Ryuken strolled onto the freezing upper deck on the second morning while Vane was midway through the second form.

The old master did not say a word. He simply sat down on an iron storage crate at the edge of the deck, rested his calloused hands loosely on his knees, and watched. He was not using the terrifying, invasive assessment he had weaponized in Villa 1.

He was not projecting the Iron Heaven’s full, crushing perception. He was just watching. It was the mild, detached way a person watches a flickering fire they have no urgent opinion about yet.

Vane ignored the audience. He finished the sweeping arc of the second form and flowed into the third. He ran it cleanly and brutally. Heaven Gate was present as his base condition, exactly as it had been since the training yard had forced it out of him in the small hours of the morning months ago.

The intent and the physical mechanics arrived simultaneously. The Falling Star drilled a perfect, lethal hole through the freezing air above the ocean.

He snapped the spear back and returned to a neutral stance, his breath pluming in the cold.

Ryuken tilted his head. “You move exactly like a western spearman.”

Vane said nothing. He tightened his grip on the shaft and waited.

Ryuken did not elaborate. He offered no correction. He simply stood up, cast a single, bored look at the churning ocean, and strolled back below deck.

Vane stood alone on the upper deck with his spear resting at his side. The dark water rushed endlessly below him. He stared at the empty hatch and thought hard about what that comment meant, and more importantly, what the alternative was supposed to be. He could not arrive at a specific answer. He was a western spearman. He had been trained by a western woman who had bled to learn from a rigid western tradition. The Argent Horizon was western by its very definition, built entirely around western principles of sheer velocity and forward force application. There was no particular insult or surprise in being told this.

The single word he kept returning to, the one that snagged in his mind like a barb, was like. Ryuken had not stated that Vane was a western spearman. He had stated that Vane moved like one.

He was still turning this distinction over in his head when Lancelot came up from below.

Lancelot did not even glance in Vane’s direction. He walked straight to his position at the far railing with the exact same quality of movement he always had, the frictionless momentum of an object traveling toward a predetermined set of coordinates. He reached the railing, stopped perfectly still, and stared blankly at the horizon.

Vane looked at the back of the boy’s head for a long moment.

The evaluation courtyard. Two pale fingers resting casually on the vibrating shaft of his spear. The Falling Star at absolute maximum Perfect Copy output, with the complete conceptual stack running, only to watch those two fingers casually stop it. He had been moving like a western spearman. The absolute pinnacle of a western spearman’s third form had been caught by two fingers, and Lancelot had not appeared to find the exertion particularly demanding.

Vane slung the spear over his shoulder and went below deck to find Ryuken.

Ryuken was sitting deep in the cargo hold. The cramped space smelled exactly as Vane had left it: thick cedar, sharp fuel, and the suffocating staleness of recycled air. The master was sitting on the grated floor with his back resting against a steel support beam. He was doing absolutely nothing visible. It appeared to be a genuine habit of his, the profound, complete stillness of a creature whose vast interior life required absolutely no external activity to sustain itself.

Vane stopped in front of him. “What does the alternative look like.”

Ryuken slowly looked up. “To moving like a western spearman.”

“Yes.”

Ryuken stood. He held out an expectant hand. Vane handed over the spear. Ryuken held the weapon loosely for a second, assessing the weight and the balance, and then did something incredibly subtle with his feet.

It was not a dramatic martial stance. It was not a recognizable technique. He simply shifted his weight by a degree so microscopic that Vane’s eyes could barely track the change. Yet the entire fundamental quality of the way the old man held the spear changed instantly. A second ago the weapon had been a heavy steel tool resting in his hands. After the shift it became something else. It was not exactly a physical part of him, but it was no longer separate from him either. It was connected the way a living limb is connected to a beating heart.

Ryuken tossed the spear back. Vane caught it, the steel feeling suddenly clumsy and dead in his own grip.

“A western spearman controls the weapon,” Ryuken said, his voice echoing in the hold. “He tells it where to go and it goes. The force originates in the hands and travels outward.” He pointed at Vane’s white-knuckled grip. “The eastern tradition builds from the ground. The force originates in the earth, travels up through the body, and arrives at the weapon last. The weapon is the final exit point. It is never the origin point.”

Vane: “The three states.”

“Iron Root first. The absolute relationship between the body and the ground it stands on. Only when that is complete do you unlock Water Spine. And only when Water Spine is complete do you achieve Heaven Gate.” He paused. “You have Heaven Gate. You do not have Iron Root, and you certainly do not have Water Spine, simply because you have never been taught them. This means your Heaven Gate is operating on a foundation it does not actually possess.” Ryuken looked pointedly at Vane’s boots. “When you finally have all three, the epiphany you experienced finding Heaven Gate will happen again for Iron Root, and again for Water Spine. Exactly in that order. The states build sequentially. They cannot be skipped.”

Vane looked down at his hands.

“You found Heaven Gate before the foundation only because you are talented, and because the Argent Horizon contains a crude version of it intuitively,” Ryuken said. “What you have right now is real, Vane. What you are missing is the ground underneath it.” He turned toward the hold’s forward section. “Spread your feet.”

Vane spread his feet.

“Wider.”

He widened his stance.

“Now stand exactly there.”

Ryuken turned his back and walked away into the shadows.

Vane stood exactly there for an hour.

It was not a figure of speech. Ryuken had told him to stand there and Ryuken meant things precisely, and an hour of standing frozen in a wide stance in a leviathan hold that reeked of cedar and fuel was therefore what the morning’s training consisted of.

He stood. The leviathan engines produced a relentless subsonic resonance that rattled the iron floor plating. This was relevant because Iron Root was fundamentally about the relationship between the body and the surface it stood on, and the surface he was standing on was vibrating constantly. He could feel it tearing through his boots, up through his ankles, burning into his thighs. His natural instinct was to absorb the shock. He desperately wanted to let his joints flex and dampen the violent shaking, which was exactly what a trained body did with hostile vibration traveling up from the ground.

But Ryuken had defined Iron Root as the total elimination of every mechanical inefficiency in the relationship between the body and the surface. Standing there with the engine’s violence tearing up through his bones, Vane started to understand what inefficiency meant in this context.

Dampening was inefficient. His flexing joints were absorbing kinetic force rather than transmitting it. A body that absorbed energy from the ground could never transmit energy from the ground into a weapon. The two were mutually exclusive.

He stopped dampening.

He locked his joints. The vibration tore through his skeletal structure uninterrupted. It felt deeply wrong, but it was wrong in the specific way things felt when they were actually right and the wrongness lived entirely in his own expectations rather than the sensation itself. His ankles desperately wanted to flex. His knees begged to absorb. He denied them.

At the forty-minute mark, Ryuken materialized in the hold entrance. He studied Vane’s trembling boots, then dragged his gaze slowly up the rest of his rigid, vibrating body. He said nothing for a long moment.

“You found the edge of it,” Ryuken finally said.

“I don’t even know what I found,” Vane said through clenched teeth.

“You found what it costs your body to refuse to absorb. The next step is finding how to transmit that energy instead.” He paused. “That takes longer. Stand exactly like that for the rest of the hour.”

He turned and vanished back into the dark.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep