The morning air near Notting City was colder than usual.
Mo Chen stood in the open space beside the small house, his wooden sword resting in his hand, his breathing slow and measured. The sun had not fully risen yet, but he had already completed half of his routine.
Breathing.
Stance.
Movement.
Repeat.
Only after the body was warm did he turn his attention to what mattered most today.
Soul power. My soul power reach level 10 it time to compress it
He sat down cross-legged on the ground, closed his eyes, and let the spirit energy inside his body settle. For a long time, he had been building
stability. Not speed. Not burst. Stability.
Today, he wanted something else.
Compression.
He guided his soul power inward and carefully pressed it together, layer by layer, as if shaping loose sand into a hard stone. The process was slow.
Very slow. The spirit energy resisted, spreading out whenever his concentration slipped.
His brow tightened.
Again.
He inhaled deeply, then forced the energy to gather at the center of his dantian. His control was better than before, but even so, the feeling was uncomfortable. It was like holding water in a clenched fist.
"Too loose," he muttered.
He released the breath and started again.
This time, he used the same rhythm as his sword training. Inhale, gather. Hold, compress. Exhale, seal.
A faint pressure built inside his body.
Not pain. Not yet.
Just resistance.
That resistance was the sign that he was doing it correctly.
He opened his eyes after a long while and raised his hand. The broken metal fragment appeared above his palm, floating quietly. It looked the same as
always, but his feelings toward it had changed.
Once, it had seemed useless.
Now, it felt like an unfinished blade waiting fior pressure strong enough to forge it.
He looked at it and smiled faintly.
"Good," he whispered. "Then let's make you heavier."
He continued compressing his soul power until the first signs of strain appeared in his chest. Only then did he stop. He knew better than to push too
hard. His body was still young, his martial soul still weak.
But progress had been made.
:Sword Training
After breakfast, Mo Chen went to the mountain g area behind the house.
It was a flat patch of ground with a few wooden posts he had set up himselfi. Nothing impressive. Just enough space to practice footwork and blade
control without disturbing anyone.
He took out his wooden sword and stood still.
The first form was always the same.
Straight Cut.
His wrist turned slightly, and the blade moved forward in a clean line. No wasted motion. No unnecessary force. The target was not the post itself, but
the angle, the distance, the follow-through.
He repeated it ten times.
Then twenty.
The next form.
Guarding Block.His sword shifted upward and across his body. The movement had to be smooth enough to defend, but not stiff enough to slow the
next attack. He learned quickly that defense was not just protection. It was preparation.
Step and Slash.
His feet moved first.
Then his body.
Then the blade.
A weak sword style was useless if the user moved like a statue. So he practiced until the step and strike became one motion, and the breath at his
chest matched the swing of his arm.
By the time his shirt was damp with sweat, he had reached the next phase.
Returning Blade.
The sword came back to the guard position after every strike. Again. Again. Again.
Ifi he could not return cleanly, then he could not attack again without opening himself.
A true battle was never about one strike.
It was about the chain after the strike.
He lowered the sword and took a deep breath.
The metal fragment appeared beside him, floating in the air. He tried something new today.
He guided the fragment into the same rhythm as his sword movement.
Forward.
Back.
Turn.
Still.
The fragment moved with a slight tremble, but it obeyed.
Mo Chen's eyes narrowed.His martial soul was not a sword yet. Not really. But perhaps it could become something shaped by sword principles.
His fingers tightened around the sword hilt.
Then came the harder part.
He increased the pace.
The wooden sword moved faster now. Step and Slash repeated in a tighter rhythm. His breathing had to stay calm even as his heart rate climbed. The
soul power compressed in his body reacted to the motion, stirring faintly.
He felt the pressure in his meridians.
Not enough to break.
Enough to refine He endured it.That was the real training.