Chapter 212: Training and Problems.

The following days passed without ceremony.

There was no clear milestone, no moment when Damon could say, “Now I know.” There was only repetition, error, pain, and small victories that only made sense when accumulated.

The forest became his testing ground.

Each morning began the same way: Ester was already there, motionless, spear planted in the ground; Lily appeared next, always with some new provocation; and Damon arrived last, carrying in his body the weariness of the previous day… and in his mind, a perception that never completely switched off.

“How many presences today?” Ester would invariably ask, before any warm-up.

At first, Damon would get it terribly wrong.

“Many…?” he would answer, uncertain.

“Quantify it,” she demanded.

He would close his eyes, breathe, feel his Qi like a second skin.

“Thirty-and… no, thirty-four. No. Thirty-two.”

“Wrong,” Ester said. “Start over.”

The frustration came quickly. Not from not feeling, but from feeling too much. The forest wasn’t a static place. Small creatures entered and exited his perception. Birds flew, insects crossed, predators moved carefully.

“You’re not counting individuals,” Ester corrected. “You’re counting noise.”

She made him repeat it. Again. And again.

Until, one day, something changed.

Damon opened his eyes after a few seconds of silence.

“Forty-seven,” he said. “Thirty-nine small ones. Six medium ones. Two large ones… one of them is sleeping.”

Ester hesitated before answering.

Then she nodded.

“Correct.”

Lily’s eyes widened.

“Wait… even I felt that large one,” she commented. “You noticed it was sleeping?”

“Her Qi is… heavy,” Damon replied. “Slow pace. Doesn’t react to the environment.”

Lily smiled, a different smile.

“Okay. That’s kind of scary.”

It was at this point that Ester decided to change the training.

“Very well,” she said, planting the spear harder into the ground. “Now, you’re going to fight.”

Damon sighed.

“Against you?”

“No,” Ester replied. “Against her.”

Lily blinked.

“Wait, what?”

“You’ve been training with spears,” Ester continued, looking at Lily. “Time to test if you’ve learned anything besides pretty spins.”

Lily snapped her fingers, and a spear of condensed energy took shape in her hand, similar to Ester’s, but lighter, more fluid.

“Damon,” she said, with a teasing smile, “I promise I won’t kill you.”

“That’s not reassuring,” he retorted.

Ester stepped back a few meters.

“Damon, you’re going to fight,” she said. “And at the same time, you’re going to keep count of the forest.”

Damon felt his stomach sink.

“What?”

“Out loud,” Esther added. “If you miss… we start over.”

Lily chuckled.

“Cruel. I like it.”

Damon took a deep breath, adjusting his grip on the spear.

“Ready whenever you want,” Lily said.

She attacked without warning.

Not with brute force—with speed.

Lily’s spear described a low, fluid, almost dancing arc. Damon instinctively recoiled, feeling the displacement of air even before the weapon approached.

“Forty-seven,” he said, narrowly dodging.

Lily spun, attacking from above.

“Thirty-nine little ones…,” he continued, blocking, the impact vibrating through his arms.

She smiled.

“You talk too much.”

She lunged forward, forcing Damon to retreat among the trees. Branches creaked, leaves rustled.

“Six medium ones,” he said, leaping to the side, feeling something small slip beneath his feet.

Lily quickened her pace.

She was better.

Her movements still had the chaotic unpredictability of before, but now there was structure. Esther had taught her positioning, reach, pressure.

“Two large ones,” Damon swung his spear to deflect a sideways blow. “One sleeping.”

“Focus!” Lily shouted, attacking in quick succession.

Damon stumbled, almost fell, but recovered by rolling on the ground.

“I can’t,” he replied, panting. “That’s concentration.”

Esther watched everything in silence.

Lily changed her rhythm.

She feigned a frontal attack and disappeared at the last instant, reappearing to her right. Damon sensed her Qi before he saw her and reflexively blocked, their spears clashing with a dry snap.

“You felt it,” she said, surprised.

“Yes,” Damon replied. “But you hesitated before attacking.”

“Damn it.”

She stepped back, laughing, and advanced again, this time without hesitation.

Damon felt the difference.

“Forty-eight,” he said suddenly, dodging. “Something woke up.”

Esther narrowed her eyes.

“Keep going.”

Lily attacked harder, trying to break his focus. Damon began to miscount, correcting mid-sentence.

“Thirty-eight small… no, thirty-seven. One went out of reach.”

He spun, blocked, advanced.

He wasn’t winning.

But he wasn’t losing either.

The real challenge wasn’t Lily.

It was about keeping the whole world inside without drowning in it.

Sweat dripped down his face. His muscles burned. His Qi vibrated like an unstable field around his body.

“Damon!” Ester called. “How many now?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, even under attack.

He felt it.

“Forty-nine,” he said. “The big one has awakened. It’s moving… away.”

Lily stopped.

“You…” she breathed heavily, “are fighting me and narrating the forest?”

“Not narrating,” Damon corrected, opening his eyes. “Reading.”

She smiled.

“Okay. Now I’m competitive.”

She charged forward with everything she had.

Damon was almost hit twice in quick succession. His spear narrowly missed, the impact reverberating to his shoulders.

But something had changed.

He no longer reacted only to Lily.

He reacted to the context.

He knew where he could retreat without stumbling. He sensed when an animal passed too close. He used the terrain instinctively.

“Forty-eight,” he said. “A little one died.”

Lily hesitated for half a second.

“What?” “Medium predator,” Damon explained. “Quick attack. It wasn’t you.”

She laughed, even as she attacked.

“That’s absurd.”

Finally, Esther raised her hand.

“Enough.”

