The days in the Shadow Clan felt slow and tiring to Floki. For two weeks, he did chores that tested his patience more than his skill. He scrubbed floors, fixed broken weapons, and carried heavy supplies. These tasks were mandatory for all new recruits, a tradition that spared no one.

“How far I’ve fallen,” Floki muttered, dragging a bucket of water toward the barracks. The other recruits wore the same looks of exhaustion, their faces heavy with displeasure. Floki kept his head down and stayed quiet, his sharp eyes observing everything around him. It didn’t take him long to learn that breaking rules led to harsh punishment.

The 10th Inner Disciple, a man named Jaren, enjoyed enforcing those punishments with a sadistic glee. Tall and broad-shouldered, Jaren barked orders with a mean grin that never wavered. “You, bucket boy,” Jaren called one morning, his voice sharp enough to cut through the murmur of chores. Floki turned slowly, keeping his expression blank as he replied, “Yes?”

“Move faster,” Jaren ordered, stepping closer with an air of arrogance. “The Shadow Clan has no place for lazy recruits.” Floki gripped the bucket tighter, his knuckles whitening, but he stayed calm. “Understood, Senior,” he said, his tone even.

Jaren snorted, clearly annoyed by Floki’s calm reply. “You won’t last here. I can already tell.” Floki said nothing, hiding a sharp grin behind the bucket as he turned and walked away. His patience masked his growing plan, every interaction fueling his resolve.

Training sessions provided the only respite from chores, though they were far from exciting. Jaren led the sessions, his smug demeanor growing with every technique he demonstrated. “Focus your energy here,” Jaren barked, extending a shadow blade that shimmered darkly. “Shadows respond to your will,” he added, his pride evident in every word.

Floki mimicked the movements, his outward effort appearing unremarkable. While the other recruits struggled to summon even a flicker of shadow, Floki’s blade stabilized with ease. The system pulsed in his vision, quietly assisting.

[Shadow Blade Technique: Efficiency at 65%. Adjust energy flow to Outer Meridian.]

Following the system’s advice, Floki fine-tuned his technique without drawing attention. “Good enough,” Jaren muttered, barely glancing at Floki’s work. Floki bit back a smirk, letting the system guide him in secret while he feigned mediocrity. He knew there was no need to reveal his full potential—yet.

At night, while the other recruits slept, Floki trained alone. He slipped into the woods near the barracks, using the system’s assistance to refine his skills. [Spectral Veil Technique: Minor Illusion Unlocked. Create visual distractions to confuse opponents.] Testing the new technique, Floki conjured a buzzing fly that darted around the clearing.

“A small start,” he muttered, watching the illusion with a thoughtful expression. “But even small things can distract.” He pushed himself harder each night, his exhaustion growing alongside his skills. The system tracked his progress, displaying steady improvements in his shadow control and energy flow.

Jaren’s bullying became worse over time, his taunts more pointed. “Is that the best you can do?” Jaren sneered one afternoon, watching Floki spar with another recruit. Floki landed a clean strike on his opponent, his expression calm and focused. “Do better,” Jaren snapped, stepping into the ring with his shadow blade glowing ominously.

“Think you can take me on, weakling?” Jaren taunted, his grin wide and arrogant. Floki lowered his staff slightly, keeping his voice neutral. “Not today.” Jaren laughed loudly, his confidence growing. “Thought so. Know your place, bucket boy.”

Floki gripped his staff tightly, staying silent but already planning his next move. A week earlier, he had watched another outer disciple challenge Jaren. The boy, small and nervous, clutched his blade as he spoke with trembling resolve. “I challenge you, Senior Jaren!”

Jaren grinned cruelly, his eyes scanning the gathered recruits. “Another fool. Let’s get this over with.” The fight began, and Jaren’s strikes were precise but slow, his every move calculated to humiliate. By the sixth move, Jaren disarmed the boy, sending his blade clattering to the ground.

On the eighth move, Jaren knocked the boy to the dirt, his ribs visibly aching. Standing triumphantly over his defeated opponent, Jaren spat the word “Pathetic.” The boy scrambled up, pale and shaking. “Please... my rations—”

Jaren cut him off with a sharp laugh. “No food for two days. Maybe you’ll learn your place.” The recruits whispered among themselves, their fear of Jaren solidifying into silent acceptance. Floki’s jaw tightened as he watched the boy stumble away, defeated and humiliated.

From that moment, Floki made a decision. He would wait, observe, and learn Jaren’s patterns. When the time was right, Floki would show Jaren the true meaning of power. His patience would pay off—he was certain of it.

On the final day of the second week, the morning bell rang, summoning the recruits to the courtyard. Jaren entered with his usual air of arrogance, his confidence as thick as ever. “Before training begins,” Floki said, his voice cutting through the noise, “I have a challenge.” The courtyard fell silent as all eyes turned to him.

Jaren’s grin widened, his amusement clear. “You? Challenge me? Don’t make me laugh.” Floki stepped forward, resting his staff on his shoulder. “You’ve underestimated me, Jaren. Let’s see if you’re as strong as you think.”

The recruits murmured, some shocked and others curious as Jaren barked a loud laugh. “Fine. I’ll humor you. Don’t cry when you lose.”

They squared off, the tension in the air thick and electric.

Jaren drew his shadow blade, its edge glowing with dark energy. Floki twirled his staff slowly, his tone calm and confident. “I’ll give you five free moves. Use them wisely.” Jaren hesitated briefly before roaring and charging at Floki with his blade raised high.

The blade came down in a heavy arc, but Floki stepped aside with ease. “That’s one,” he said, his grin widening. Jaren growled, swinging again with more force, his aim now toward Floki’s chest. Floki spun smoothly, his staff sweeping low to trip Jaren slightly.

“That’s two,” Floki added, his tone teasing. Jaren lunged, his blade thrusting straight at Floki’s stomach. Floki pivoted gracefully, letting the blade pass, then tapped Jaren’s shoulder lightly with his staff. “Three,” he counted, his grin sharp.

The recruits watched in stunned silence as Jaren’s strikes grew wild and desperate. Floki parried each one with calm precision, counting aloud. “Four. Five.” With Jaren’s free moves exhausted, Floki made his own.

He stepped in close, his staff cracking against Jaren’s wrist with brutal force. Jaren’s blade clattered to the ground as Floki swung upward, striking Jaren’s chin hard. With a final blow, Floki drove the staff into Jaren’s chest, sending him crashing to the dirt. “Seven. Looks like you’re out of moves.”

The courtyard erupted in whispers, the recruits stunned by what they had witnessed. Jaren struggled to stand, his face red with shame. Floki planted his staff firmly into the ground, his grin as wide as ever. “You should practice your form more, Senior,” he said mockingly.

Some recruits clapped, their fear of Jaren replaced by respect for Floki. From the shadows, someone watched silently, their expression unreadable. Floki turned away, his confidence unshaken as he muttered to himself, “This is only the beginning.” His grin widened as he walked toward his next challenge, the shadows seeming to ripple in approval.