Lazy Salvation Genius on Autopilot

Ashen sat down in a relaxed posture and strapped the new bracelet onto his left wrist. Now both wrists were occupied.

Activating it with familiar ease, he closed his eyes, expecting spear techniques to flash across his vision imdiately.

Instead, safety guidelines appeared first, emphasizing the importance of practicing in an open space and always wearing protective gear, especially for novices.

Ashen let out a quiet laugh. 'The coach is as ticulous as ever.'

He scrolled deeper into the bracelet's database.

The next section covered footwork and balance, outlining essential stances and postures.

Further down, the three fundantal spear techniques were broken down in ticulous detail.

Thrusting… the core of spear combat, focusing on precision and reach.

Slashing… a supplentary technique for flexibility in combat.

Parrying… redirecting attacks while maintaining control of engagent.

Each movent was described step by step.

Grip adjustnts, body positioning, how to advance and retreat, the correct situations to use each technique, and even the ntal frawork required:

Precision over speed in the beginning.

Situational awareness and patience.

Finally, a shadowy figure appeared in his mind… an exact replica of himself, wielding the sa jumonji-yari.

The figure moved flawlessly, demonstrating each technique with eerie perfection. Every thrust, slash, and parry played out like a well-rehearsed dance, giving Ashen a clear reference to mirror.

He exhaled slowly.

'This… this is going to be interesting.'

Ashen imrsed himself in the shadow's movents, his eyes tracing each fluid motion with unwavering focus.

When he felt ready, he slowly opened his eyes, exhaled, and stood.

Gripping his spear near the base for maximum reach, he stepped forward and lunged, attempting his first thrust.

From the outside, it probably looked decent. Maybe even promising.

But Ashen knew better.

His grip was too tight, making his movents rigid. His lunge overextended, forcing him to take extra ti to recover. His footing lacked stability, throwing off his balance.

These were just the major faults… he was sure there were countless smaller mistakes he hadn't even noticed yet.

Still, he didn't get frustrated.

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He rembered the coach's advice: Patience. Precision over speed. Awareness over instinct.

Closing his eyes for a brief mont, he replayed the motion in his head, comparing his flawed attempt to the shadow's perfect execution.

Then, he tried again.

His grip relaxed slightly, but now his posture wavered.

He focused on stabilizing his stance, but now his aim suffered.

It was like playing whack-a-mole… fix one issue, and two more popped up.

He was walking a tightrope, where the slightest lapse in attention threw everything off balance.

For most people, this would be frustrating. A slow, grueling process of trial and error.

But Ashen was not 'most people'.

He was a genius.

Thrust.

With every motion, his technique refined at a visible rate.

Thrust.

His stance stabilized.

Thrust.

His grip adjusted, becoming more natural, more fluid.

Thrust.

It felt less like learning and more like rembering… as if he had once been an expert but had forgotten, and now, piece by piece, the knowledge was returning.

Thrust.

A minor shift. A subtle correction. The wind whistled differently this ti… sharper, cleaner.

Thrust. Thrust.

Between each set of movents, Ashen would pause, standing deathly still, eyes closed, ntally dissecting every inch of his performance before trying again.

The world around him faded.

The shouting of trainees.

The clashing of weapons.

Even his own breathing.

Nothing existed except the spear in his hands and the shadow in his mind.

Thrust.

Thrust.

He was so close. Almost there. But sothing was missing.

Thrust.

Thrust.

Again and again, searching for that final piece of the puzzle.

And then—

Thrust.

His breathing shifted.

Sothing deep within him stirred… the MistForge Breath technique activating subconsciously.

Everything clicked.

The spear no longer fought against him; it flowed through the air like an extension of his body, following the shortest, most efficient path to its target.

Whoooosh.

A final thrust split the air with a sharp crack.

And just like that, the missing piece fell into place.

A bone-deep satisfaction settled in his chest, like finally scratching an itch that had been tornting him.

Ashen exhaled. "Haaah."

With a deep breath, he finally stilled his spear, resting the shaft effortlessly on his shoulder… a motion so natural, it felt like second nature.

As his focus shifted back to his surroundings, he was t with an all-too-familiar sight.

An empty field.

Again.

"Oh man… not again…" he muttered, sounding more resigned than surprised this ti.

"Ahem."

A pointed cough shattered the silence.

Ashen turned his head to find the coach standing there, arms crossed, giving him a look.

'Ah, crap.'

Instinctively, he put on his most innocent face, already scrambling to piece together so half-baked excuse.

"H-hey, Coach! Fancy eting you here… uhh—"

He froze.

The expression on the coach's face stopped him cold.

It wasn't anger… nor was it irritation.

It was shock… a mix of bewildernt and sothing bordering on disbelief.

"...Is sothing wrong?" Ashen asked, suddenly uneasy.

The coach closed his eyes briefly, inhaled, then spoke in a low, asured voice.

"Boy… who taught you that?"

"...What?"

"That. The thing you did—when you synchronized your breathing technique with the movent of your spear. I don't rember teaching you that."

"Oh, that?" Ashen blinked, scratching the back of his head. "Kinda just… happened on its own while I was focusing on perfecting the thrust from the bracelet. Wasn't really thinking about it."

He looked as confused as the coach.

"…So yeah. I don't really know… Sorry?"

The coach stared at him for a long mont before muttering under his breath, "What a monster…"

Shaking his head, he sighed and rubbed his temples before motioning toward the exit.

"Alright, you've lingered here long enough. Go eat sothing… You must be starving."

"Yes, sir! See you tomorrow!"

Seizing the opportunity, Ashen threw him a quick salute before bolting out of the training ground.

The coach watched him go, a complicated expression settling over his face.

"Too bad… that trash mana capacity will hold him back. Otherwise, we would've had another monster on our side."

With a shake of his head, he turned and followed toward the exit.