Chapter Eight: Cultivation (Part Two)

It was as if hell itself had descended upon Gong Hao, with the relentless training pushing him to the very edge of madness and agony. Lancelot was like a true demon, utterly indifferent to whether Gong Hao could endure the superhuman regimen he imposed.

Aside from being chased daily by the direwolf, Gong Hao was required to perform five hundred weighted squats, five hundred weighted pull-ups, crawl with a load for three kilometers, and execute a thousand powerful sidekicks—every day, without fail. These, however, were only the beginning. There were some torments that nearly drove him to the brink of death.

One such torment was the stake-pounding exercise: within five hundred punches, he had to break a hardwood stake as thick as his arm with his bare fists. If he failed, he had to start anew. Each attempt left his hands bleeding, skin torn, and sometimes the stark white of bone was visible. Yet even if his fists were a ruin, if the stake stood unbroken, he had to continue.

Then there was the blocking and evasion training, which was little more than Lancelot beating him mercilessly. Lancelot’s fists and feet moved faster than lightning, leaving Gong Hao with no chance to block or dodge. Still, Lancelot demanded that, even as a fist came for his face, Gong Hao must not close his eyes but instead try to capture and analyze the attack, all the while seeking to sense the presence of battle energy in the midst of that tension. This was a brutal way to hone his reflexes and bodily coordination.

The underwater training was perhaps the cruelest. Lancelot would personally hold Gong Hao’s head underwater, forcing him to the edge of suffocation, compelling him to sense inner energy through the desperate struggle for breath.

Each method was enough to cost Gong Hao his life on its own. Lancelot, however, used them all in concert, never allowing him a moment’s rest. The grueling training rapidly drained Gong Hao of every drop of strength. In the first few days, he couldn’t even complete a single session—he was left so weak he could not stand.

But Lancelot showed no compassion. Each time Gong Hao collapsed, Lancelot would kick him fiercely and bellow at him to get up or else lose his head. The look in his eyes left no doubt that this was no empty threat.

Strangely, though, each time Lancelot kicked him, Gong Hao felt a warm current flow from Lancelot’s foot into his body, restoring his strength just enough to continue. He tried to seize this energy, but it always vanished swiftly. He realized this was battle energy—dou qi—but it did not belong to him. It was Lancelot’s, given only to revive him for further torment.

Perhaps it was the spark of Lancelot’s battle energy, or perhaps the training itself, but gradually Gong Hao began to sense a faint current stirring within himself. Compared with Lancelot’s vast and powerful energy, his own was as feeble as a firefly’s glow against the sun and moon. Before, he would never have noticed it, but after repeated batterings, he became able to identify its presence and follow its pulse, applying Lancelot’s teachings to sense and cultivate it.

In this way, Gong Hao finally understood the purpose behind such brutal training for enhancing battle energy. When his physical strength was utterly depleted, he could feel that wisp of battle energy inside rapidly transforming into power, sustaining him to continue. He constantly exhausted this meager internal energy, pushing his limits with sheer will, and his body’s instinct for self-preservation responded, drawing forth more and more energy.

If the energy of a high-level warrior could be compared to a surging river, the pitiful trickle in Gong Hao’s body was like tiny droplets from a leaky faucet.

Lancelot had explained that every person on the Windhowl Continent was born with a faint trace of battle energy—a gift from the heavens, or perhaps the nature of living on a world steeped in magic. Yet this gift was so slight as to be useless. Only through relentless training, cycling between depletion and regeneration, would one’s internal energy gradually increase.

This is because such overloading training actually damages the body, and only stronger battle energy can provide protection. The instinct for self-preservation forces the body to rapidly generate more energy under such duress. If Gong Hao had never before noticed it, it was partly due to lack of experience, and partly because his energy was so weak. As it slowly grew, however, he became ever more aware of it—especially since Lancelot repeatedly infused him with his own energy, guiding it through Gong Hao’s meridians, making the sensation even clearer.

Almost every famed warrior on the continent had endured similar training, increasing intensity as their energy grew. If the physical exertion did not reach a superhuman level, the body’s instinct would not be triggered. This is why the greatest talent for a warrior is perseverance and diligence: the increase in battle energy from such training is real, but few can persist. Growth does not come from collapsing in exhaustion once or twice, but from continuing despite the pain, living every moment in torment. True improvement requires months and years of relentless effort.

The reason Gong Hao experienced results so quickly was because his starting point was so low—any increase was keenly felt. Once his energy grew stronger, further gains would slow dramatically. An increase of one from one is a doubling, but an increase of one from ninety-nine is scarcely noticeable. The amount of energy gained is fixed, but the rate of growth diminishes as strength rises.

Who, then, can endure such torment day after day, year after year? Very few! No matter one’s aspirations, suffering is never the goal. People long for the glory and aura behind strength, not the sweat and agony of endless training. Happiness is always sought in the outcome, not the journey.

