Bharam studied me quietly after explaining the technique.
"It suits you," he said at last.
Then he drew a small mark on the ground with his stick.
"Stand there."
I stepped onto the mark.
"Normally, I don't concern myself with what breathing method a person uses to gather aura," he continued. "But this technique requires continuous gathering and release. If your foundation is unstable, you will bleed internally."
His eyes settled on mine.
"Many second- and third-rate methods sold in the markets carry hidden side effects. Are you certain yours is stable?"
"I've practiced it since I was four," I replied. "No complications. I've used it in battle. It allows me to move like a beast."
He watched me for another moment.
Then nodded.
"Begin."
I closed my eyes.
Gather.
Release.
But instead of coating my body, the aura had to expand outward—
And remain tethered.
Like threads.
Thin.
Precise.
Connected to me.
I pushed my aura outward.
Heat exploded through my body instantly.
Sweat soaked my skin within seconds.
My dark-affinity aura spilled out like black smoke—
And vanished.
Gone in less than two seconds.
My knees slammed into the ground.
My vision fractured.
Something inside my chest felt like it had snapped.
I collapsed forward and vomited the remnants of my lunch.
My limbs trembled violently.
Not physical exhaustion.
Aura collapse.
Internal backlash.
My breathing stuttered unevenly, as if my lungs had forgotten their rhythm.
Through all of it—
Bharam did not move.
His expression never changed.
Only when I fell did he step aside to avoid the mess.
He returned with a bucket and dumped water over my head.
Cold.
Brutal.
Like the mornings Duracal used to wake me without mercy.
My heartbeat steadied slightly.
"Stop now," Bharam asked calmly, "or abandon the technique entirely?"
I wanted to curse him.
Instead, I forced the words out.
"Can I try again tomorrow?"
"You may," he replied. "But I will not be here. If you want my instruction, you practice today."
I glared at him.
He remained unmoved.
"So," he said evenly, "you want to fight instead?"
He drew a circle around himself.
Not large.
Not small.
Two steps in any direction.
"No stepping out," he said.
He lifted five arrows from his pack and held them out to me.
"You get five shots. Any position. Any distance. Moving or still."
"If even one arrow grazes me—or my clothing—I will teach you tomorrow and end today's practice."
I took the arrows.
"These aren't training arrows," I said.
"No," he replied calmly. "They can kill an orc if fired properly. Try not to kill yourself."
He paused.
Then looked at me more carefully.
"You have three minutes," he added. "Recover. Regulate your breathing. If you fire in this condition, your hands will tremble."
He stepped inside the circle.
"And if you collapse again, we end here."
He blindfolded himself with a strip of cloth he had brought.
Then stood still.
Completely still.
Not adjusting his footing.
Not shifting his shoulders.
Just… waiting.
I regulated my breathing.
Slow.
Even.
Forcing the instability in my chest to settle.
After three minutes—
My fingers felt slightly numb against the bowstring.
I nocked the first arrow.
If he possessed Sensory Field—
Then he would detect disturbances in the air.
So I moved.
Running wide arcs.
Stopping abruptly.
Reversing direction.
Stepping forward.
Then backward.
Testing.
Creating false signals.
He didn't turn his head.
Didn't react.
He simply stood there.
Calm.
Untouched by my movement.
I exhaled.
Released.
The arrow sliced through the air with a sharp whip—
And—