"Can you focus solely on the lecture for once?" The Cloud Woman, Muria's teacher, looked at him with a mix of exasperation and resignation. At the moment, a faint black and crimson mist swirled around Muria's body—an unmistakable sign that he was actively cultivating his power. This was a phenomenon unique to the Gayle royal family when they practiced their techniques.
"I'm listening," Muria replied calmly, his tone betraying no guilt. He glanced up at the former queen who had abdicated her throne simply because she found being a ruler too boring. While her attitude could seem frivolous, her capabilities as a teacher were beyond doubt.
She wasn't unqualified—quite the opposite. Her decision to step down stemmed from her incredible talent for ruling. With her extraordinary ability to see through people's emotions and intentions through subtle expressions and gestures, she had been an unparalleled monarch. But this same ability, which made her a master manipulator, eventually made the intricacies of ruling seem dull.
When Fernand, Muria's father, asked her to teach his son, she had agreed without much thought, viewing it as an entertaining way to kill time. But after a few lessons, she realized that teaching Muria was not what she had expected.
Muria was a model student—obedient, quick to grasp concepts, and needing minimal guidance. He excelled in everything she taught, often mastering lessons the first time they were explained.
Yet this perfection only served to frustrate her. Muria had developed a habit of practicing his cultivation techniques during her lessons. After the first session, where he had paid full attention, he began splitting his focus between listening to her lecture and refining his strength.
Initially, the Cloud Woman had been outraged and scolded him harshly. But Muria, unflinching, had argued that her lectures didn't require his full attention. According to him, he could absorb everything she taught while still dedicating most of his mental energy to his cultivation.
Testing his claim, she had quizzed him on the material, only to find that he could answer every question flawlessly. While his response left her speechless, it also left her with no grounds for complaint.
Determined to challenge him, she had increased the difficulty of her lessons. Yet no matter how advanced the topics became, Muria continued to multitask with ease, mastering both her lectures and his cultivation simultaneously.
While his aptitude was remarkable, it left the Cloud Woman feeling deeply vexed. After all, what teacher wouldn't be annoyed to see their student visibly distracted during class?
Thus, as Muria answered her question and returned to his dual pursuits, she could only sigh in frustration.
When the class ended, Muria left the treehouse that served as their classroom, heading off to his next session—a practical combat lesson.
The Cloud Woman watched him go, shaking her head. "As a teacher, where's my dignity in all this? I have to find a way to handle this situation."
That night, under a pale moon that bathed the mountain valley in silver light, the Cloud Woman gathered with her two fellow instructors in a modest hut. The elderly man, seemingly ordinary in every way, and the towering, iron-skinned giant sat across from her.
"So, how is your teaching going?" the Cloud Woman asked, breaking the silence.
"Not bad," the old man replied with a chuckle. "The boy's sharp. Anything I teach him, he picks up right away. Fernand certainly made a good choice."
"Decent," the giant muttered after some hesitation, scratching his bald head. Despite his imposing presence, he seemed somewhat subdued.
"Decent?" The Cloud Woman gave him a skeptical look. "Arnold is incredibly gifted, but his learning attitude leaves much to be desired. He's always cultivating during my lessons."
"But isn't the end result all that matters?" the old man interjected, smiling placidly. "You said yourself that he's already mastered everything you've taught. If that's the case, what harm does it do for him to multitask?"
"You wouldn't care—you're just teaching him a hodgepodge of random topics," the Cloud Woman retorted, rolling her eyes. She knew the old man's curriculum was a scattershot of astrology, geography, and other esoteric subjects, taught more for amusement than necessity.
The old man's lessons were hardly rigorous; in fact, they often felt more like storytelling sessions.
"Skills are important, but raw power is the foundation of everything," the giant cut in, his gravelly voice adding weight to his words. "If you don't have strength to back it up, all the knowledge in the world won't save you. In that sense, I think the boy's priorities are in the right place."
"And besides," the giant added, looking somewhat sheepish, "at least you still have something to teach him. I'm not even sure what to do anymore."
"Huh?" The Cloud Woman raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you say you were going to teach him battlefield tactics and how to lead armies to victory? What happened to that plan?"
"I found out the kid's combat instincts are terrifying," the giant admitted, his tone a mix of awe and frustration. "If anything, he could teach me a thing or two about fighting."
The Cloud Woman blinked in surprise.
"And as for strategy," the giant continued, "he seems to grasp everything just by reading a few books. There's really nothing left for me to teach him."
Hearing this, the Cloud Woman let out a humorless laugh. "Well, I guess that means I'm the lucky one. At least he still listens to me during class."
The giant shrugged. "Fair enough."
"But if that's the case, why do you keep taking him out into the wilderness every day?" the Cloud Woman asked, puzzled.
"For hunting. And eating," the giant replied matter-of-factly. Both he and Muria had voracious appetites, and living in this remote wilderness meant they had to catch their own food.
"So your so-called 'lessons' are just glorified cooking sessions?" The Cloud Woman's expression turned incredulous.
"Of course. Haven't you noticed how much he's been growing lately? The kid eats more every day."
"Do you think Fernand knows about this? If he does, maybe he brought you here not as a teacher, but as a personal chef for his son," the old man teased, his tone light but pointed.
The giant's face twitched, but he said nothing, his silence speaking volumes.
Time passed, and Muria settled into the rhythm of life in this secluded training ground. For him, the lessons were light work—more a formality than a challenge.
Fernand had intended for the training to push Muria to his limits, providing him with a grueling but rewarding childhood. Instead, it became little more than a casual pretext for Muria to gain access to the royal blood crystals.
The old man, acting as the crystals' custodian, doled them out as incentives for Muria's "progress." In reality, Muria needed no encouragement; he was already well ahead of any curriculum they could devise.
As Muria grew stronger with each absorbed crystal, the outside world continued to turn.
One day, at the entrance to the Great Valley—a natural gateway between the vast plains of the Gayle Kingdom and the uncharted lands beyond—a menacing black fog began to seep in from the outside.
The fog crept forward, devouring the life force of everything it touched. Verdant plants wilted into brittle husks; vibrant flowers lost their color, crumbling into dust.
Animals, sensing the unnatural threat, fled in terror. But not all were fast enough. Those caught by the fog collapsed, their bodies withering into grotesque, desiccated corpses.
And then, those corpses began to move.
Eyes glowing crimson, the reanimated husks staggered forward, their movements jerky and unnatural. They turned, as if guided by some unseen will, and began marching deeper into the valley.
The fog followed close behind, a harbinger of something far worse.
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