There was no essence available for units in the shop, but Novak had no trouble arranging a batch of thirty at cost price. Still, using them in batches for cumulative effect in the Air Garden required paying in points.

And in the halls where Air cultivators trained, there wasn't any dust. But there was a lot of smoke. They all used special incense sticks, though none held them between their teeth like Alan. And this smoke had no scent. Training took place in individual transparent booths, each equipped with extraction vents, low tables, and stands for the sticks.

The individual booths surprised me. I didn't think Air cultivators would be fond of tight spaces.

They weren't, but it was the only way to protect themselves from each other's wind. If they trained in an open hall, the currents they'd stirred up would simply wipe out everyone else's smoke. And for training, you needed that white stream to drift steadily upwards. That smoke stream was what the beginners worked with — slicing it in half, splitting it into three, twisting it into a coil, or stretching it into a straight thread. It all depended on the technique.

I had to visit several halls, but I couldn't find a single one that wasn't trying to charge me three times the normal rate. The halls were crowded, the trainers saw my Second Stage, and every single one tried to squeeze as much as they could. No one cared that I was a complete beginner when it came to Air.

After giving it some thought, I approached Rene after finishing my own session in his training hall.

"Come on, let's have some tea. I want to talk about my development," I nodded toward his office.

"We already have talked," he said.

"We need to talk more," I shot back.

"You reach Third Stage, I'll fleece you for everything you've got."

"That's if I don't reach Third before you hit Fourth," I teased. "Otherwise, what good are you?"

"I'm going to remember that!" he promised.

And he fulfilled the promise immediately — set the kettle on, grabbed two cups, and dropped teabags into them. In cultivator speak, that meant: you've pushed too far — drink and get out.

I didn't waste time.

"Right," I began, "I need an individual session for Air."

Rene pulled a face and waved me off.

"Not my specialty. I'm a Fist coach, not Air!"

"But you do use Air Qi," I pointed out. "Mad Monkey of East."

He snorted and poured boiling water into the cups. Handing me my freshly brewed tea, he explained.

"I've mastered all the school-affiliated qi types. But they all go hand-in-hand with Fist. Fist plus Air, Fist plus Wood, Fist plus Point… Fist is my specialisation. Everything else is just a bonus."

Six qi types? That was impressive. But what I said aloud was:

"Well, that's exactly what I need — Fist plus Air."

Rene rolled his eyes.

"What you actually need right now is the exact opposite: Air minus Fist. Otherwise, you're just going to blow your fingers off."

"Then teach me," I pressed. "You're the best person to show how not to blow fingers off. Besides, since when do you turn down easy money?"

"Easy?" Rene grimaced. "I remember what it was like! Learning a second qi type is no walk in the park."

"Which is exactly why you should take it on," I said. "More lessons, more pay."

Rene tugged at the teabag string and thought it over. He took a sip and stared at the wall past me.

"Give it a try," I pushed. "If it works out, you can add another service to your list."

"I'm not certified to teach Air," he said.

"Then don't. Just teach how different Fist is from Air."

Rene gave the teabag another lazy tug and took another sip.

"Come by the hall after five," he said.

"Five-thirty," I corrected him. "My shift ends at five."

"Five-thirty," he agreed.

After five, the hall was nearly empty, save for a few third-periods. They seemed to be Rene's friends, they were at the same level as him, and he wasn't paying the slightest attention to their training.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

We sat down on the couch in the trainer's room. Rene took out a small teapot and poured us real tea. Steam rose upwards, mingling with the thin trail of smoke from an incense stick burning in its holder. He placed it in front of us, and the white thread curled upward in a slightly unsteady line.

"Watch," Rene said, extending a hand forward. He made a subtle flick of his fingers, and it produced a surprisingly strong gust of wind. The smoke obediently bent sideways under the pressure, and I felt it — Rene had activated Air Qi.

"Yeah, I'm pretty much fed up with watching that..." I ran a hand across my throat. "Doesn't do much for me."

Rene wagged a finger at me, signalling for silence. He waited until the smoke from the incense straightened out again, then pushed the air forward with an open palm and splayed fingers.

This time, the gust was stronger. Strong enough to nudge the incense stick itself, let alone the smoke. And the sensation of Air Qi hit me more sharply, almost like an offensive technique.

"Remember when we were learning how to create a projection? We broke the process into tiny segments and repeated them one by one.

"You said your main goal this time is not to injure yourself? I've come up with a way to avoid that. Air Qi won't hurt you, it's much safer in the beginning. The real issue is that you automatically generate Fist Qi. That's what can snap your fingers.

"So, what do you need to do?" he asked.

"Don't generate Fist Qi?"

Rene didn't like the answer, but instead of correcting me, he pushed the air again.

"Don't hold the qi!" I realised.

