Cale spent a good hour watching the two dummies work. It went through four variations on the technique. Then a very slow motion demonstration from a solo dummy that was slightly larger than a regular human, and had no skin, so the muscles were visible. After that a bodiless voice in a flat, nasal female voice explained the principles of the technique.


    It was as Cale had figured. The Ghost Step technique required tension followed by relaxation. And the mana-work had to reflect that. The mana had to be dispersed evenly across the body for the technique to work. Then it needed to be pressurized into a smaller space, and released. It was quite simple, really. In theory.


    Cale watched it again. Slow. Then slower. The attacking dummy’s punch soared through empty air, while the primary dummy dipped into this stance of total tension and then total release. It was subtle, but visible. It felt like the dummy was holding a breath while tense. Then an exhale that relaxed the body and turned it into translucent and ethereal, with a faint green hue surrounding it.


    How the hell am I going to move while being completely relaxed? Or completely tense for that matter.


    Cale shrugged. Thinking and watching wouldn’t get him any further. He went to the green triangle and removed himself from the white space with the dummies. It was time to get to work.


    Cale mimicked the stance. He squared his shoulders, planted his back foot. First came the tension. He tried to tighten everything—abs, arms, calves, core. But it felt like forcing puzzle pieces that didn’t belong. His body trembled in protest, and his breathing hitched. Then, in a single exhale, he tried to let it all go.


    He ended up toppling sideways.


    “Great,” he muttered, getting back to his feet. “This might take a while.”


    He tried again. Tension, then release. Tension, release.


    After half an hour, he could manage something passable. On a good attempt, that intangible energy flickered in his veins and he could feel a shift. His hands flickered into momentary translucence just for half a heartbeat.


    “That’s something,” Cale muttered. “How about you help me out a little here, Aura?”


    “I was wondering when you remembered my exalted existence.” Aura’s voice echoed in his mind, full of haughty glee. “I was beginning to think you enjoyed flailing around like a half-witted chicken.”


    “Are you going to help me or not?”


    “I suppose I will have to or we will both end up dead. Or worse, you’ll embarrass me,” Aura sniffed. “Alright, let’s see. Take up the exact stance the dummy had. Yes, like that. Stance is off by approximately nine degrees. Widen it.”


    Cale adjusted his feet. “Like this?”


    “Ninety-two percent correct,” Aura said. “Elbow alignment is still slightly forward.”


    Cale frowned and shifted his elbow. “Better?”


    “Perfect! See how fast you learn when you use my amazing capabilities!” Aura’s smug satisfaction practically radiated through Cale’s mind.


    “Alright, good. Let me get a feel for it,” Cale said Then added. “Thanks.”


    “Hmph,” Aura said. “You learn fairly fast for a meatbag.”


    Cale chuckled and closed his eyes. He tried to get a feel where he was, what his body was doing. Then when he felt he had imprinted that sensation in his brain. He stepped out of the stance. Bounced and moved around a little, and sank back into the stance, and listened to Aura’s corrective instructions. They spent an hour doing this, until Cale could sink back into the exact stance with over ninety-nine percent accuracy.


    It was only after that, long beyond the point of frustrated and clearly voiced boredom of Aura’s that they continued.


    “Now, begin tension from the toes upward. Just like that. Ah, do not skip your glutes. I said do not skip them! That’s 83% tension. Innnnnnadequate!”


    Cale squeezed his buttcheeks together, tensed his toes, calves, pressed his hands into tight fists, held his breath and compressed his chest into a tight knot.


    “Now relax—yes, like that. Good. 95%. Smoother exhale next time. Breathe out starting from your toes.”


    “Breathing through my— you know what, never mind. Magic breathing…”


    Cale exhaled and released the constriction of mana he had built up inside him. The mana released and softened. Cale felt a shift. A weightlessness and lightness that boggled his mind. He looked at his hands. Completely transparent, with a green hue of an outline.


    He grinned. That was progress—way better than his aimless attempts from before. He repeated the movement, each time letting Aura’s machine-like corrections chip away at his mistakes. An hour passed, and another. They were honing in on the simple concept of ease. Cale needed to be able to perform this technique at will before any swords were coming his way.


    I still don’t trust myself to phase through one, but I got the basic idea down.


    “At this rate,” Aura announced, “You might even impress me. That is, if you don’t pass out first.”


    Cale blinked sweat out of his eyes. He spoke between labored breaths. “I’m good. Keep going.”


    “Incorrect. Both your mental and physical fatigue are mounting. You are encroaching from severe to critical.”


    Cale knew it. He could feel the ache in his muscles, from the constant back and forth absolute tension and absolute release. The amount of just pure physical breathwork that was required had surprised Cale, and he was working with a superhuman physique of upper Body Tempering. The brain fog and headache were much worse. All this Cale acknowledge and resolved to push aside. This was not the time to rest. Not with the amount of catching up he had to do.


