Damian walked out of the shooting range with his mind already filled with the principles of Omega Point.
He was excited to finally have some guidance in his gun path.
Although he only took this path for defense till he was strong enough on his own, he couldn't deny his love for guns.
And…. Would he even be a Mafia Boss if he had no gun in his possession?
Even though he hadn't started his Mafia as of yet, he planned to make sure every Mafia member in the future had a gun in his possession as a secondary weapon.
He wouldn't force everyone to learn gun art but they should carry the weapon always.
'I need to start earning some money as well… but I should also take hold of some gun manufacturing facilities.
First I have to make sure I'm strong enough before focusing on all this.
Let's figure everything out one step at a time. There should still be a long time before the Monster crisis starts.'
The reasons for starting his Mafia were many, but he was only hesitating due to his past life experiences.
'I will have to make my own power even if I don't want to.
With the current monopoly of the Noble Families, I don't plan on becoming their subordinates for sure.'
As Damian left the area of training facilities, he looked ahead to see an old man blocking his way.
The old man was very muscular but his appearance was quite weird.
He instinctively knew that the person standing in front of him was very old, but his face had no wrinkles and his long white hair and beard with knots did nothing to hide his age.
His clothing attire was also very weird, wearing just some loose robes.
What was even more alarming was that Damian felt no Aura around him… not even a little.
It was as if the old man was a mortal.
The old man suddenly waved his hand and both Damian and him were teleported away.
****
When Damian landed on the ground after the teleportation, he steadied himself.
His face betrayed no emotion and looked beside him to see the old man standing as well.
"I will be the one responsible for teaching you Abyssal Slaughter.
It had been a long time since anyone chose that art.
Even if some people chose it, they were not suitable enough to learn it.
But I can feel your strong will just by looking at you.
Although your talent is a bit low, at just S rank, no one is perfect."
"..."
"Before we start, do you have an axe on you?"
"..."
"... Why are you not speaking?"
The old man looked confused as he saw Damian still having no reaction.
But as soon as he saw him opening his mouth.
"Bleurgh!!!"
Damian vomited on the long beard of the old man.
"..."
"..."
'Son of a…'
Damian looked apologetic as he opened his mouth to speak after vomiting everything he ate in the cafeteria.
"... I'm sorry old man. This is my first time teleporting, you should have warned me a little."
"Sigh… forget it."
The old man waved his hand and the vomit vanished in the air.
Looking at the void filled with fluctuations as every drop of his vomit was vaporized, Damian couldn't help but shudder a little.
He still had not felt any trace of Aura from this man.
"So, do you have an axe with you or not?"
The old man asked irritatedly, even though the vomit vanished, he still felt as if he could smell it on him.
"No."
"Alright. Catch this. You can use this axe as your weapon from now on. It is nothing special, just durable."
Damian caught the axe flying towards him with right hand, but as soon as he caught it, he realised how heavy it was.
The axe was sixty centimetres in length featuring a straight obsidian-glass handle.
It consisted of two secondary matte-black crescent blades: one fixed at the top of the shaft and a similar one at the base.
The primary axe blade had a circle hole followed at the center which made the axe whistle every time it was swung.
Just one look at the axe made him realize it was meant for slaughter.
"... Thank you."
"Alright, don't thank me like I gifted you a family heirloom," the old man said, squinting at him.
"If you can't swing it properly in a week, I'll take it back and use it to split your skull instead. Weapons meant for slaughter don't belong in soft hands."
Damian rotated the axe once, testing the balance despite the weight dragging at his wrist.
"You're very encouraging for a teacher."
"I'm not a teacher," the old man replied immediately.
"Teachers explain things nicely so idiots feel progress. I correct mistakes before they grow teeth. There's a difference, you'll learn it if you live long enough."
He walked in a slow circle around Damian, not looking at the axe, looking at his spine, shoulders, grip tension, breathing rhythm.
"You're holding it like a borrowed tool," he continued.
"Like something you plan to return clean. That's already wrong. An axe like that is not borrowed.
