(A/N: First of all, I want to sincerely thank all of you for the 40 reviews! Honestly, I didn't expect to reach this number so quickly, so it really surprised me and made me extremely happy. Your support and kindness have been a huge motivation for me to keep giving my best to this story.
I'm also very happy to share that we've reached 200 Power Stones! 🥹🔥 That's incredible and means a lot to me. As a way of saying thank you, I'll be posting another extra chapter later today, so I truly hope you all enjoy it!
I want to set a new goal for us!
If we reach 500 Power Stones, there will be another extra chapter as a reward. I'll have to work double to post even more chapters on Patreon, but it'll be totally worth it!
And there's more — when we hit 50 reviews, that will also unlock another extra chapter.
I'd also like to let you know that all suggestions for skills and magic are being written down and added to a list, so please keep sending your ideas without hesitation. The same goes for suggestions of worlds that Natsu might travel to in the future.
So far, I've thought about!
Fate/Grand Order: Babylon
The Seven Deadly Sins — I'm still deciding on the timeline, but I have to admit I'm more inclined toward the era of the Four Knights of the Apocalypse, although the era of the Seven Deadly Sins is also being considered.
Once again, thank you all so much for following, commenting, and supporting the story. You're the reason all of this is worth it!
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The water was still dripping from his hair when Natsu stepped out of the bath, drying his face with a towel before casually tossing it over his shoulder. He wore only a pair of dark shorts—just enough to avoid being completely indecent if some nosy neighbor happened to show up, yet still comfortable enough to feel at home.
He walked through the narrow hallway of the cabin and leaped out the back window, immediately greeted by the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the treetops. The garden around him felt almost cut off from the rest of the world: dense bushes, tall trees, and vibrant vegetation that formed an ideal training area.
Natsu took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean air, and moved to the center of the small patch of packed earth that his predecessor had used as a training ground. There, the light fell with enough intensity to warm the ground beneath his bare feet. His body felt light, loose, as though every muscle had been meticulously tuned while he absorbed the knowledge of the masters.
And then, he began.
His foot stepped forward, and his entire body moved as a single unit.
The first strike was a simple jab. But the way he threw it was anything but simple. His stance was flawless; hips aligned, shoulder advancing at the exact moment, supporting leg rooted like an ancient tree. Through his [Magic Power Manipulation], magical energy flowed down his arm—subtle, controlled, condensed just enough to amplify the impact.
The air in front of his fist trembled.
He slid to the side, body twisting with brutal elegance, and threw a straight punch. Then a cross. Followed by a rapid sequence of three short, precise strikes with no wasted energy.
The combo ended the instant his foot touched the ground again, and without giving his muscles a moment's rest, he shifted into Muay Thai.
His stance changed.
His center of gravity dropped.
And then the air vibrated.
His knee rose with force enough to splinter wood, his shin sliced through the emptiness with the precision of a blade, and his elbows cut the air as though they were natural weapons honed by a lifetime of battle.
Natsu felt heat welling up inside his body.
He raised his arm.
Dragon Slayer magic raced across his skin like incandescent sparks.
In the next instant, his elbow shot forward wrapped in an intense scarlet glow.
The impact against the air produced a sharp crack, as if a thunderclap had been compressed into a single point before dissipating.
The next strike came as a spinning kick. Fire followed the rotation of his body, forming a shimmering arc that briefly trailed behind before vanishing. It was a perfect fusion: pure, relentless martial technique combined with the wild nature of his magic.
Natsu pressed forward with a flurry of quick punches, switched guards, slid his leg forward, and unleashed a low kick that bent the wind. Before his foot touched the ground again, he spun and drove a second kick—high, precise—leaving a hot trail in the air.
Fire coursed through his arms once more, gathering in his knuckles to fuel the next movement.
He advanced.
Elbows, knees, fists, shins.
Everything in perfect synchronization.
Natsu slowly lowered his guard.
A faint, almost satisfied smile appeared on his lips.
Though he had used his "magical power" in his strikes, he knew he could just as easily have drawn on "Ki"—something he now felt he could wield as naturally as breathing. In the world whose memories he had chosen to absorb—memories of countless masters—every martial artist could use Ki in combat, and with proper training and control, that energy could elevate a fighter's offensive and defensive power to truly superhuman levels.
To do so, one had to understand one's own type of Ki, whether Sei or Dou, though a few exceptional fighters could wield both simultaneously, achieving what was known as Dual Ki.
A Sei-type martial artist concealed their intent to fight, focusing instead on perceiving every detail of their surroundings and releasing that intent only at the exact moment danger appeared. According to the manga, this meant such fighters did not battle through brute force or anger, but through talent, precision, calm, and cunning.