    “We keep going,” Cale said, then added. “Or maybe it is you who is getting tired.”


    “Why I— You dare insinuate?” Aura huffed. “I will have you know that if you cannot keep going further, I will henceforth always call you Sir Failsalot. Sir Quitsalot. Keep pushing and follow my divine advice!”


    Aura kept going for a while. Cale tuned it out and brought up the last dregs of his focus.


    He hammered through repetition after repetition, each set of tension and relaxation leaving his muscles screaming for mercy. Aura nagged him with unyielding precision, forcing him to readjust—elbow up, foot angled, spine straight, gather the energy, hold the tension, release it.


    Eventually, black spots swam across his vision. He tried to launch one final ghost-step, but everything went fuzzy. He stumbled, blinked, tried to recover—and the floor rushed up to meet him.


    Slam.


    He sprawled onto the silver tatami, panting like a dog in the desert. Every inch of him felt like lead. He tried to move, but all he managed was a pathetic little tremble of muscles as they spasmed and protested against him.


    Aura’s voice whispered into his mind, soft and gentle. “You did well, Cale. That was amazing. Rest.”


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    Cale didn’t even manage to answer. He closed his eyes.


    He drifted on the edge of unconsciousness, a weary satisfaction blooming in his chest. He might be miles away from mastery, but with Aura’s absurdly power-charged tutoring, progress was inevitable. No matter how steep the mountain, he’d climb it.


    A smile tugged at his lips as darkness swallowed him. The tatami was cool beneath his skin, the scent of incense curling in the air like a whispered lullaby.


    *


    After an indeterminate amount of time Cale woke up, cheek submerged in a puddle of drool of his own making. It was one of those slow wakeups that begin with a sigh. Cale must have slept for a long time. Cale woke up, cheek submerged in a puddle of his own drool. He sighed, blinking blearily at the ceiling. His limbs felt weightless, his body refreshed—which made no sense, considering he’d spent the night sprawled on a tatami.


    Cale was groggy though. He wouldn’t have minded a few more hours of sleep, but his instincts told him to get up.


    He pushed himself up, rolling his shoulders. No soreness. No stiffness. His shirt wasn’t even wrinkled. He sniffed it. Still smelled fresh.


    That’s weird.


    “Morning,” Cale muttered through a yawn.


    “Good morning!” Aura’s voice rang in his head, almost too chipper.


    “You seem unusually happy.”


    “Of course! Do you have any idea how boring it is when you sleep?”


    Cale scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Not really. What do you do while I’m out?”


    “Nothing.” Aura sighed dramatically. “I run maintenance on the nanobots, program them for functions such as expediting your recovery, and then… drift between states of being and non-being.”


    Cale frowned. “That sounds… kinda harrowing.”


    “Oh? Expressing concern for me? How touching.” Aura’s voice practically preened. “It is quite fine really, but I much prefer it when you’re awake. Far more opportunities for entertainment.”


    Cale smiled. “Well, I’d be most excited about breakfast right now.”


    “I concur! You would not believe how much energy you burned last night.”


    Cale’s stomach growled in agreement. He stretched, yawned again, then headed for the door. Time to find some food.


    *


    Eventually Cale found a cafeteria of stylish leather couches of black and silver cushioning and glass tables of a milky texture. In the middle of the hall, there was a large table with an obscene buffet on it, with anything ranging from cream cake to steamed lobster on it. Cale darted towards the table without hesitation and grabbed the largest plate he could find from an adjacent table.


    After Cale had three plates sufficiently overbursting with food, Cale looked at his creations, masterpieces of unapologetic gluttony, and found them perfect.


    Scrambled eggs and bright red tomato slices, with a myriad of different kinds of slices of fruits on one plate, another plate with bacon stacked on a toast so thickly, that the toast itself was swimming in grease. Then there was a stack of cold cut meats and various hard cheeses along with more toast. The third plate was an impressive tower of pancakes, butter and syrup that teetered on the edge of catastrophe as Cale moved slowly towards the tables.


    A stocky mortal woman wearing a white apron with stains passed Cale as he was balancing the overloaded plates. She chuckled and smiled happily and approvingly at him. Cale grinned back the brightest smile he could muster and said. “Thank you for the food!”


    She blinked twice, as if shocked to receive a compliment, flashed beet red, bowed to Cale and hurried away.


    Cale noticed Fiara was sitting at one of the tables. She was idly tapping at one of the two mana-glass tablets on the table as she sipped on a cup of coffee. Cale managed to place his plates on the table and slid them towards a chair.


    “No please, join me,” Fiara said dryly as she wiped a drop of syrup from one of her tablets. “Not like I was doing anything important.”


    “You can still do what you’re doing,” Cale said. “But I like company when I eat.”


