent's intent by the slight tensing of a shoulder or the shift in their weight before a spell was even cast. His explanations were so perfect, so logical, that even One from All found himself leaning forward, absorbing every word.
"I was once a very proud man," Gohan said, his eyes clouding with memory. "I was a master of the martial arts. I believed that with my Saint Buddha magic enhancing my muscles and my reflexes, I was invincible. I thought no one could touch me in a fair, physical fight. I considered myself the pinnacle of what a warrior could be."
The old man sighed. "Then, I met Hayato, the Fifth Emperor. At the time, I was arrogant. I challenged him to a duel of pure hand-to-hand combat. I used every technique I knew. I activated my Buddha enhancement to its absolute limit, turning my body into a temple of divine strength. I was faster than ever and stronger than the stone beneath us."
The classroom became deathly silent. Even the most restless students were hanging on his words.
"Hayato defeated me without ever using a single spell," Gohan whispered, looking down at his scarred palms. "He didn't need magic to break my defense. He used pure, raw physical skill—a level of mastery that made my years of training look like a child playing in the dirt. And when I was lying on the ground, broken and defeated, he looked at me with a lighting expression and said, 'Don't feel too bad. I'm actually the weakest of the Five.' That was the day I realized I was nothing. I gave up my pride and accepted the path of a teacher. If the weakest Emperor can beat a Saint Buddha master with just his hands, you must understand the gap you are trying to close."
The weight of that story stayed with the students long after the class ended. If Hayato was the "weakest," the thought of the First Emperor was almost too terrifying to imagine.
Later that evening, One from All, Elara, and Riku returned to their usual training spot near the stone pillars. They wanted to practice the theories Gohan had explained. But as they approached the courtyard, they felt a massive surge of Anym that made their skin crawl. They stopped at the edge of the pillars, hidden in the shadows, to watch.
In the center of the courtyard, a high-level battle was already in progress. It was a 2v1.
Levi stood in the center, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. Facing him were two girls. One was the mean girl from the previous day—the one who had tried to hold One from All back. She was using Hero's Magic, her entire body shrouded in a radiant golden aura that made her look like a goddess of war. Every move she made left trails of light in the air, her speed and power boosted to superhuman levels.
The other girl was someone they hadn't seen up close before. She was using Embodiment Magic. As she moved, her skin shimmered and hardened into a translucent, unbreakable diamond. Her strikes weren't just punches; they were kinetic explosions that cracked the very air.
The trio watched in awe. This fight was on a completely different level than their own sparring sessions. The Hero girl moved like a golden blur, launching a flurry of kicks that sounded like thunderclaps, while the Diamond girl lunged from the other side, her fists shattering the stone floor whenever Levi moved.
But Levi was the real monster. Even against two high-level magic users, he had the upper hand. He didn't even draw his sword. Using the very principles Master Gohan had discussed, he moved his body by mere millimeters, letting the golden kicks and diamond fists whistle past him. With a sudden, explosive movement, he struck both girls with the hilt of his sheathed blade. The impact sent a shockwave through the courtyard, throwing both girls back against the pillars.
One from All felt a cold knot form in his stomach. He knew he was stronger than the Hero girl, but as he watched the Diamond girl stand back up, her body unhurt and her Anym flaring, he realized she was on the exact same level as him. Her Presence was just as heavy, her control just as sharp. He hated it. He had spent his life aiming for the top, and seeing a "peer" who stood on equal ground made his King's Magic stir with a dark, competitive hunger.
Levi didn't say a word. He simply turned and walked away into the night, leaving the two girls to recover.
When One from All finally returned to his dorm, his mind was on fire. He didn't just lie down to sleep. He sat in the center of the floor in the dark and closed his eyes. He entered the deep state of "Battle Meditation."
In his mind, he constructed a perfect arena. And in that arena, he summoned a mental copy of Levi.
He didn't fight the girl; he fought the man who had handled two powerhouses without even drawing his sword. In his mind, the battle began. One from All unleashed his black void, trying to swallow Levi whole. He used his Presence to try and pin him down. He used the hand-to-hand theories Gohan had taught him.
He fought one battle. He lost. He fought ten battles. He was cut down every time. He fought a hundred.
Inside his head, the "Mental Levi" was a god of the blade. No matter how much void energy One from All threw at him, the mental image of Levi would find the one tiny gap in the defense and end the fight. One from All pushed himself harder and harder, his brain working at overclocked speeds.
By the time he reached the 700th battle, his mental form was exhausted. Out of those 700 simulations, he had only managed to win one. Only once did he find the perfect timing to use his King's Magic to parry the hilt and trap Levi in a pocket of absolute zero space.
He snapped his eyes open, gasping for air. Sweat soaked his uniform and dripped onto the floor. He realized that relying on the void wasn't enough. The void was just a tool, but his King's Magic was supposed to be absolute. He stood up in the dark room and began to move, practicing not just the release of energy. He began to mold his Anym into a crown of pressure, trying to reach the level where he didn't just attack the body, but dominated the space itself.
Through the thin wall to his right, the sound of high-pressure water hissed and churned in steady, controlled bursts. Riku, pushing until the air in the entire corridor turned humid and heavy.
From somewhere further down the block, he thought he could feel it — the deep, settled pulse of Elara's Babylon Magic in meditation. Not training. Becoming.
None of them were sleeping.
One from All looked at his fist. The black energy coiled around his knuckles in slow, deliberate loops — no longer leaking, no longer wild. A crown of pressure. His. He had been building it all night, layer by layer, until the space around him felt like it had weight. Like the room itself was aware of him.
One win. Out of seven hundred.
He turned it over in his mind without panic, without despair. Just cold arithmetic. One win meant there was a window. A window meant there was a method. A method meant that by the time the sun rose, seven hundred would simply be the number he started from.
He didn't sleep.
He kept building.
End of Chapter 10