A Dou-type martial artist, on the other hand, used rage to push past limits. They tended to be naturally aggressive and rarely relinquished the offensive. Under extreme conditions—intense emotional pain or deep frustration—some even entered an almost bestial state. Practitioners of this path relied heavily on instinct and raw power in battle.
Having absorbed the knowledge, experience, and even muscle memory of the Ryōzanpaku masters who walked both paths, he could be considered someone capable of effortlessly using Dual Ki.
From what he knew, there were various levels of mastery over this energy, but three main stages defined progression.
The first was [Ki no Hatsudō], the "Invocation" of Ki, which allowed one to channel energy into techniques and attacks—a level accessible to most disciples, whether low, mid, or high rank. The second stage was [Ki no Kaihō], the "Release" of Ki, which enabled projecting energy outside the body and using it in countless ways against an opponent. Only High-Class Disciples could reach this level, though Specialists and Masters had near-limitless command of it. Finally, there was [Ki no Shōaku], the most advanced stage, the "Control" of Ki. It allowed not only release but free manipulation of energy both inside and outside the body, even to the point of absorbing and redirecting another person's Ki. All disciples who reached Master level could use this stage, but only the most extraordinary—known as Legendary Masters—fully dominated it.
As for the level he himself had attained, he would be classified as a true "Legendary Master." In that world, martial artists were organized in a strict hierarchy from weakest to strongest: Low-Class Disciple, Mid-Class Disciple, High-Class Disciple, Specialist, Low Master, Master, Grand Master, Advanced Grand Master, and at the absolute pinnacle, Legendary Master.
Having absorbed Hayato Fūrinji—known as "The Invincible Superman" and one of only three masters who reached Legendary Master level in that world—along with numerous Grand Masters (the level every Ryōzanpaku member possessed), it would have been strange if he had not reached such a height…
Determined to continue with a few more tests, he inhaled deeply, letting the warm air fill his lungs to capacity before slowly exhaling, almost as if ordering his body to enter another state.
He stepped forward, planting his feet firmly, and lowered his center of gravity until he found the exact point where his stance became perfectly stable. His shoulders relaxed, muscular tension melted away, and his mind sank into absolute focus.
It was time to expand the [Seikūken].
The technique was simple in concept but absurd in execution. It demanded total control of the space around one's body, minute perception of every vibration in the air, and instantaneous reading of anything that entered that domain. Fortunately, thanks to the experience absorbed from countless masters, it came to him as naturally as breathing.
Natsu slowly extended his arm, as if tracing an invisible circle around himself.
Then the air changed.
The Seikūken had formed.
An invisible sphere enveloped him, extending exactly to the reach of his arms.
He didn't need to expand it further. He didn't need to increase the radius like many fighters did to compensate for lack of precision. Natsu kept the Seikūken compact, tight, and perfect: absolute dominion over every centimeter of that space, as if everything within the sphere were directly linked to his senses.
That was how [Seikūken] worked—nothing could enter that radius without the user instantly perceiving and reacting.
Absolute defense and inevitable attack, interwoven in harmony.
Natsu let the air within the Seikūken settle, feeling the invisible sphere in perfect sync with his movements. It was as though space itself responded to him—obedient, docile, malleable. For several seconds he remained still, letting his senses absorb every tiny variation in the environment.
But that was only the first stage.
He was not yet satisfied.
Without dismantling the Seikūken, Natsu inhaled slowly, drawing the warm air not just into his lungs but into his mind. The world seemed to slow, as though reality had sunk into liquid silence. Every thought became lighter, more linear, sharper.
It was the necessary state.
The only state possible for the next technique.
Then, like extinguishing a flame to reveal a glowing core, Natsu retracted the [Seikūken].
The invisible sphere that had once spanned his full arm reach began to shrink, gradually compressing until it lost perceptible shape. The boundaries contracted, diminishing until only a thin film remained.
This was the technique called [Ryūsui Seikūken], where absolute defense transformed into absolute evasion—the supreme form of Sei. His body became completely still, muscles relaxed to the ideal point, breathing slowed. The calm was so profound it seemed unnatural for him, yet necessary. Any emotional crack… any intrusive memory… any spark of irritation… all of it would shatter the technique in an instant.
Natsu silenced everything.
He closed his eyes.
And simply… became aware.
The air brushing his skin.
Leaves trembling in the treetops.
The heat radiating from his own body.
The tiny weight of an insect landing on grass several meters away.
All of it lay within his perception.
All of it was part of him, as if his body had fused with the environment.
Then he tested it.
With an almost imperceptible motion, he raised one arm, and the instant he did, the [Ryūsui Seikūken] responded, flexing the thin layer of pressure to redirect the movement with near-mechanical precision.
It was as if the air itself told him the perfect response to evade an attack.
