After a brief pause, Lennox glanced at Garrick. "Will this method actually help me progress through the apprentice ranks?"
Garrick gave a single nod. "Yes."
That simple confirmation sent a jolt of excitement through Lennox.
"The Titanbone Method will do more than just reinforce your foundation," Garrick continued. "If practiced diligently, it will strengthen your body enough to progress through the sub-ranks of Rank 0, all the way to the Peak Stage of the Apprentice Realm."
Lennox exhaled sharply. He had already felt the effects of the Emberbrew Ale strengthening his body over the past month. He had stepped past the threshold into the Primary Stage of an Apprentice, though just barely. But now—now he had a real path forward. If he combined his steady intake of magical drinks with proper warrior training, he could actually advance.
For the first time since arriving in this world, he felt a genuine sense of progress.
His mind raced with possibilities, but Garrick simply raised a hand, motioning for him to calm down.
"Before we begin, you need to understand what makes a warrior art effective," the warrior said. His tone was patient but firm. "It's not just about throwing punches or having raw strength. True warrior arts are built upon three fundamental pillars."
Lennox straightened, listening intently.
Garrick held up a single finger. "First—Visualization."
"Visualization?" Lennox echoed.
Garrick nodded. "Your mind shapes your body. Every warrior art has a corresponding mental image—one that directs the way power flows through your body. If you can't see it in your mind, you can't manifest it in your body."
Lennox furrowed his brows. That made sense, in a way. It was similar to what he had read about magic—how mages used mental constructs to shape spells. So, warrior training wasn't just brute force. It had a conceptual layer to it.
Garrick lifted a second finger. "Second—Breathing."
Lennox tilted his head slightly. "Breathing?"
"A warrior's breath is his control. Power isn't just about muscles—it's about rhythm. A proper breathing pattern fuels your endurance, strengthens your strikes, and helps your body circulate energy more efficiently."
Garrick's sharp gaze locked onto Lennox. "Mastering the breathing technique of a warrior art is what separates a true fighter from a mere brawler."
Lennox nodded slowly. Visualization. Breathing. Got it.
Then Garrick raised his third finger. "And finally—Movement."
This part, Lennox had expected.
"The Titanbone Method is a full-body training technique," Garrick continued. "It consists of precise strikes, controlled footwork, and explosive bursts of power. The movements forge your muscles, refine your control, and prepare your body for the eventual awakening of chi."
Lennox's eyes widened slightly at that. Awakening chi.
So this wasn't just a basic exercise routine. This was the foundation for true warrior power.
"All three of these elements—visualization, breathing, and movement—must be executed together," Garrick concluded. "If even one is lacking, the entire method loses its effectiveness. But if all three align…" He exhaled sharply. "Your body will transform. Your strength will grow. And eventually, you'll awaken something greater."
Lennox swallowed. He could feel it now—the weight of what he was about to learn. This wasn't just a casual routine. This was the first real step toward power.
Garrick then studied Lennox for a moment before reaching into his tunic and pulling out a worn, ancient parchment. He unfolded it carefully, revealing an intricate ink drawing of a massive, primordial beast.
Lennox's breath caught the moment his eyes landed on the image. The creature depicted was immense, its body layered with dense, jagged plates of bone that looked tougher than steel. Its stance was rooted, as if nothing in existence could make it budge. The longer Lennox stared, the more it felt as if the creature was watching him back, exuding an aura of sheer, immovable presence—a weight so profound it seemed to press against his very soul.
Garrick placed the parchment in Lennox's hands. "This is the Titanbeast."
Lennox glanced up. "Titanbeast?"
Garrick nodded. "A long-extinct creature, said to have possessed bones harder than enchanted steel and a body that could not be moved, even by the strongest storms. It is the embodiment of the Titanbone Method. From this moment on, this image must be burned into your mind. Every time you train, you must see it. Feel it. Become it."
Lennox swallowed, running his fingers over the parchment. The weight of those words settled in his chest.
"Close your eyes," Garrick instructed. "Hold the image in your mind. Breathe."
Lennox obeyed, shutting his eyes as he envisioned the Titanbeast. At first, the image was vague, flickering at the edges of his thoughts. But then, something shifted. The longer he concentrated, the more real it became. He could feel the weight of its existence—unshakable, indomitable, eternal.
His breathing slowed, syncing with the immense stillness he imagined.
Garrick's voice came through, steady and measured. "Your body is not just flesh. It is a fortress. Your bones are not just bone. They are unbreakable. No strike can shake you. No force can move you. You do not yield. You do not falter. You endure."
Lennox's breathing deepened, and for a fleeting moment, he felt it. A strange pressure, a sensation of rootedness that seemed to anchor him to the earth.
Then it was gone.
Lennox opened his eyes, exhaling.
Garrick studied him, then gave a small nod. "Not bad. Now, the breathing."
Lennox braced himself as Garrick demonstrated. A deep inhale—slow, controlled, pulling air deep into the lungs. Then, a deliberate exhale—steady, precise, releasing in a measured stream.
"Breathing is your foundation," Garrick explained. "It fuels your endurance, controls your movements, and strengthens your strikes. The Titanbone Method relies on a breath that is both powerful and patient—like the heartbeat of something ancient."
Lennox mimicked him, inhaling slowly, then releasing his breath in a steady stream.
Garrick adjusted his form slightly, pressing a hand against Lennox's abdomen. "Breathe from here, not just your chest. Power needs depth."
Lennox refocused, adjusting the way he drew in air. After a few attempts, something clicked. His breathing slowed, deepened, strengthened.
Garrick nodded in approval. "Good. Now, you're ready for the movements."
Lennox stood as Garrick took his position.
The first demonstration was slow.
Garrick moved deliberately, every strike fluid yet firm, his feet shifting in controlled, calculated steps. His hands flexed into precise, crushing blows, his breathing seamlessly in sync with each motion. It wasn't just fighting—it was forging. His very body was being tempered, reinforced, shaped into something unmovable.
Lennox watched, mesmerized by the way everything connected—the breathing, the movements, the sheer stillness Garrick seemed to carry in every motion.
Then, Garrick reset himself.
The second demonstration was brutal.
Speed. Power. Destruction.
His fists cracked the air like thunderclaps, his kicks sent bursts of force that scattered loose dirt and leaves. Each strike was devastating, controlled yet overwhelming, as if every movement could shatter mountains.
Lennox felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple just from watching.
When Garrick finally came to a stop, he turned toward Lennox, his expression unreadable.
"Your turn."