    “I like silence when I work,” Fiara said.


    Cale stuffed a piece of bacon toast in his mouth and pointed at his bulging cheek.


    “Fine,” Fiara said.


    Cale moaned with the pleasure only a crispy piece of bacon can evoke.


    “No moaning,” she snapped. “Absolutely no moaning.”


    Cale was fully engrossed in unpacking his meal and enjoying the rich food. The fruits were fresh, the scrambled eggs spongy, but not dry or rubbery. The pancakes were fluffy and the syrup was just so. Not too sweet, not too thick. He already forgot Fiara in his trance of gluttony, before she cleared her throat and looked at him as if she had just asked a question.


    Cale swallowed his food. “Did you say something?”


    Fiara brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “I asked if you always eat like a street dog.”


    “You know,” Cale said and playfully threatened her with a fork. “Zavio called me a dog, and look what happened to him.”


    Fiara raised her eyebrows and smiled. “He’s not going to let that duel go. He will be coming for you.”


    “Oh, I’m counting on it. I need the extra motivation.”


    Fiara looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You haven’t given him a second thought after you beat him, right?”


    Cale stuffed his mouth full of buttered pancake and shrugged.


    Fiara scoffed. “Just like Darius. No wonder he chose you. Did you know he hasn’t had a disciple in eight years?”


    Cale watched her as he ate. There was some strange weight she put on those last words.


    “You say that like it’s something personal,” Cale said.


    Fiara scoffed and looked away. “Maybe it is.”


    “What happened?”


    “None of your business,” Fiara said.


    Cale frowned but let it drop—for now. Instead, he piled bacon on top of his pancakes and enjoyed the food. The silence stretched.


    After a moment, he muttered, “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say that. No need to bite my head off.”


    Fiara sighed, staring into her coffee cup. “I just don’t see the point in dwelling on things that don’t matter anymore.”


    “So it mattered once,” Cale said, raising an eyebrow.


    She scoffed, but there was less bite in it. “Don’t you have a stupid amount of food to shove in your face?”


    “Oh, absolutely,” Cale said and took an exaggerated bite. Whoever invented bacon and pancakes was a saint. Cale had to fight to resist moaning.


    “Why hasn’t he?” Cale eventually asked. “Taken another disciple.”


    Fiara looked at him. Well, more like glared at him, as if deciding between which insult to use. But she settled for a resigned sigh and blew a strand of hair off her face. “He’s a rising star. He’s barely sixty and already at peak of Core Formation. You could say he has high standards.”


    Cale almost choked on his bacon. “Darius is sixty years old?”


    Despite his deadly expertise, Darius did not look a day over thirty five in Cale’s books. He still had boyish handsome features.


    Fiara raised an eyebrow. “We are cultivators. We age really slowly.”


    “So how old are y—”


    “Anyway!” Fiara cut in sharply. “Seems like you are determined to hit those standards. Despite your numerous flaws, you train damn hard. Why?”


    “Wait, you were watching me?”


    “Not actively,” Fiara said and took a sip of coffee, watching Cale mischievously over the rim. “It’s my job to keep an eye on you and report your progress to Darius.”


    “So how am I doing so far?”


    Fiara tilted her head and smiled sweetly. “I didn’t take you for an insecure type.”


    “Bold of you to call me insecure after almost biting my head off for asking simple questions.”


    “Shut up.”


    Cale chuckled. “Besides, feedback never hurt anyone. Spill the beans.”


    “I said I’m to report your progress back to Darius, not to give you pointers.”


    “You’re a smart girl, you can multitask,” Cale said and reached for Fiara’s cup of coffee.


    “Hey!” she said and glared at Cale who took a sip.


    Cale groaned with the pleasure of a smoothly brewed java hitting his tongue.


    “No groaning either!”


    This was a taste Cale recognized. In his mysterious old life he had surely been a coffee fiend. He savored another sip before sliding the cup back to Fiara’s side of the table.


    She pushed it back. “Yeah… keep the rest. It was getting cold anyway.”


    Cale grinned. “My devious plan worked.”


    He watched Fiara over the rim of the coffee cup after another sip. She noticed him staring and did her best to ignore it. But eventually she fixed a glare at him.


    “What?”


    “I don’t mean to pry…—”


    “Then don’t.”


    Cale shrugged, setting the cup down. “Just saying. If something didn’t matter to me as hard as it clearly doesn’t to you, I’d look back into it. Get closure.”


    Fiara froze. Just for a second.


    It wasn’t much. Just a flicker of something in her eyes, something uncertain, something… raw.


    Then her upper lip curled, and she shot him a glare so sharp it could cut steel.


    “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped.


    “Maybe not,” Cale said, standing up and draining the coffee cup. “Thanks for the company. I’ll get back to training.”


    He turned before she could answer.