Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation Chapter 339: New Teachers (3)

The three weeks within the military encampment of the Blood Court vanished in the blink of an eye.

The sun, or rather, the dim light that passed for it under the perpetually dark skies of the Northern Territory, rose and set countless times. Each dawn found Kyrian positioned precisely at the heart of the training grounds, awaiting his twenty pupils.

They would arrive in a flurry of motion, some still struggling to adjust their attire, others already with hands securely bound, poised for the day's rigorous exercises. Not a single one dared to be late. During the initial week, two had faltered, arriving past the appointed hour. Kyrian offered no reprimand, no harsh discipline. His gaze simply met theirs for a prolonged moment, a silent communication that ensured punctuality thereafter.

Kyrian acknowledged he could not impart the Court's specialized techniques; he himself did not employ them, and a mere three weeks would yield little progress.

Mastering techniques required months of dedicated practice and years for true perfection. His instruction, therefore, focused on something more fundamental, something truly vital.

He would teach them the art of combat.

"The bedrock of any engagement is your fundamental stance," Kyrian declared, his voice resonating as he strode amongst the disciplined ranks of his disciples.

"A formidable technique wielded without a solid foundation is akin to a razor-sharp blade placed in the grasp of a mere child. While it possesses the potential for harm, it is far more likely to inflict injury upon its wielder."

His crimson eyes meticulously scanned each posture, each subtle shift in breath, each silent flow of Qi. Nothing escaped his notice.

"You," he addressed a slender youth with raven-black hair.

"Your left shoulder is elevated compared to your right. This asymmetry introduces needless strain along your spinal column. In an extended confrontation, this persistent tension will inevitably impede your agility."

The youth adjusted his posture, surprised by the keen observation of such a minute detail.

"You," his attention shifted to a young woman positioned in the rear rank.

"Your respiration is shallow. You are retaining air within your lungs rather than allowing it to circulate freely. Qi is intrinsically linked to breath; constricted breathing results in stagnant Qi."

She consciously exhaled, then inhaled deeply, instantly perceiving the shift. The Qi that had felt sluggish within her meridians now flowed with noticeable ease.

"You," he indicated a powerfully built young man at the forefront.

"Your stance is excessively wide, sacrificing nimbleness for perceived stability. This broader base will render you vulnerable against a swifter adversary, hindering your ability to track their movements."

The young man narrowed the distance between his feet, initially feeling unfamiliar, but soon experiencing a heightened sense of maneuverability.

Correction followed correction, adjustment upon adjustment. Kyrian's endurance seemed limitless, his perceptive gaze unwavering.

During the first week, the disciples displayed awkward individualism. By the second, a nascent sense of cohesion began to emerge. As the third week commenced, Kyrian deemed it time for a practical assessment.

"All of you, face me," he announced, resuming his central position on the platform.

"You are permitted to employ all that you have assimilated. You may engage as a cohesive unit. Feel free to attempt to encircle me. Strive to land a blow."

The twenty disciples exchanged glances. Twenty individuals against one. The prospect appeared deceptively simple.

It proved anything but.

Kyrian weaved through their formations with the fluidity of a phantom. Every offensive maneuver they initiated met only empty space. Each attempt to trap him was effortlessly circumvented by a precisely placed step, a nimble dodge, an unexpected pivot. He offered no counterattacks, focusing solely on evasion.

His hands remained clasped serenely behind his back.

The disciples launched another assault, a synchronized surge employing the flanking strategies Kyrian himself had imparted.

Kyrian merely took a single step forward and executed a fluid turn.

The evasion was so subtle that the majority of the disciples failed to register the shift. Abruptly, their formation dissolved into disarray, their strikes colliding harmlessly with each other, exposing vulnerabilities that Kyrian, had he chosen to, could have exploited with ease.

Not a single disciple managed to graze his person.

The engagement concluded after five minutes. Kyrian finally ceased his movements, leaving the twenty disciples panting, some collapsed on the ground, others supporting themselves on their knees. None had succeeded in landing a hit.

"You have demonstrated progress," Kyrian stated, his assessment devoid of artifice.

"However, considerable potential for further development remains."

The disciples regarded him with a transformed perspective. The lingering fear had been supplanted by genuine respect.

From that juncture forward, the training regimen intensified. The disciples arrived earlier and departed later, dedicating themselves to ceaseless repetition of fundamental drills: stances, breath control, Qi circulation, evasive maneuvers, and basic offensive actions. Kyrian provided unflagging guidance and correction.

Gradually, a palpable transformation took hold.

A youth named Lian, who had initially struggled to maintain a proper sword grip in Kyrian's estimation, now handled his blade with practiced firmness. A young woman named Yu, who had previously exhibited apprehension towards physical engagement, now executed her attacks with newfound confidence.

A young man named Feng, whose demeanor had been marked by arrogance and inattention, now absorbed Kyrian's every utterance with rapt concentration.

While natural aptitude varied, and some certainly outshone others, every disciple experienced improvement. All underwent an evolution.

As the third week drew to a close, Kyrian surveyed his twenty charges, experiencing a sensation akin to profound satisfaction. While they had not yet attained the status of seasoned warriors, nor approached his personal definition of 'strength', they had undeniably transcended their initial novice status.

They had acquired the essential knowledge of how to fight.

...

The span of three weeks was not solely dedicated to physical training.

Kyrian also allocated time for discussions and interactions with Bai Zhu and the other members of their circle.

Dong Zhen had previously mentioned Kyrian’s impending departure, prompting everyone to cherish their final moments together, uncertain of when, or even if, they would reunite.

Mei Li demonstrated this sentiment most profoundly.

For several days, she would wake Kyrian before the sun rose, knocking on his door just as she had done back in the Cloud Empire when they resided together in the Crimson Lotus Residence.

As Kyrian opened his door, she would be there, already adorned in her attire, her eyes gleaming in the pre-dawn gloom.

"Still asleep?" she would inquire, fully aware that Kyrian had been awake for hours.

"You know I'm not.

"Then come."

She would then enter his room, settling onto the bed, a stone chair, or sometimes just the floor, her back against the wall. Kyrian would join her.

Their conversations would span any topic that came to mind.

Mei Li would speak of her disciples, detailing their varied personalities—some wilful, others diligent. Kyrian would share his own experiences with his disciples.

Mei Li would discuss her aspirations, her desire to grow more powerful, travel extensively, and explore the world.

Kyrian would talk about the Central Territory, outlining his expectations of formidable powers, ancient relics, and trials that would truly test his capabilities.

Typically, Mei Li led these discussions, with Kyrian offering his responses. Yet, he found no displeasure in this arrangement.

During these final weeks preceding the journey to the Central Territory, these morning dialogues served as a tranquil interlude before the rigorous training, inevitable battles, and eventual goodbyes.

On one such morning, Mei Li fell into a prolonged silence. Kyrian offered no query, understanding she would speak when the moment felt right.

"I will miss you," she finally confessed, her gaze not meeting his.