Lennox inhaled deeply, anticipation thrumming through his veins. He wanted to feel it—the weight of the Titanbone Method, the effects of training a true warrior's art, even if it was only a foundational one.
But he didn't rush forward the moment Garrick gave the command. Instead, he closed his eyes and ran through every instruction Garrick had drilled into him.
Visualization. Breathing. Movement.
His gaze then fell to the ancient parchment still clutched in his fingers. The image of the Titanbeast, painted with intricate detail, exuded a pressure that felt almost real. The creature's massive, stone-like body radiated an unyielding force, an existence that could not be moved, could not be broken. Lennox studied every stroke, burning the image into his mind until it was imprinted in the depths of his thoughts.
He took another breath. Then another. Falling into the rhythm Garrick had taught him. Steady. Deep. Controlled. His heartbeat slowed, his body relaxed, and for a brief moment, he felt like he was sinking into something far greater than himself.
From the side, Garrick gave a rare silent nod of approval.
Lennox didn't spare him a glance, though. Instead, he stepped forward and positioned himself in the starting stance of the Titanbone Method. His feet planted firmly, his muscles coiled, his entire body prepared to move.
Here goes nothing.
He inhaled, focusing on the Titanbeast in his mind's eye, on the feel of unyielding strength, on the rhythm of his breath. Then, he moved.
The first strike came stiff. The second, slightly off-rhythm. By the third, he had lost track of the visualization completely.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to reset.
Again.
His breathing faltered, his focus wavered, and his steps felt heavy and unnatural.
It was like trying to juggle three different thoughts at once, each demanding his full attention. The image of the Titanbeast flickered and faded the moment he tried to adjust his breathing. His footwork was clumsy, and his strikes lacked coordination. There was no power, no connection between the three elements Garrick had emphasized. It was just movement.
By the fifth attempt, frustration crept in.
By the seventh, his muscles burned, and sweat clung to his skin.
By the ninth, his breathing was ragged, and doubt gnawed at him. Was he even capable of this?
And then—on the tenth attempt—something shifted.
He wasn't sure what changed, but suddenly, the movements didn't feel as forced. His breathing found a rhythm, aligning with the rise and fall of his chest. The visualization no longer flickered—he saw it, felt it, as if the Titanbeast's presence had anchored itself deep within him.
Lennox exhaled, stepping into the next motion with more certainty. And this time—he felt it.
A strange sensation settled upon him.
It wasn't energy, not in the way he had felt the Emberbrew Ale's effects coursing through his body. No, this was deeper, more primal. It was as if something heavy had draped itself over his shoulders, a presence unseen but undeniably real. A force that made every movement feel more weighted, more grounded.
His next strike carried substance.
His stance became firm.
His breath no longer felt separate from his actions—it was a part of the motion itself.
Lennox pushed forward, moving from one stance to the next. The Titanbone Method no longer felt like a scattered collection of instructions. It felt like something ancient, something mystical.
And as Lennox completed the final motion of the sequence, a strange pulse rippled through his limbs—so faint that he almost didn't notice it.
But then it spread. Like an electric current, the sensation traveled outward from deep within his bones, radiating through his body in an unsettling yet invigorating wave. His balance wavered for half a second as his muscles tensed instinctively, reacting to the foreign sensation.
His chest rose and fell, his breath coming in controlled but heavy gulps as he fought to maintain the final stance of the Titanbone Method for a few more seconds, just as Garrick had demonstrated. His body trembled under the strain, his muscles aching from exhaustion, but beneath it all, there was something else.
Something new.
Something unfamiliar.
A force beyond mere physical fatigue—an almost mystical pressure settling deep in his bones. Of course, it wasn't chi, not the overwhelming surge of power that marked true warriors, but it was a foundation. The first stone laid in a path that could lead to something greater.
-----
Garrick raised a brow as he observed Lennox maintaining the final stance. His arms remained steady, his posture firm despite the fatigue that was no doubt creeping into his limbs. The boy's breathing was still rough, but it wasn't chaotic. He was controlling it, mastering it.
Now that was surprising.
More than surprising.
Garrick kept his expression impassive, but inwardly, his thoughts churned. This shouldn't have happened.
The Titanbone Method was not just a foundational-level warrior art as he had told Lennox. It was something far rarer—a method capable of forging warriors beyond the limits of mortal strength. Back in his home world, it had been considered an elite technique, a method that, if trained properly and consistently over time, could allow warriors to ascend to the rare and formidable Rank Two.
Such methods were priceless.
And yet, here Lennox was—executing its first sequence with startling success.
Garrick had deliberately understated the method's importance, telling Lennox that it was just a means to strengthen his body, not a true warrior path. Not because he wanted to deceive him, but because the Titanbone Method was a long, arduous path. Too many warriors had failed before they could ever reach its true potential.
The method required years of rigorous training, an unshakable will, and an almost obsessive commitment to its principles. Even the most talented warriors often hit insurmountable walls along the way.
If he had told Lennox its true value—if he had raised his expectations—the boy might have grown impatient or arrogant. Garrick had seen it happen before: warriors who rushed their training, trying to force progress, only to destroy themselves in the process.
So, he had kept things simple. Let the boy focus on mastering the basics first.
But now…
Now, he had to reassess the boy's talent.
Executing a perfect routine of the Titanbone Method on the tenth try was almost unheard of. Even the most gifted warriors back home had taken hundreds of attempts before achieving something remotely close to proper execution.
So, what exactly was Lennox?
He watched a moment longer before speaking. "Not bad." His voice was calm, unreadable. "Barely decent."
Lennox, still catching his breath, shot him an incredulous look. "That was barely decent?"
Garrick ignored the question. "Burn the feeling into your mind. Every motion, every breath, every shift in your stance." He stepped closer, his sharp gaze locking onto Lennox's. "This is the first step. If you can't recreate this feeling every single time, you'll never progress."
Lennox swallowed, nodding. His usual easygoing demeanor was absent. He was focused—another good sign.
Garrick crossed his arms. "Again."
Lennox blinked. "Already?"
Garrick's tone left no room for argument. "Again."
Lennox exhaled sharply but didn't hesitate. He stepped back into the starting stance, muscles still aching but determination burning in his eyes.
And then, he began the Titanbone Method once more.