Chapter 22: Training for Control
Rhaizen left the town before sunrise.
He didn't talk to anyone.
He didn't need to.
The meeting with the council still bothered him, and he could feel the frustration in his chest. He wanted to help the town, but the town didn't trust him. They were afraid of him, afraid of the trouble he brought, afraid of what might come next.
That meant he had to get stronger—not for praise, not for the town's approval, but because more danger was coming.
Crimson Fang.
Shadow Veins.
Both were pulling the town toward destruction.
And he was right in the middle of it.
He walked toward the outskirts and found a quiet clearing where the trees formed a wide circle. The fallen leaves around him were damp from the night, and the air was cool enough to sting his lungs a little.
Perfect for training.
He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and lowered his stance.
"Control… first."
His biggest weakness was obvious.
His Qi was powerful but unstable.
Whenever he pushed too hard, it burned out too fast.
Whenever he tried complex moves, he risked collapsing.
The fight with the Crimson Fang captain proved it.
He nearly died because he couldn't manage his own power properly.
Today, that had to change.
---
Rhaizen closed his eyes and let his Qi move slowly.
He imagined his Qi like water flowing through a pipe—smooth, steady, not bursting at random.
A faint black-red outline formed around him. It flickered at first, uneven and shaky. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to breathe slower.
"In… out… in… out…"
The outline steadied little by little.
His control grew sharper with each breath.
He could feel the energy gather in his legs, arms, and core in a calm, controlled flow.
He opened his eyes.
A small smile formed.
"That's better."
He shifted his stance and started moving.
Short steps.
Light jumps.
Clean dodges.
He practiced moving with the aura active but under strict control. If he let it flare too much, it would drain him. If he stopped it too often, he'd lose speed.
He needed balance.
He needed a technique that let him move fast while using less Qi.
He thought about the Crimson Step—his first movement technique. It made him fast, but the fire burst made too much noise, and in a real fight, enemies could predict it.
He needed something cleaner.
Something quieter.
Something that fit how he used to train in the Silent Veil.
---
Rhaizen stopped and took a deep breath as a memory surfaced—his old clan members moving like shadows across the stone paths.
The Silent Veil Clan specialized in silent movement.
Every footstep was light.
Every breath was controlled.
One of the elders had once told him:
"Speed does not always come from power. Sometimes, true speed is the enemy not knowing you moved at all."
He remembered watching them slip behind trees and rocks without making a sound. They were fast but never flashy.
He never mastered their techniques before the clan was destroyed.
But now…
He needed them more than ever.
He lowered his stance again.
"Silent movement… with my Qi."
He tried pushing his Qi downward, focusing it mostly in his legs. Instead of exploding outward like Crimson Step, he compressed it, keeping it close to his skin.
A faint ember-like glow formed around his feet.
It didn't flare loudly.
It didn't spark.
It stayed tight.
He took a step—
—his body shot forward, almost gliding.
Leaves barely moved under his feet.
He grinned.
"That's it."
He tried again.
Another step—smooth, fast, controlled.
Then another.
It wasn't as fast as Crimson Step yet, but it didn't drain his Qi nearly as much. It was stealthier, quieter, closer to a shadow's movement.
But he wasn't done yet.
---
Rhaizen exhaled slowly.
Now came the hard part—adding flame without losing control.
If he pushed too much fire, it would turn into a full flare and ruin the silence.
If he pushed too little, the technique would lose speed.
He held his hand out and summoned the smallest flame he could.
A tiny spark formed at his fingertips.
It was weaker than normal, but stable.
He tried pushing that same small flame into his legs. At first, the fire refused to cooperate. It jumped around, flickering and scattering.
He reset his stance.
"Small fire. Small burst. No loud flare."
He tried again.
This time the fire moved smoother.
His leg glowed faintly—just enough to react.
He took another step—
—and vanished forward, a fast blur without noise.
He slid to a stop several meters away.
That felt clean.
Fast.
Silent.
Still not perfect.
"It needs a name," he muttered.
His mind drifted back to the Silent Veil clan—how they moved like shifting shadows—and then to his own fire.
