Another time, when she threw a powerful punch, he locked her arm mid-motion and redirected her momentum. His movements were sharp, efficient, and deceptive.

After several exchanges, Samantha stopped striking altogether and began practicing counter-holds instead.

Ash, though exhausted, slipped out of most of them with skill and precision—except the few that required brute strength to escape.

He soon realized she had exceptional body control and knew exactly when to stop her strength. She was a master at restraint—making the spar an exchange of combat style rather than destruction.

"Is it necessary to bend it at a ninety-degree angle?" Samantha asked curiously.

"Not really," Ash replied between breaths. "But when you force a joint against its natural direction, there are only two outcomes—it either won't budge or it'll break completely. That's not the goal of this technique. The goal is submission, not killing or destruction.

If you ever face someone equal in strength, forcing it to 180 degrees will take too much power. The ideal angle is between fifty to one-thirty degrees."

Samantha nodded seriously, like a dedicated student taking in every word.

"I've shown you most of the holding styles," Ash continued, wiping sweat from his face. "But nearly every hold has a counter—except for a few lethal ones that don't give you time to react."

He was drenched in sweat, his stamina nearly drained, while Samantha looked completely fine, given her superior stats.

"Hmm… I noticed how you escaped some of my holds, but honestly, if I used full strength, you wouldn't have gotten away," she said.

"Wow… Miss Obvious," Ash smirked. "I am not your opponent; you will fight those of your own level."

"Yeah… I forgot that!" Samantha laughed heartily.

Ash bit his tongue. Maybe he'd gone too far, but she didn't seem offended. She really was just a brute who lived for battle.

Still, one thing was certain—she was a genius at fighting. Barely two hours had passed, and she'd already grasped an entirely new combat style.

"Teach me that too!" Samantha blurted out, her excitement flaring again.

Ash grabbed his head, on the verge of tears.

"I'm tired. Maybe we can continue tomorrow," he said, mustering all his courage.

The light in her eyes dimmed with disappointment, but seeing his condition, she reluctantly agreed.

Ash didn't wait another second. The moment she nodded, he bolted out of the arena before she could change her mind.

"Your gift we talked about..." Before Samantha could say anything, he was already gone.

Ash walked out, taking a breath of relief. In the beginning, he was bored, but when he noticed her speed of learning, he became eager to teach her.

"Tch... she doesn't know human limits," Ash laughed. He couldn't deny it was an enjoyable session. But he had other plans; he couldn't waste so much time teaching someone else. He still had to learn the other seven fundamental runes.

If he considered twelve hours for every rune, then it would take four days for him to conquer them all.

"Come this way," a girl in simple clothes said, waiting outside the arena.

"Sir asked me to show you the room," she added, leading the way.

Ash followed her, noticing an extra sway in her walk. She was swinging her hips left to right, almost deliberately.

Ash didn't like the way it was happening.

Slowly they reached a room, and as he followed her inside, he saw Luther giving him a thumbs-up from afar.

Ash entered the room, noticing its simple yet luxurious design and a large bed in the middle.

The girl looked at him, bending over, revealing her voluptuous curves more evidently.

"If you need anything—anything—you can tell me," she said, circling her fingers on his chest.

For some reason, Ash understood what Luther wanted to do. He was young and full of vigor, and it was clear he didn't have control over his impulses.

And if Ash was right, this was a way to distance him and Jessie—at least cutting all possibilities of romance between them.

Ash was amused by his cunning personality. But he didn't know it wasn't just a sixteen-year-old boy—it was a twenty-year-old man who had deceived the world in his previous life.

"Of course, can you..." Ash paused, grabbing her wrist firmly, then slowly took a step forward, forcing her to step back until she was pinned against the door. Then he opened the door, pushing her out. "Can you get out—and don't disturb me."

Ash shut the door in her face and got into bed.

He brought the box out, grabbing the Glyph Seed in his hand. His consciousness dived into the eternal abyss.

He looked at the gate he had already conquered, then entered the next gate.

He felt almost nostalgic, realizing the similar situation. He was unable to comprehend the meaning of this strange character. All he could see were lines crossing each other in strange ways.

But this time, he didn't need to wait to get exhausted. He could feel his luck guiding him through the process—slowly, but in a positive direction.

Despite feeling it, the more he chased it, the farther it went from him.

The faint hum of energy flickered in the back of his mind. The previous rune he'd studied had a structure—something rigid, like a lock waiting for the right key. But this one was different.

This one moved.

Not in lines or patterns, but like water slipping through fingers—not resisting, not stopping, but adapting.

He reached for it, and it slipped away. He forced it, and it vanished completely.

After a long attempt, he stopped trying—and when he least expected it, he felt it—a soft current running through the air, subtle but constant.

The rune was Flow. Once he grasped its meaning, its essence followed—like the word itself—without any extra effort.

"Movement isn't power," he thought. "It's permission."

Flow didn't fight the world—it followed it.

It wasn't about pushing energy forward but guiding it where it already wanted to go.

A blade cuts because it moves. A river shapes stone because of its continuous flow.

His mind unraveled the layers one by one.

The rune wasn't about speed—it was about continuity. A perfect transition from one state to another, without interruption.

Even stillness was part of Flow. The pause between breaths, the instant between attacks—they weren't empty. They were part of a bigger system, a natural flow.

"Flow," he murmured, eyes opening, "isn't about moving… it's about never stopping."

As he thought this was the end of its essence, it continued to flow—as its name implied.

Every movement he made, every battle he fought, every gesture or action he took felt crude, forced—almost artificial.

He had gotten the idea, now it was upto him to put the flow in his movements. He was sure it would greatly improve his combat strength.

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