Natsu simulated a strike coming toward him, driving his opposite fist forward with speed.
The air tore through the silence, slicing toward his head.
And then…
His body vanished from the trajectory.
He simply flowed aside, moving only the minimum necessary—a minimal, economical, water-like dodge, slipping past a stone.
That was what made Ryūsui Seikūken so deadly: evading at the last possible instant, using the smallest distance required.
Another strike.
Another perfect evasion.
Movements so tiny they seemed nonexistent, yet they were there—efficient, calculated.
With the technique active, he appeared to flow rather than move.
His body continued to move—or rather, to flow—for long minutes that slowly stretched into nearly an hour. At first, each motion demanded full concentration, almost surgical attention to the mental state that sustained the [Ryūsui Seikūken]. But as time passed, something shifted.
The technique ceased to be a "state" and became a "foundation."
His breathing stabilized completely.
His posture aligned so naturally that it no longer seemed adopted but inherent to his body. He swiftly integrated every fighting style of the Ryōzanpaku masters, able to use and switch between them instantaneously. It became nearly impossible to tell where one art ended and another began.
Gradually, the transition between each martial art became as fluid as changing steps while walking.
During his training, he decided to bring into reality—through [Subjective Reality], integrating it fully into his mind, body, and soul—all the experience, knowledge, and muscle memory of the most powerful members of Yami, the organization that rivaled Ryōzanpaku in that world.
Yami was a global organization of martial artists who used their skills to seize power and influence. Though its operations were centered in Japan and most members were Japanese, it was known by different names around the world. Christopher Eclair, for example, called it "L'Obscurité" ("The Darkness" in French) and explained that "Yami" was merely the name used in Japan, suggesting other countries used variations of the word "darkness."
Yami had been founded after World War II to preserve ancient martial arts, as many masters had perished in the conflict. The organization was divided into three major sectors: the Unarmed Combat Division, the Weapons Division, and the Ballistics Division. The first two usually operated separately and were led by entirely distinct units, but they had recently joined forces to achieve the goal of "Eternal Setting Sun" and claim the title of "Strongest in History." The Ballistics Division functioned merely as a subordinate arm of the other two.
The leaders of the Unarmed Combat Division were the One Shadow Nine Fists, while the Weapons Division was commanded by Hachiō Executioner Blade. Both teams were regarded as the strongest in their respective fields and possessed comparable overall power. The Ballistics Division had no independent leadership group and was directly commanded by the two superior sectors.
Ideologically, Yami was almost the complete opposite of Ryōzanpaku. The organization had enough resources to function as an independent nation, while Ryōzanpaku barely had money to keep its dojo running. Moreover, Yami members lacked the strong emotional bonds and affection that united the disciples and masters of Ryōzanpaku; they were, in truth, an organization grounded in malice, pragmatism, and the relentless pursuit of power.
The One Shadow Nine Fists represented Yami's most powerful unarmed combatants, leading the Unarmed Combat Division. Each was an absolute master of a distinct martial art and followed the principles of Satsujinken, the "Killing Fist"—a Yin doctrine that held martial arts existed to kill and destroy. Some walked this path for unlimited power; others, driven by hatred and revenge, sought to eliminate specific targets, using their skills as lethal instruments.
In opposition, Ryōzanpaku followed the opposite philosophy: Katsujinken, the "Life-Giving Fist." This belief held that a martial artist should always avoid killing an opponent, even at the risk of their own life. For them, true strength lay in protecting, not destroying.
He had absorbed all the knowledge, experience, and muscle memory of every one of the One Shadow Nine Fists. And it wasn't just them: he had also incorporated the skills of every member of Hachiō Executioner Blade, especially their leader, Ōganosuke Yogi—considered an invincible superhuman, a true legend, and one of the extremely rare fighters in the martial arts world who could rival Hayato Fūrinji of Ryōzanpaku on equal terms.
With even more knowledge, experience, and muscle memory to refine into his own style, the training continued until the sunlight began to shift hue, taking on the golden tone that signals late afternoon approaching.
When he finally stopped the continuous flow of strikes, footwork, style switches, and micro-adjustments of posture, the silence around him seemed to swallow the world.
Natsu stopped.
His breathing was heavy, deep, but controlled.
Sweat ran down his neck, slid along his back, soaked the fabric of his shorts, and dripped from the pink strands that clung lightly to his forehead and temples.
Now, his body didn't just move better; it understood the very mechanism of movement. His mind didn't just react faster; it anticipated what he would do before he decided. Ki flowed spontaneously—sometimes calm as Sei, sometimes ferocious as Dou—blending so naturally that it became impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
His body, his energy, and his intent were perfectly aligned.
It was a silent transcendence… but absolute in the realm of martial arts.
He took a deep breath and decided it was time to train a little magic now!
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