People are clever—if one spends a lifetime striving for martial mastery and only enjoys a few years of triumph, it seems a poor bargain. This explains why, although everyone has the potential to be a high-level warrior, few reach the summit. Most abandon such self-torment once they reach a certain level, or train only fitfully, rendering their efforts useless. Gradual cultivation through mental techniques has become mainstream.

Yet those with true perseverance often lack the guidance of a master and are thus doomed never to shine. The Windhowl Continent is full of “prodigies” who reach the fourth level in a few years, but spend decades failing to break through to the fifth or sixth. There is a dire shortage of those who reach the pinnacle through steady, determined progress.

Of course, the status of a high-level warrior is not judged solely by the flow of energy within. Mastery of technique, skill in combat, and proficiency with weapons are equally vital. Yet all these skills rest upon the foundation of battle energy and require diligent training.

After twelve days of training, Gong Hao could clearly sense the presence of energy within himself. According to Lancelot, if he kept up this intensity for three months, he would reach the standard of a novice warrior, whereas the conventional approach would take more than two years. At his current rate, Gong Hao might reach this standard in a month—whether due to his own talent or Lancelot’s draconian methods, he could not tell. He hoped it was the former, but suspected it was more likely the latter. Perhaps Lancelot was putting him through the regimen designed for a Sky Warrior. The thought sent a chill through him.

Nevertheless, he felt grateful. Even a slight increase in energy, which would hardly allow a low-level warrior to emit a single sword light, brought earth-shaking changes to a boy of twelve. Gong Hao felt his strength had at least doubled. Progress is swift when the baseline is low. If he kept up this training, he believed his body would grow ever stronger, though the suffering was almost unbearable.

But Lancelot had no intention of teaching him further.

“That’s enough. You’ve mastered the method for cultivating battle energy and can now sense its presence. From today, I’ll teach you no more.”

“But, Master Lancelot, it’s only been twelve days. I doubt my strength is yet sufficient to face the venomous python.”

“Continue training as I’ve shown you. In eighteen more days, you should be ready. Beginners always progress fastest.”

“But, sir, I hoped you might teach me some techniques for using battle energy.”

Lancelot’s expression darkened. He seized Gong Hao by the throat. “Listen, boy—don’t be greedy! You’re just a servant! Or do you actually dream of becoming a true warrior?”

Gong Hao could barely breathe. “S-sir… I just want to learn how to use battle energy to resist the python’s venom. If I’m accidentally poisoned, at least I can use energy to buy time for the antidote. Surely you don’t want your painstakingly-trained servant to die so easily?”

Lancelot exhaled heavily and released him. “The use of battle energy… that’s actually very simple. You’re a clever lad; what I fear is that once you learn to project energy, you’ll pick up the rest on your own… and I don’t want to cause Heinz any trouble.”

The implication was clear. Gong Hao quickly composed himself. “Respected Master Lancelot, I’m nothing more than a humble servant. If I’ve sensed battle energy so quickly, it’s entirely due to your brilliant instruction. The use of battle energy is a vast and mysterious art, surely no easier than alchemy. How could someone like me master it without a teacher?”

Lancelot’s stern face finally eased into a smile at the flattery, but he replied coolly, “Who said the use of battle energy is complicated? In fact, there’s nothing simpler than martial skills. Whether it’s generating, using energy, or wielding weapons, it’s not complex. The world of warriors does not esteem complexity. Simplicity and utility are what matter. Look at this sword.”

Suddenly, Lancelot drew his sword, and a flash of light blazed like the sun. The sword was drawn and sheathed so swiftly he seemed not to have moved at all, yet a great tree nearby thundered to the ground.

“Sword light?” Thanks to the blocking training, Gong Hao’s eyes were now trained to watch a weapon even in the face of danger, and in this instant, he caught Lancelot’s movement. It was the sudden eruption of sword energy from Lancelot’s blade that felled the tree, though his speed was so great that an ordinary person would never have seen it.

Lancelot smiled faintly. “Exactly. You want to learn how to use battle energy? That’s what it is.”

———

Gong Hao now truly understood what it meant to seek out one’s own suffering. If cultivating battle energy was only grueling and not truly dangerous, then learning to wield it as Lancelot taught was nothing short of attempted murder.

The use of battle energy is conceptually simple. The method for increasing it is itself a form of application; humans use energy to restore their bodies, though this is a passive, primitive approach. To actively use battle energy, one must, beyond sensing and strengthening it, consciously guide its flow and direct the power where needed.

That is the art of using battle energy.

Simple in description, but daunting in practice. Gong Hao was utterly incapable of controlling his energy at will. With so little energy in his body, sensing it was an achievement—using it was another matter entirely. After all, he had only trained for a few days. Lancelot, however, showed no leniency.

Since Gong Hao had requested to learn the use of battle energy, he would have to pay the price. This time, the method was no longer physical training. Lancelot locked Gong Hao in a cage, this time with the very direwolf that had chased him for three days and made him circle the lake thirty times.

This time, he had to kill it.

“Boy, between you and this beast, only one may leave alive. I hope to keep my cook, but this is the way of a warrior’s training. Without facing life and death, there can be no breakthrough.”

“Good luck!”