The sun set and the moon rose as Finn leaned against the railing, gazing up at the sky and relishing the rare moment of coolness.
As the days passed, Finn's remarkable adaptability and resilience astounded the gladiators in the elite arena. Augustus increased the training intensity every day, yet Finn seemed to grow increasingly at ease. Although the sweltering heat still made him look frail under the sun, he completed each training task faster than anyone else. In the evenings, he didn't crash into bed as he used to; instead, he would stare at the night sky, savoring the coolness that captivated him.
"It seems this little guy has nearly recovered; it's truly astonishing. Even a typical 'cold-blooded creature' can't compare. It's a gift from the gods," Aelric remarked, continuing to observe Finn intently every day.
"Here." Aelric pulled a metal rod from a pile of straw and tossed it toward Finn's cell. The rod, about the width of a bowl, wedged itself between the bars, bending them as it got stuck.
Finn turned to look at Aelric and took his time to rise. The rod was about a meter long, with a grip of fifteen centimeters. Finn grasped the handle and tested it with a bit of force, but the rod didn't budge, firmly trapped between the iron bars.
Finn raised an eyebrow and glanced up at Aelric, who was smirking. Realizing that Aelric had intentionally wedged the rod, a chill surged through him. Was it anger? A defiant rage. While anger might blaze like fire for others, for Finn, it was a cold, ruthless fury.
He gripped the handle tightly, summoning all his strength to pull the rod free, but no matter what he did, it wouldn't budge.
Considering that Finn had trained for over a month, his strength had greatly increased, and his explosive power was beyond compare, yet he couldn't extract a simple rod tossed casually by Aelric.
"Hahaha, what are you doing, little one?" Aelric chuckled at Finn's awkward struggle.
Finn shot Aelric a glance but remained silent.
"What are you doing?" Aelric's tone shifted, his expression hardening as he asked coldly.
Finn continued to stare at Aelric, unresponsive.
"Answer me," Aelric commanded, his voice low and tense.
"Pull out the rod," Finn replied, his voice steady despite the pressure from Aelric.
"Pull out? That's quite an ambitious word," Aelric said, studying Finn for a long moment before continuing. "But if you think you can simply use brute strength to yank it free, then I suggest you give up. That would disappoint me greatly. Only a fool relies on sheer force. As a warrior, you need to use your mind, your technique, and your spirit to drive your body. Channel your strength into a point, like a claw, and strike swiftly at the vital areas. Your task is to hit, pierce, and tear. Your purpose is destruction. Do you understand? Destruction, not mindless brute force!"
Watching Aelric's furious outburst, not only Finn but also the other gladiators were taken aback. This was a side of Aelric they had never seen before—one that could actually get emotionally charged.
Gradually, Finn's chest began to rise and fall, as an impulse surged within him, a long-buried coldness mixing with the warmth of his blood, pounding against his heart. "Thump, thump," each beat released a chill.
Suddenly, Finn sprang into action, charging directly at the iron bar that held the rod captive. Though he was violently rebounded, he immediately regained his footing and launched himself forward again.
"Are you kidding me?" The other gladiators couldn't help but rise, leaning over the railing to watch the small figure continually assaulting the bars. They weren't astonished by his reckless actions or the results—which, aside from some bloodstains, left the bars unscathed—but rather by Finn's movements. The fluidity of his actions, the astonishing speed of his bursts, and his relentless drive to continue attacking despite the pain, as well as his capacity to endure the rebounds of the iron bars—all of these aspects amazed the experienced and discerning gladiators.
Creaking, the door to the arena opened slowly, and Pommai, drenched in sweat, walked in. Like the others, he was instantly drawn to the white figure flitting about in the far corner of the cell.
"Bang, bang…" Finn's relentless strikes began to evolve. Initially, he targeted the entire length of the bar indiscriminately, but gradually, he focused on specific points, increasing his accuracy until every attack landed on the same spot.
"That's quite a sturdy nail," the convict remarked, squinting his eyes slightly at Finn with a faint smile.
Finn kept attacking, leaping forward with his fingers pressed together, resembling the tip of a spear as his nails glimmered coldly toward the iron bar, which had started to show cracks.
"Bang!" The bar seemed to tremble, sending Finn flying backward. Yet, he refused to give up. In mid-air, he twisted his body, using the railing behind him to propel himself forward with astonishing speed once more.
"Bang, clatter!" The iron bar snapped, the rod losing its support and crashing to the ground.
Breathless, Finn raised his icy gaze to Aelric, then extended his bloodied hands to grasp the handle of the rod, dragging it back to lean against the railing.
Aelric nodded with a smile, a wave of emotion washing over him.
"Extraordinary," Aelric thought to himself. "Each strike chips away at the target's defenses, then he unleashes a flurry of blows before the sound even has time to echo. Although he can't complete a third strike, he compensates with powerful bursts to support his second. This isn't a strategy he could have devised; it's instinct, a natural ability."
"Is this the potential that captivates Aelric? From indiscriminate attacks, he gradually identifies his target's weaknesses and selects the most advantageous point to strike. That observation, that speed, that accuracy, and the determination to seize the opportunity—such traits are nothing short of miraculous for a child with no foundation," Elijah exchanged a glance with Brute, and both recognized the shock in each other's eyes.
"Bang!" Just as the gladiators were in awe, the door to the arena slammed shut. They turned their attention to the source of the noise, watching as the wooden door swung creakily after slamming into the frame. Pommai, who had been standing there moments before, had vanished.