"Exactly! Just like with the shield — we first learn how to strike, then how to create the shield. First, we push the qi out, and only later do we draw it back in.

"For now, we're only working on the push, but using your technique's pathway. You'll need to lay the channels anyway."

He gestured toward the ribbon of smoke.

"Just in case, aim a bit higher," he advised.

I took a deep breath and mimicked Rene's movement. Not entirely. He was clearly using a different technique for his push. I, on the other hand, drew a bit of qi from the reactor, slowly spiralled it along my arm, and pushed.

My fingers lit up with silver light, and instead of wind, something like a half-formed palm projection shot out — with a distinctly outlined pinky, index, and thumb, but the middle and ring fingers were just transparent stubs.

The projection tore through the smoke but travelled a few more metres before disintegrating with a soft pop.

"Crap," I muttered.

Rene, on the contrary, smiled and crossed his arms over his chest.

"That's actually a very decent start!" he said. "Your fingers are still intact, which means you can keep going, and there was a hint of Air Qi in that strike. I definitely felt it. A bit more, and we can start working on the Airy Chain Punch."

I raised an eyebrow.

The news wasn't bad. Assuming Rene wasn't just trying to encourage me.

Though to be fair, that wasn't really his style.

He just had a lousy habit of finding something positive in every failure.

Rene leaned forward and adjusted the incense stick in its holder so it stood straighter.

"Again," he ordered. "Don't strike — push."

I raised my hand again, preparing the strike and trying to picture air blowing from my palm, but the result was exactly the same.

I spent a full hour tearing through that smoke with half-formed projections, burned through four incense sticks, and didn't really manage any clear progress.

Still, Rene was happy that I hadn't broken my fingers, so I figured that alone was worth the individual session. And repeating the same movements? That I could do in my own room. I just needed to buy a holder and a pack of sticks.

After that training, I began spending more and more time in my room, unlike my guys, who were starting to disappear more and more.

Marlon still came back to sleep, but Denis and Bao had practically moved into the farm barracks.

I should have joined them, but I wasn't ready yet.

The only technique I could truly rely on — the old, reliable Hook!

If not for that, I probably would have spiralled into depression.

Hook was progressing — its power had doubled, and it had also become my main way of reducing energy consumption.

Everything else was going terribly.

Though we still trained regularly with Artem, and he was quite pleased with my migraines.

We had already reached the point where I could deliberately direct qi flow to the cerebral cortex, and not lose consciousness from it.

Still, I hadn't felt any acceleration in mental processing. Quite the opposit, after each session I felt like I'd dropped a few IQ points. Somewhere around Tariq's level.

At least there was no his rage. I had no energy for rage.

If I had the energy, I probably would have snapped at someone.

And don't let Zola tell me she has a 'schedule'!

She'd had her breakthrough too, by the way.

I didn't know her foundation, but from our talks and what her stats showed in the interface, I could guess she was focused on Fist and Edge.

The library videos showed it was quite an interesting combination. From Second Stage onwards, people like her could create and launch pointy projection, and didn't always need weapons to do it. The projections were born in their fists.

Zola had gone straight back to cultivating after her breakthrough. I, on the other hand, took a long pause before returning to the Flow Chambers, where an unpleasant surprise awaited me.

My altered and strengthened body was now treating the Flow as an invasive force — actively resisting it and shielding itself from the free qi.

After my first session, the usual 54 minutes, I had absorbed nearly half as much qi as before: only 237 units before dispersal.

To even get close to my old absorption rate, I now had to use a special technique — the same one Bao had tried during his first Flow Chamber session, back when he still believed he was unique.

The good news was that my dispersal rate had dropped back down to its minimum — around 33–34%. Which meant I retained 157 units out of 237.

157/6,274.

This was going to be a long road.

A long, infuriating one.

I'd strained, taken risks, endured pain and pushed my limits, just to end up in the same bloody spot I'd been in two weeks ago.

Or maybe I just like being pissed off?

Maybe it's just human nature — always wanting more, never satisfied with what we have?

My position was far better than that of any of my neighbours, but the only face that looked genuinely content was Marlon's.

Denis and Bao were more serious now, and I felt just as powerless, dependent, and lost as I had at the very beginning of this whole journey.

I'd gotten a little too used to being 'the champion'.

And that title, the bloody thing, was slipping away from me fast. I'd already missed five weekly tournaments and two monthly ones.

Other champions were tearing through opponents like animals.

Kowalski and Omar had both done well!

Kowalski took second place in the last monthly, and Omar won two weeklies. But the real stars were Gunther and Dubois.

Whenever they met in the arena, it was always the most spectacular fight of the tournament.

I always rooted for Dubois, but he'd never managed to win.

Gunther remained the undefeated, undisputed champion.

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