Lily stopped, resting her spear on the ground, panting.

Damon fell to his knees soon after, breathing heavily.

“That… was… unfair,” he murmured.

“It was realistic,” Esther corrected.

She approached.

“How long did you maintain that perception?”

“I don’t know,” Damon replied. “I stopped keeping track of time.”

Esther nodded.

“Exactly.”

She looked at Lily.

“And you?”

Lily wiped the sweat from her brow.

“He’s becoming annoyingly difficult to catch.”

Esther turned to Damon.

“You still miss,” she said. “You still get distracted. You still rely too much on patterns.”

She paused.

“But now, you can fight within the world, not isolated from it.”

Damon smiled wearily.

“So… progress?”

“Survival,” Esther replied.

She turned, already walking away.

“Tomorrow, we’ll do this at night.”

Damon groaned.

Lily patted his shoulder.

“Good luck with that.”

…

The city wasn’t asleep—it was just pretending.

Oil lamps cast yellowish halos over the cobblestone streets, long shadows stretching across the narrow walls, while the smell of iron, smoke, and cheap spices mingled in the air. It was the kind of place where information changed hands as easily as coins… and where dangerous people went unnoticed if they knew how to walk the right way.

They knew.

Five figures advanced through the alleys as if they had always belonged there. Hoods down, calculated steps, controlled breathing. They didn’t talk as they moved. There was no need.

They only stopped when they reached a discreet tavern, squeezed between two crooked buildings, known for serving bad drinks, worse food… and silence, if the price was right.

Inside, they chose the most secluded table, where the light barely touched.

Only then did one of them speak.

“So?” “You said you found something,” a hoarse, deep voice asked, its throat seemingly scratching at the speaker.

The man in front of him leaned toward the table. Unlike the others, his hood was more worn, and a recent scar crossed his cheek—barely closed, still rosy.

His eyes gleamed with something between caution and excitement.

“I found a trail,” he said. “Not from the succubus. Not directly.”

One of the others clicked his tongue.

“If it’s not hers, it doesn’t interest us.”

“You’re mistaken,” replied the man with the scar. “That trail led to whoever took her from us.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

The group’s leader—a tall man with broad shoulders, whose presence seemed to draw attention to everything around him—rested his elbows on the table.

“Explain,” he said.

The man with the scar took a deep breath.

“A few days ago, I attacked a traveler on the road. I wasn’t alone. It was supposed to be simple. Observation, capture, elimination if necessary.”

He clenched his teeth for a moment.

“It wasn’t.”

One of the assassins chuckled softly.

“You were defeated by a merchant?”

“No,” he retorted dryly. “I was forced to retreat by someone I shouldn’t have sensed.”

The leader inclined his head slightly.

“Continue.”

“The man wasn’t strong,” the one with the scar explained. “Not in the usual way. But he reacted beforehand. Not to the blows. To the intent. As if he knew he was being watched… even when he wasn’t.”

The table fell silent again.

“And are you sure it’s the same group?” asked a hooded woman, whose voice was cold as glass.

“I am,” he replied. “Because I followed the trail afterward.”

He took something from his pocket and placed it on the table: a small piece of dark fabric, too thin to be ordinary.

“This came from the carriage that carried the succubus. The same material… I found it near the man.”

The leader slowly closed his fingers.

“Where is he now?”

The scarred man hesitated for a second.

“At Wykes Manor.”

That changed everything.

One of the assassins leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle.

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely.”

The leader narrowed his eyes.

“Wykes Manor doesn’t house just anyone.”

“Exactly,” replied the scarred man. “If he’s there, he’s either protected… or useful.”

The hooded woman crossed her arms.

“Or he’s bait.”

“Either way,” said the leader, “that makes a direct approach unfeasible.”

“The Wykes family isn’t officially linked to the underworld,” another added. “But everyone knows they have resources. Guards, silent contracts… and allies who don’t appear on records.”

The scarred man nodded.

“That’s why I backed down. Attacking someone under that roof unprepared would be suicide.”

The leader was silent for a few seconds, pondering.

“If this man really participated in the succubus theft,” he said finally, “then he’s valuable. Alive.”

“And if he’s just a pawn?” the woman questioned.

“Then we extract from him the name of whoever is driving him,” the leader replied, emotionlessly.

He leaned forward.

“But we’re not going to act yet.”

“No?” asked the scarred man, surprised.

“No,” the leader confirmed. “If he’s in the Wykes mansion, we need information. Routine. Allies. Weaknesses.”

He paused.

“And we need to assume that if he managed to sense us once… he can do it again.”

One of the assassins smiled grimly.

“That makes the hunt more interesting.”

“It makes it more dangerous,” the leader corrected. “Don’t underestimate it.”

They began to rise, one by one.

“Observation first,” the leader concluded. “No impulsive actions. If this man is indeed the target… he won’t escape. We just need to make sure that when we attack, we’re not walking into a bigger trap.”

They left the tavern quietly, dispersing through the streets like dissolving shadows.

What none of them realized…

Was that not all the shadows were empty.

On the roof of the building across from the tavern, between chimneys and ancient beams, something—someone—watched in absolute silence.

Nyx remained motionless, merged with the darkness as if she were part of it. Her Qi was so contained that not even the assassins, trained to sense anomalies, would have noticed her presence if they looked directly at her.

She had heard everything.

Every word.

Every hesitation.

“Wykes Mansion… Damon.”

Her eyes gleamed slightly beneath the hood.

They didn’t know.

They didn’t know where they were stepping.

Nyx retreated slowly, disappearing into the shadows of the roof, already calculating routes, messages, consequences.

Elizabeth needed to know.

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