The private training ground of the Walker Clan was not made for show. It is hidden behind the main compound, at the end of a corridor that most visitors to the Walker Clan never get to see. This large, enclosed area is surrounded by the sa black stone walls that characterise the rest of the Walker Clan's estate. Decades of rigorous training have packed the ground so tightly that in the areas where footwork has been most common, it is taken on a stone-like quality.
The training gear along the edges revealed specific wear patterns, showcasing the items that had been regularly used and maintained without any sentint—replaced when they broke and kept until they were completely worn out. The sky above in the early morning was a pale, cold blue, the type of morning sky that ca in colourless and stayed just long enough for those who had sowhere significant to be.
Zilton Walker stood at the centre, arms crossed, fully engaged in what was unfolding before him. He was not just watching; he was absorbing every detail, his focus unwavering. Dressed in practical robes that were darker than his formal attire, he felt the chill of the morning air, which made his clothing move less.
His pale light brown eyes shifted between the two figures facing each other in the centre of the ground, observing with a depth that ca from years of honing his ability to see what others might miss. Then, Harvey Walker made the first move.
At twenty-three, he embodied the classic Walker physique—tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair kept short. His face reflected a focused intensity, a look that suggested he had been raised with the expectation that being exceptional was just the starting point, and he had made the choice early on to go along with that rather than fight it.
When he entered the training ground, his power was imdiately evident—direct and precise, built on the principle that enough force aid at the right target could wrap up most situations before they spiraled out of control. His Iron Collapse Fist at the Advanced Stage was anything but subtle. It was crafted to make a statent. Aaden Walker ca in from the left.
Twenty years old, leaner than his brother by a margin that was imdiately apparent even before either of them moved, with a quickness in his body that was visible even at rest—the particular readiness of soone whose cultivation had developed lateral awareness as its primary quality rather than raw output.
Where Harvey occupied the space he was in, Aaden moved through space, his Current Flow Step at Advanced Stage making his positioning constantly slightly different from where it had been a half-second ago, without announcing the transition. His face was sharper in its angles than Harvey's, his eyes carrying a watchfulness that operated on a wider field—not focused on the single point directly ahead but taking in the edges of the situation simultaneously.
They went through the exchange twice, with Zilton quietly observing their battle both tis. Then, he finally chid in.
For Harvey, the power output was creating a noticeable setup in the half-second leading up to his commitnt. It was not massive, but it was sufficient. In this training scenario against his brother, it did not hold much weight. But against soone who had dedicated a month to mastering their ability to read setups, it would be a ga-changer.
Aaden, on the other hand, demonstrated excellent lateral awareness, using it reactively. If he could integrate that awareness into his positioning before he even started moving, instead of just responding to the action, he could bridge that half-second gap between reading and acting. Both of these corrections were made without a word.
By the third exchange, they were both in sync—Harvey's setup was cleaner, and Aaden had already adjusted his positioning before the exchange reached its pivotal mont.
Zilton watched the third exchange end. He said three words to both without distinguishing between them. Tomorrow is real.
Then he turned and walked back toward the compound corridor without looking back. His footsteps crossed the packed ground and disappeared into the building's interior. The corridor swallowed the sound of them. Harvey and Aaden stood in the training ground after they left.
The morning light had fully arrived while the session ran—pale gold now across the upper edges of the black stone walls, the ground between them fully lit, the cold air beginning to thin as the day established itself. Neither of them spoke. The month had said what needed to be said.
Tomorrow will say the rest. Harvey Walker — Spirit Root Realm Level 7 Mid Stage. Iron Collapse Fist — Advanced Stage. Boulder Shift — Mid Stage.
Aaden Walker — Spirit Root Realm Level 6 Mid Stage. Splitting Wind Blade — Mid Stage. Current Flow Step — Advanced Stage.
Magical City had co to life. Not in the usual way cities do—slowly waking up district by district, lane by lane, easing into the morning like a sleepy giant. No, this was different. The buzz from the competition announcent had been stirring the city for a month, and now, the effects were unmistakable, visible in every direction all at once.
The outer lanes, typically serene before the second hour of the morning, were anything but quiet. Cultivators had been trickling in for days—independents journeying solo or in small packs, representatives from minor clans in nearby areas, and rchants who flocked to competition events like water flowing to the lowest point, drawn by the promise of bustling crowds and the spending that followed.
The main street running through the heart of the city was bustling with foot traffic like it had not been in years. Vendor stalls that had barely stocked their goods last season were now brimming with products, so even spilling over onto the sidewalk. Along the eastern market stretch, new temporary structures had popped up—quickly built and practical, filling in every little gap between the permanent buildings, showcasing that unique, makeshift vibe of comrce that often outpaces the infrastructure. The scent of the city had transford.
More fires were crackling, more food sizzling for longer hours. It was that rich, layered aroma of a place teeming with more people than it usually accommodated. At the southern edge of the city, the tree line of the Forbidden Forest had beco a destination for those wanting to take a closer look. Groups of cultivators gathered at the edge in the morning light, gazing at the dark, dense mass of trees as if they were about to embark on an adventure and wanted to grasp what lay ahead. So pointed toward the forest's depths, while others simply stood in contemplation.
The city felt vibrant in a way it had not in ages—not chaotic, but alive with the energy of a place that had finally found its purpose.
Thank you for your support and for being a reader of this book. Please continue supporting and enjoying it. More powerful stories and golden monts are yet to co/ Also provide Power Stone and Golden Ticket.
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