He spoke softly:
"Crimson Veil Step."
A simple name, but it fit.
A movement technique combining his flame with the quiet style of the clan that raised him.
He repeated it again.
Then again.
Then again.
Each time, he grew faster, lighter, more in control.
But each use also drained stamina sharply.
Not Qi—stamina.
He felt his legs burning, not from flame but from exhaustion. His body wasn't used to this new movement yet.
He collapsed to his knees, panting heavily.
"It works… but it's going to take time."
He wiped sweat from his forehead.
Still, he felt proud.
This wasn't just a new technique.
It was a reminder of where he came from.
A reminder he wasn't alone.
His clan lived on through him.
---
Training the Strike
Once he recovered his breath, he stood up again.
He needed to combine this new movement with his existing skills. A movement technique was strong, but if he couldn't attack fast afterward, it would be useless.
He clenched his fist and focused.
"Move… and strike."
He activated Crimson Veil Step and rushed forward, then threw a punch with a small layer of fire across his knuckles.
The air cracked.
Leaves scattered.
Not bad.
But he needed more speed.
Again.
Move.
Step.
Strike.
Over and over.
Hours passed.
His clothes stuck to his skin from sweat.
His breathing grew rough.
His fists burned from constant friction.
But he kept going.
He had to control his fire.
He had to control his Qi.
He had to make his movements perfect.
He couldn't afford another near-death fight.
Not when stronger opponents were coming.
He struck a tree, and the bark cracked.
He stepped back, panting hard.
"Again."
He refused to stop.
His clothes were torn.
His arms trembled.
His legs felt like stone.
But he kept pushing.
He trained until the sun began to fall behind the trees.
--
As evening approached, Rhaizen sat on a fallen log and drank water from his flask.
He looked toward the direction of Ashveil Town.
He didn't blame the people.
They were scared—really scared.
Crimson Fang threatened them from the outside.
Shadow Veins preyed on them from the shadows.
And now, he learned the council had chosen to "live" by obeying whoever had the most power.
He couldn't hate them for it.
But he didn't agree either.
"I won't leave," he whispered to himself. "Not yet."
He wasn't the hero they wanted.
Maybe not even the hero they needed.
But he couldn't walk away.
Not again.
Not like with his clan.
Not like with the Silent Veil.
He tightened his fist.
"I'll get stronger."
He stood up.
"I'll stop both Crimson Fang and Shadow Veins."
His eyes sharpened.
"Even if the town doesn't trust me… I'll protect them."
---
The Unexpected Discovery
Rhaizen stretched his stiff muscles and decided to walk the forest edge before returning to Ashveil. He wanted to keep an eye on the area. Shadow Veins liked quiet spots, and Crimson Fang wasn't far.
The forest was silent except for weak wind brushing against the trees. Rhaizen walked slowly, alert.
As he walked, he noticed something strange.
Birds scattered abruptly above him.
A breeze carried the smell of iron.
A heavy feeling settled in his chest.
He followed the scent.
A few steps later, he found the body.
A bandit.
The man's clothes were torn, and his chest had a deep black mark carved into it. His eyes were wide open, frozen in dread.
Rhaizen crouched down and looked closer.
The mark was familiar.
It was the symbol he had seen before…
Shadow Veins.
A single vertical line.
A curved hook.
A small dot.
Exactly the same as the carvings he found on the wooden slabs in the indoctrination camp.
Rhaizen's expression hardened.
Shadow Veins had killed him.
But why leave the body here?
Why carve the mark?
Why make it obvious?
He looked around.
No signs of struggle.
No footprints.
No broken branches.
Which meant…
The bandit was brought here on purpose.
Placed here.
Displayed here.
A warning.
Or a message.
He stood slowly, his jaw set.
"So the Shadow Veins are watching too."
He turned his eyes toward the deeper forest, where the last traces of daylight faded into darkness.
"They're moving again."
The wind shifted, carrying a cold whisper between the trees.
Rhaizen felt it deep inside.
Something big was coming.
And he wasn't ready yet.