The warehouse by the docks was a skeletal ruin, well past midnight. The sea wind, thick with the scent of salt and fish, whistled through the gaps in the corrugated iron walls. A single flickering oil lantern cast long, distorted shadows that danced like mocking spirits as Kaela Vane arrived, precisely on time. Master Hagar was already there, leaning against a stack of moldering crates, his usual drunken haze replaced by a tense, unnerving focus. He wasted no time on pleasantries. "This is not an Academy, brat. There are no forms, no pretty steps," he grunted, pushing off the crates. He picked up a stout, six-foot length of heavy driftwood and hefted it. "First lesson is The Calculus of Survival."
Hagar tossed Kaela a second, shorter piece of lumber before ordering her to draw Rust-Eater and strike him. Kaela instinctively adopted the rigid, parade-ground stance she had witnessed the City Watch guards using—feet shoulder-width apart, blade held high, weight centered. Hagar scoffed. He called the position a waste of energy, suitable only for nobles with infinite Aura who could afford to look dramatic. He declared that the Formless Style was based on Conservation and Conversion: you only moved to gain an advantage, and every defensive move had to immediately convert into an offensive opening. He lunged without warning. Kaela instinctively brought Rust-Eater up to parry, but the heavy driftwood staff slammed against the rusted steel with a violent CRACK. The force jarred her teeth, sent a burning shockwave up her arm, and drove her stumbling back three steps.
"Idiot!" Hagar roared. "You met force with force! That block cost you more energy than the entire fight would be worth!" He seized her wrist, forcing her to drop her elbow until the sword point angled slightly toward the floor. He explained that the sword was a pendulum, not a shield, and her guard must be kept low and close to the body for a shorter, less taxing path to the strike. He then kicked her feet apart, shifting her weight onto her back leg. The footwork, he insisted, was not about moving, but about weight distribution; she must stay light on her front foot, using it as a pivot while her center of gravity remained dynamic, never fixed.
Hagar spent the next hour subjecting Kaela to a relentless, non-stop assault, using the driftwood staff to strike at every vulnerable point—ankles, wrists, and temples. He wasn't trying to injure her, but to drive her to the point of utter exhaustion. Every time she tried to meet the staff, the brutal shock reminded her of her fundamental flaw: wasted energy. "You're flailing!" he bellowed, forcing her to jump clumsily over a low swing. "Don't jump! Pivot! Move your weight around the danger, not away from it! A retreat is just a wasted opportunity to strike!" He taught her the mantra of evasion: if an opponent swings wide, pivot inside; if they overextend, step back and let their momentum carry them past. Never stand where the sword wants to be. The goal was to anticipate and steal the opening or use the energy of the opponent's magnificent, explosive Aura against them.
Finally, Kaela collapsed, gasping, sweat stinging her eyes. Rust-Eater slipped from her numb fingers. "I can't… I can't find the opening," she panted, her chest burning. Hagar dropped his staff, disappointment etched into his face. "You're still using your eyes, Kaela," he said, kneeling. "And you're still relying on muscles you don't have." He explained the core philosophy: the Formless Style utilized what he called The Void. With her muddy veins and weak Ember Aura, she could never be a mountain of power. Instead, she had to become the air around it. She must draw her meager Aura in, using it not for attack, but for whispering perfectly aligning her spirit with the grain of the steel to make the sword forget its weight. "You don't project force; you project precision," he stated, picking up Rust-Eater and holding it effortlessly. "You cut the path of the energy, not the object." He held the humming sword out and dared her to take it. When Kaela lunged, he made only a minute shift, and the hilt jabbed her precisely in the solar plexus, instantly robbing her of breath. "That is the Formless Style," Hagar stated as she coughed and crumpled. "The calculus is simple: Expend 1 point of Aura to inflict 10 points of damage, not 10 points of Aura to inflict 5. Go home. Your body will ache tomorrow. It's mourning the energy you wasted." He walked away, leaving Kaela alone with the rusted blade, her body broken but her understanding fiercely alight. She had a path, built on the principle of surviving the impossible.