{A/N: As you all may have noticed, this is an Egyptian-themed cultivation novel. "Renka" is the equivalent to spirit/spiritual. So, if I say renka root, then just know I mean spirit root. Or if I say renka energy, it could be interpreted as spirit energy or spiritual energy depending on context. That's all. I also made an auxiliary chap with the cultivation realms that pretty much follow the normal cultivation realms. That's all!}
***
Morning light filtered through the windows, waking Carter as usual. He stretched and pushed through his morning routine— a light workout, shower, and breakfast preparations— then headed to the kitchen, where he felt that distinct, unsettling presence behind him.
He glanced back, finding nothing but feeling that odd sense of unseen eyes. He shook it off, though, deciding not to indulge his imagination.
With breakfast cooked and ready, he took a plate upstairs, knocking lightly before stepping into the room where the young woman was. She didn't turn as he entered, her eyes locked on the window, staring off as though she could see something miles away.
"Morning," Carter greeted her warmly, handing her the plate. Without glancing back, she accepted the plate he extended, eating in silence. She devoured the food with that familiar, intense focus, as if each bite were a meditation. Carter chuckled under his breath.
"You know, a 'thanks' or even a nod wouldn't hurt." She ignored him, yet Carter wasn't bothered. Eventually, she would open up someday, or maybe she wouldn't. Either way, she would remain a mystery, and he was okay with that for now.
Finishing her meal, she set the plate aside and returned to staring into the distance. Carter picked up her empty plate and left the room with a small nod. Downstairs, the silence was comforting and familiar.
Later that afternoon, the door to the training yard swung open, and out stepped Uncle Ket, freshly returned from his mysterious journey.
Rushing back from To Carter's eyes, Uncle Ket appeared… different. The man seemed stronger, more alive. It was subtle but noticeable. His sharp eyes missed nothing.
"Old man, you finally decided to come home?" Carter said, smirking. "What happened? Did you run out of places to sleep?"
He snickered. "Every dog must return home when it's on its last leg."
A flare of indignation crossed Uncle Ket's face. "Brat, you've got a sharp tongue," he shot back, his eyes glinting. "Let me show you just how lively this old dog can be!"
Without warning, Uncle Ket moved in, closing the distance between them faster than Carter expected.
Before he could react, Uncle Ket's fist collided with his chest, a seemingly light blow. Yet, it sent a jolt through Carter's entire body, like an iron weight dropped onto his chest that paralyzed him where he stood.
Carter blinked, feeling his body seize up as if weighed down by an invisible force. His legs locked, his arms hung uselessly, and the world spun.
For a second, he could do nothing but stand there, frozen in place.
A crisp thump echoed in the entryway, and Carter realized the punch wasn't heavy at all. It had merely created the illusion of force.
The tension broke, and Carter burst into laughter.
"Old man, what was that?" he said between laughs. "You didn't even—"
Before he could finish, his chest tightened suddenly, as if an unseen fist struck the same spot again. Breathless, he clutched his chest, his lungs straining, pain blooming as if he were having a heart attack.
Uncle Ket crossed his arms, watching calmly. "Now, that is the essence of precision, Ahmoset. This 'trick' is quite painful, right?," he asked, a smirk on his face.
He gave Carter a solid pat on the back, guiding him to the floor to recover from the force of the blow.
After a grueling few minutes, Carter managed to catch his breath, his heart still throbbing painfully. "What… was that?" he gasped, looking at his uncle with wide eyes. "Did you hit some acupoint? I nearly died!"
Uncle Ket chuckled, his grin unyielding. "That, my dear Ahmoset, is just a small trick of martial technique; a technique I learned long ago. And you're finally ready to learn it yourself. You're old enough now. Sixteen is when you step into true training."
Still clutching his chest, Carter tried to process it. Martial training? This was new. He glanced at Uncle Ket, his mind racing with questions.
'This has to be more than simple martial arts,' Carter thought. 'This can't just be normal training. There's no way you can do something like that without some deeper understanding or technique.'
Realization settled into his mind, and he thought back to all the oddities he'd encountered here, each one piling onto his suspicions. This world is… something else.
As his breathing steadied, Carter looked up, fire in his eyes. The opportunity was too enticing to pass up.
He dashed to his uncle, clasping his shoulders, practically bouncing in excitement. "Uncle Ket, you have to teach me this! Whatever that was, I need to know. Don't hold back now!"
Uncle Ket smiled knowingly. "Of course, Ahmoset. I'll show you everything you're ready to handle."
The training begins.
Uncle Ket arrived on the training ground every morning like a storm, a whirlwind of scathing remarks and relentless drills. He didn't just train Carter; he broke him down with the intensity of a drill sergeant whose goal was to mold something far tougher than he had begun with.
"Look alive, brat!" he'd shout from across the field, his voice cutting through the early morning mist like a blade. "You call that a stance? Your aunty has a better than you do!"
Carter would adjust his position, only for Uncle Ket to push him over with a flick to the shoulder, sending him sprawling into the dirt. "Just what I thought. Unbalanced, Ahmoset. This stance is not for dancing, brat."
As Carter stumbled to his feet, Uncle Ket was already barking out another order. "Push-ups! I want to see the ground shake! And don't you better not let those chicken feet elbows flare out."
By the second week, Carter could barely stand at the end of each session, every muscle burning.
But Uncle Ket was relentless, standing over him with arms crossed, his face a mixture of mock disappointment and hidden amusement.
"Kid, I'm starting to think I've been cursed with the weakest nephew in all of Maatra," he'd mutter, shaking his head. "You think a couple of push-ups and punches will make you a warrior?"
Carter gritted his teeth as he kept pushing through the pain, pushing through the exhaustion.
The first time he dared to mutter a complaint, Uncle Ket was on him in an instant.
"What was that?" Uncle Ket demanded, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Did the great Ahmoset have something to say? Because last I checked, the only people who get to talk in this training ground are the ones who can actually stand up straight."
One day, when Carter had dared to show a hint of frustration, Uncle Ket walked over with a bemused grin. "You look tired, brat. You know what we call people who get tired in the middle of training?"
Carter blinked, barely able to lift his head. "What… what do you call them?"
Uncle Ket smirked, leaning in close. "Night, night."
With those words, he reached back and punched Carter back in the jaw. "You're slower than a tortoise, nephew! My grandmother's teapot is faster! If you're this slow, you may as well serve your head up to your enemies on a silver platter."
And just when Carter thought he couldn't handle any more, Uncle Ket would get close, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "One day, when the real fights start, there'll be no one there to hold you up when you fall. Remember that."
Finally, after weeks of this torment, Uncle Ket stepped back one evening, nodding with a rare glimmer of pride in his eyes. "You're coming along faster than I expected. I might just have to start teaching you something real."
Carter managed a half-smile, too exhausted for anything else. "So… I'm finally a proper student?"
Uncle Ket chuckled, the hardness in his gaze softening just a bit. "Not yet, brat. But soon."