Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation Chapter 6: One Year

Once every skirmish wrapped up, the awaited instant arrived for Rurik to declare the trial outcomes.

"Out of the forty assembled here today, twenty-six will turn into rookie soldiers."

"As I mentioned earlier, completing every test wasn't required. Simply demonstrate potential, and I'll forge you into true soldiers." Rurik's commanding voice resounded across the courtyard as he gestured at the chosen recruits.

Before long, just twenty-five youths lingered in the courtyard, the rest departing the barracks.

A few flashed wide, triumphant grins. Others hadn't wished to join, yet Rurik's warning against holding back had forced them to unleash their full effort.

"Now you must decide. Stay in your homes or the barracks. But report here at sunrise."

"No excuses. GOT IT?"

"GOT IT, CAPTAIN RURIK!" Their roar echoed even stronger.

"Excellent, training kicks off in two days. Dismissed!" Rurik commanded, spinning away from the group and striding toward the mess hall.

Once Rurik vanished from the recruits' view, the young men scattered from the barracks.

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The aroma of roasted meat and warm bread permeated the mess hall's air. It stood nearly deserted at the moment, save for four soldiers huddled in a corner, talking idly.

Across the room sat a boy who'd already devoured over ten loaves of bread, with several more piled on his table.

Kyrian felt thrilled; his stomach growled fiercely, and at last he could feast heartily. Truth be told, since his body abruptly gained immense power, his hunger had surged beyond normal levels.

Yet on the journey, he'd rationed his meals to mere sustenance. Now, he intended to savor every bite.

All the while, the guards' chatter drifted into his ears.

"How many do you reckon will make it through this round?" one remarked.

"I bet no more than fifteen, probably ten at best, same as always," another muttered sourly.

"Nah, things are different now. We desperately need reinforcements. Bandits have blocked our sole supply line. If this persists, famine will grip the city."

Kyrian munched steadily, absorbing each word.

'Bandits again... Rurik's so powerful, why can't he wipe them out?' he pondered with intrigue.

Right then, Rurik strode into the mess hall. The four soldiers saluted him with respect. He acknowledged them with a nod, then headed over and took a seat at Kyrian's table.

"I figure you'll bunk here in the barracks. A room's yours soon. You won't join the group sessions, but I'll handle your daily training myself."

"We begin at dawn tomorrow," Rurik added, eyeing the kid on his third loaf since arriving.

"Awesome, I'll hit the courtyard at first light," Kyrian replied, face blank but heart leaping with joy.

The remainder of the day flew by. Kyrian refused to lounge around; he roamed the entire barracks, exploring every nook in the two primary structures. Veteran soldiers eyed him warily.

Yet they quickly noticed that, childlike in looks alone, he neither behaved nor spoke like a typical kid. A touch naive now and then, but whenever something in the barracks caught his eye, he fired straightforward questions, no nonsense, persisting until his inquisitiveness waned.

Numerous troops fielded his queries on the city and soldiers' duties. Captain Rurik, however, endured the barrage most frequently.

Nightfall arrived, placing Kyrian in a modest chamber on the third floor of a barracks edifice. It featured a bed, closet, wooden stool, and desk. A manual detailing soldier rules and obligations lay there too.

Having scanned it, Kyrian promptly hit the sack.

His eyes fluttered open to lingering night, now faintly brightening. Oddly, he'd always roused at this hour since childhood.

He dashed from the room and plopped onto the courtyard ground, awaiting Rurik.

Some thirty minutes later, booming steps approached at last.

Kyrian's eyes snapped open; Rurik loomed before him, gripping two wooden staffs. He passed one to Kyrian, retaining the other.

"Hmph, you're here ahead of time—eagerness is a fine trait." Rurik started his lesson.

"Here's the plan. Normally, I kick off with body conditioning for rookies. You'll follow suit, though lighter than the rest."

"Your power's absurdly high already. No clue how a kid like you possesses it. Born that way?" Rurik inquired, intrigued.

"Actually, no, but from the moment I was born, I’ve seen these things all over the place. Take these spots right here, here, and here, for instance. I have no clue what these particles are, yet I’ve always drawn them into my eyes, and then suddenly one day, I grew much stronger, incredibly so." Kyrian explained honestly what occurred, gesturing at the scattered particles, wishing Rurik might recognize them.

