The centralized tap grew more and more familiar now. Each fraction of a turn, each tiny shift in the aperture, translated immediately into the precise amount of power flowing through my system.

I experimented, again and again, testing each increment. One swing with the tap barely open, then ten percent, then thirty, forty, seventy. Every time, I measured the speed, the strength, the feedback along my muscles.

And evidently, there was absolute no wastage, and the process was perfectly efficient. For example, the aperture being opened by 30% gave me 30% of my maximum power output, and cost me 30% of what a maximum-power channel would cost.

Each test left me a little drained, but the hum of the Amorphic Mana Core never faltered. It had become a steady heartbeat inside me, responding obediently to the commands I issued.

But eventually, the reservoir ran dry. My body shook slightly from the depletion, though my vitality was still far beyond that of any normal person. I leaned back against the cold stone of the courtyard's edge, closed my eyes, and let my chest rise and fall a few times before finally getting up to move---silently sliding back to my room, appreciating the quaint beauty of the city along the way.

The cub perked up as I entered, ears twitching, but upon seeing me slump onto the bed, it huffed softly and curled against my side. Its small warmth was grounding, an anchor after the intensity of my internal work.

Gerard's Axemanship Manual was in my hands before I even knew it, my eagerness to learn overflowing. The leather spine creaked slightly as I flipped it open, my fingers tracing the embossed letters on its cover, fingertips brushing over the yellowed pages.

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Silver-Rank Maneuvers

1. Swing Reversal: Instantaneously reverse the momentum of any strike or swing. Rather than relying on raw strength, the motion comes from precise redirection through the wrists and shoulders, letting the axe flow back along the original path to become an immediate counter.

2. Split Step: A common Silver Rank technique that allows the user to take a half-step in any direction during an attack. Begin the strike as normal, then shift your weight and reposition a foot in the chosen direction, maintaining full swing force.

3. Inverse Hook: A curved swing that starts as a standard slash but bends inward, like the hook of a fisherman's line. Use this to punish enemies who dodge toward you, particularly those wielding short blades, making even the space immediately around the user unsafe for your opponent.

4. Return Arc: Transform the recovery of a completed swing into the initialization of the next strike. Rather than letting the axe reset to rest, the user flows the blade through a natural arc, maintaining edge alignment and momentum.

5. Rising Moon: A pure, vertical slash that channels the strength of the legs, hips, and torso into the weapon to produce a moon-shaped arc through the air. Begin from guard, drive upward with the legs and spine, and let the axe follow a complete crescent path overhead and behind the body. The swing's follow-through carries so much force that even Swing Reversal cannot cancel it, and execution requires perfect synchronization of the lower and upper body.

//////////////////////////////////////

These forms are just fundamentally different to those I'd learnt in Bronze. Some of them seem more like passive techniques to be interspersed between strikes or within them, rather than separate strikes entirely. But it is undeniable that none of what these Sections describe can be performed by a Bronze Ranked Hunter.

I would know. All of these would have sent me sprawling into the ground, thrown off balance by my own movements, or by my weapon. And even assuming balance...there's absolutely no way the force behind any strikes that followed could be maintained.

The cub shifted, pressing closer, its warm body sinking into my side. I absently scratched behind its ear as I let the mana-augmented awareness take over, letting the it feed me the mechanics I needed. Memory that wasn't mine yet, knowledge that hadn't been earned through repetition, flooded my senses. It was clinical. Precise. Perfect.

Hours blurred. The cub's breathing synchronized with mine. The pages of the Manual offered no new secrets—they were guides, not teachers—but in my state, the subtle cues of each form were already being internalized in my dual awarenesses. I drifted, half-asleep, half-processing. By the time my eyelids finally gave out completely, I had folded plenty of knowledge into my ever-hungry curiosity.

I looked forward to tomorrow.

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The morning arrived suddenly, almost violently. The room glowed with intensity. The runes on the floor and walls, which had pulsed faintly through the night, now blazed as though ignited from the inside out.

The light was blinding. So much so, that closing my eyes did absolutely nothing.

It burned evenly through my eye-lids, washing the room in pure, unyielding illumination. Even the air seemed charged, thick with energy and an almost tactile, yet heatless pressure.

I splashed water across my face from the basin in the corner, letting it run over my skin, washing away the grogginess. Cold, grounding, yet not enough to dull the brilliance surrounding me. I opened the door, stepping out into the city, and the effect hit me in full. It wasn't just bright—it was daylight, though judging from the shafts of light raining down from above...the day seemed to have been artificially constructed.

My eyes wandered up to the dome lined with hundreds of crystals....that I now realized were lenses----each one reflecting and funneling sunlight from the surface down into the underground. Tens, maybe hundreds of golden shafts of light poured across streets and plazas, illuminating the city as clearly as any aboveground morning.

The city pulsed with life. Vendors called out across stone streets, teaching apprentices shouted corrections, and the sounds of children laughing and running echoed through alleyways. Traders moved goods, a rhythmic clatter of carts on stone. Every inch of the city was alive. And yet, the beauty was more than visual—the entire ecosystem of life, movement, and energy radiated a subtle harmony in me. I breathed it in, absorbing the calm.

It is nice. To be amongst people.

The cub remained asleep in my room. A light smile tugged at my lips. Unlike me, it had no gift of unnatural regeneration. Stamina was limited for me, yes, but my gift made it so the pool was much larger compared to even Gold Ranks. Every step I had taken to arrive here had been grueling for the beast, draining its very normal stamina. This current slumber was earned, earned through labor and endurance that I could scarcely imagine without the lens of my own abilities.

I paused, then asked a passing resident how to adjust the rune brightness in the rooms. Surely it wouldn't be kept that way against the will of residents...I felt bad for the cub.

But luckily, it wasn't the case. The passer-by pointed to an unlit rune near the door and instructed me to tap it three times. I complied, the room dimming to a more reasonable glow. The cub stirred slightly but remained curled up, undisturbed.

I equipped my harness, clipped the greataxe to my back, and stepped back into the city. My boots made soft echoes against the polished stone streets as I moved with purpose. The Courtyard of Tenacity awaited.

-------------------------------------

I arrived to find the Chieftain standing there in the center of the grand courtyard, in the exact spot I had chosen for my own activities the night before. His hair, stark white, streamed behind him in the breeze that rolled faintly through the courtyard. Beast-hide armor covered his broad frame, thick enough to suggest barbaric strength yet meticulously maintained. Silver eyes, sharp as blades, locked onto me the moment I entered his sight.

I smiled, expectant.

I did not break my pace.

My axe felt solid on my back, its familiar weight both a comfort and a last resort all at once. The courtyard felt smaller to me now. It felt...encroaching. Like no matter how far out I ran along its edges, this man standing in the center would reach me with ease....and end me with ease even greater.

I gulped. Just what Rank is he?

Intisak said nothing. Just held the stare. It was measured, unsettling, and clearly deliberate. I felt my heartbeat slow under the quiet intensity. Every fiber of me tuned to him, muscles coiling, both minds blaring at full awareness, expecting both everything and nothing.

He moved then, circling around the courtyard, steps light across the black stone tiles.

Seconds passed as we observed each other, my axe coming off its harness instinctively.

He smiled at the sight of that reaction, and finally spoke.

"A suitable reaction, for one in your position."

He continued to circle me for a moment, then spoke once more, his tone professing.

"Every sculptor must understand their materials."

He stopped in place, eyes crinkling in amused excitement.

"Come," he said, raising his hand in a taunting motion, "Before I shape you, I must first learn yours."

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