It is assigned. It exists to end things. Wood, bone, doors, limbs - the material doesn't matter. The decision does."
Damian adjusted his grip slightly.
"Then what exactly is Abyssal Slaughter? A weapon art? A philosophy? A killing style?"
The old man clicked his tongue.
"Listen to how many words you're trying to wrap around something simple.
That's exactly why most people fail this art. They come looking for forms, sequences, secret breathing, hidden footwork diagrams. They want ten steps and a title."
He stopped in front of Damian and tapped the axe head with one finger.
"Abyssal Slaughter is the removal of everything unnecessary between decision and destruction."
He let that sit before continuing, and this time he didn't shorten his explanation.
"When most fighters attack, they pass through layers: intention, adjustment, doubt, correction, force application, recovery plan.
By the time their weapon lands, the strike has been negotiated six times inside their head.
This art rejects negotiation. You decide once and the body is forced to obey that decision fully.
No mid-swing edits. No cleverness. No beauty. That is why it is called slaughter and not combat."
Damian listened without interrupting.
The old man nodded slightly at that.
"Good. You don't interrupt when you don't understand, that already makes you more suitable than the last three idiots who tried this path.
One wanted to name every swing. Another wanted spinning techniques. The third asked if it could be adapted for tournaments.
I nearly buried him with the practice log."
"You mentioned suitability earlier," Damian said.
"What makes someone unsuitable?"
"People who want control more than outcome," the old man replied.
"Axes are not control weapons. They are outcome weapons.
A sword lets you adjust halfway. A spear lets you retreat distance. An axe commits mass.
Once it falls, it must finish the sentence it started. If your mind hesitates after initiating motion, you are already wrong."
He suddenly pointed toward the forest surrounding them.
"Your training method will also disappoint you," he added. "Because it is boring."
"Logging," Damian said.
The old man's eyes narrowed. "Yes, logging. You will cut trees. Not for strength or stamina but for alignment."
"Alignment of what?"
"Decision, structure, and gravity," the old man said, then launched into a longer explanation without pausing.
"When you chop wood correctly, three lines must agree: your spinal line, the blade line, and the fall line.
Most people swing with arms and shoulders. That produces force but not inevitability.
In Abyssal Slaughter, the swing begins at the heel, travels through the hip, locks through the spine, and exits through the edge.
When that chain is correct, the strike feels lighter even though it hits harder.
This is also called lifting something heavy as if it were light.
That is how you will know you are improving, not when it feels stronger, but when it feels simpler."
He walked to a nearby thick tree and knocked on it twice.
"You will cut until your strike stops changing shape. The first hundred swings – all different. Next thousand – mostly wrong but consistent.
After that – the body stops experimenting and starts obeying. Only then does slaughter begin."
Damian asked, "Are there no advanced techniques beyond this?"
The old man laughed — a real laugh this time, deep and rough.
"There are, but they are not taught. They appear. When your strike becomes honest enough, variations emerge naturally.
If I teach them early, you will imitate shapes instead of discovering function. And imitation fighters die beautifully."
He leaned closer.
"I am not raising a beautiful fighter."
Silence settled between them.
Wind moved through the leaves overhead.
Then the old man spoke again, voice lower and more serious than before.
"One more principle and you should carve this into your skull.
Abyssal Slaughter never prepares for the second strike. Not because there isn't one, but because the first strike is delivered as if there will not be time for another.
That mental condition changes muscle recruitment, breath timing, and edge commitment.
Your nervous system must believe the swing is final.
Otherwise the edge softens at the last moment.
That softness is invisible to spectators, but targets feel it immediately."
Damian looked at the axe again, differently now.
"Show me," he said.
The old man grinned slightly.
"Good. Finally a useful sentence."
He turned toward the forest and started walking.
"Come. We begin with trees. They complain less than people, and unlike people, they don't pretend to be stronger than they are.
By sunset I'll know whether you're truly suitable… or just another boy who likes dangerous words."
He didn't look back as he added:
"And this time, if you feel like vomiting again… turn to the other side."