"Particles?" Rurik questioned, puzzled, as he saw absolutely nothing.

"Yeah, I’ve seen them my whole life, but I’m clueless about what they might be. Do you have any idea?"

"No... I don’t know at all what they could be. But since they made you stronger, that’s truly amazing," Rurik replied, green with envy.

"I know just two paths to grow stronger: one involves pushing your muscles to their utmost limits. The other requires a martial arts technique combined with endless medicines to refine the body and turn into a martial artist."

"The latter demands rare talent that few possess. But I’m certain you have it. That’s precisely why I’ll work to make you a disciple under one of them." Rurik declared with excitement.

Though Kyrian didn’t grasp Rurik’s full meaning, he got that it led to greater strength, which thrilled him.

"Good. Let’s begin now—get up and come at me." Rurik instructed, holding out the stick.

Kyrian followed suit, yet Rurik’s eyes widened in shock upon seeing it.

Without delay, Kyrian stomped the ground fiercely, launching ahead swiftly while swinging his stick at Rurik.

Rurik lifted his own stick, blocking the blow completely and hurling Kyrian back through the air, his hand shaking a bit.

Despite the surprise, Rurik’s brow furrowed. He walked over to Kyrian’s side. Kyrian expected words of praise for his form and strike, but that wasn’t to be.

Rather than commend him, Rurik lightly smacked his head. It stung not at all, yet Kyrian couldn’t fathom the reason.

"Hey, why’d you hit me? I know I struck properly." Kyrian protested, a touch annoyed.

"You’re mimicking my moves from yesterday’s fight, right?" Rurik inquired, arms folded, ignoring the boy’s grumble.

Kyrian nodded in bewilderment.

"Kyrian, never repeat that. Your body differs totally from mine—lighter, with untrained muscles unlike mine, and above all, your smaller stature."

"My combat style doesn’t suit your frame one bit. Even if you were grown and copied it, that’d still prove unwise."

"Every body’s unique. Rather than imitate my actions precisely, grasp the purpose behind each motion, each muscle engaged. Then adjust it—tailor it to yourself, to your still-developing form." Rurik explained patiently for Kyrian’s benefit.

Kyrian cocked his head a little yet comprehended. True enough, copying Rurik’s move had replicated flawlessly what his eyes captured. Still, the strike hadn’t felt quite natural, though he’d assumed it perfect.

Closing his eyes next, he sensed his muscles. Eyes shut, he shifted, clutching the stick and swinging it back and forth.

Recalling Rurik’s motion then, he performed it once more.

This time, though, a subtle shift occurred. An observer might miss it, but Kyrian applied force differently, engaging varied muscles. The strike appeared identical, yet he’d flawlessly customized it for his comfort.

Observing nearby, Rurik barely kept his jaw from hitting the dirt.

’Damn, this kid’s truly... a monster,’ Rurik mused inwardly. He’d figured it’d take time for Kyrian to get it, even longer to execute, but the boy nailed it immediately.

"Is this it? Feels right now, I think I understand. Let’s test it—I’ll come at you again," Kyrian grinned, excited by the fresh insight.

Rurik eyed the boy and burst into laughter.

Thus, true training commenced.

***********************************

Weeks gradually passed from days. Kyrian outran all others. Outtrained everyone. Compact and sharply defined muscles now showed beneath his skin, small yet solid. His power rose steadily, though slower than desired.

His technique, however, skyrocketed at a ridiculous pace.

Possessing inhuman stamina, Kyrian practiced from dawn till dusk—and into night unless Rurik intervened. Plus, he absorbed knowledge of the city and beyond; Rurik shared all he knew.

Yet Kyrian cherished most the spars against Rurik.

At first, the captain went easy. Quick yet basic motions, power held in check.

Kyrian adapted fast—astonishingly so. His eyes captured every detail, his honed body responding with flawless accuracy.

He rapidly mastered control over his body, refusing to squander the immense edge his eyes bestowed in combat any longer.

Before long, their duels turned into a grand spectacle within the barracks. What began with simple sticks soon escalated to the use of iron spears.

Their clashes unfolded in blurs of speed so intense that the other soldiers struggled to follow along.

The moniker 'monster' and the widespread respect had already permeated every soldier, from veterans to newcomers alike.

Kyrian paid it no heed; his only drive was to keep advancing further and further.

In this way, a full year slipped by.