The old monk stood impassively on the windswept plateau, his simple robes barely fluttering despite the biting wind. His challenge hung in the air: "Strike me."
Kael stood facing him, the vast, empty expanse of Whisper Peak stretching out below. He was acutely aware of the immense power thrumming through his Level 14 body – Strength 136, Dexterity 25, Vitality 91. He could likely shatter the rock the monk had been sitting on with a single blow. Striking this frail-looking old man, even as a test, felt wrong. More importantly, as the monk himself had pointed out, Kael's power was raw, untamed. A clumsy, full-force blow wouldn't demonstrate potential, only brute force. How to show strength, but also the capacity for control?
He took a deep breath, centering himself. He wouldn't aim at the monk. He focused his intent, drew on his Dexterity for speed and his Strength for power, and unleashed a single, precise punch aimed at the empty air just beside the monk's head.
WHOOSH!
The sound of displaced air cracked like a whip in the thin atmosphere. Kael's fist stopped scant inches from the monk's temple, the force of its passage stirring the old man's wispy hair. The sheer kinetic energy was palpable, a silent testament to the power held back. Kael retracted his fist smoothly, returning to a neutral stance.
The monk remained still for a heartbeat, his piercing eyes fixed on Kael. Then, a flicker of something – surprise? Interest? – crossed his ancient features. "Hm. The force of a charging kodo," he murmured, his voice still raspy. "But halted by a thread of… hesitation? Or perhaps, nascent control?" He stroked his chin. "You possess power, boy. Crude. Unrefined. Like an unquarried stone block. But undeniably present."
He shook his head slowly. "One does not learn the Way by demonstrations alone, however." Before Kael could react, the monk moved. It wasn't blinding speed, but an impossible fluidity, like flowing water. He seemed to simply glide forward, his hand striking out not with force, but with pinpoint precision towards Kael's wrist.
Kael instinctively tried to pull back, but the monk's fingers tapped a specific nerve point. A jolt, not painful but intensely numbing, shot up Kael's arm, momentarily deadening his strength. He stumbled back, surprised by the effectiveness of such a light touch.
"Power without technique is a flailing hammer," the monk stated calmly. "It may break things, but it cannot build, nor truly defend." He flowed again, tapping Kael's shoulder, then knee, each touch disrupting Kael's balance, neutralizing his attempts to strike back with a frustrating, effortless ease. Kael's high stats seemed almost irrelevant against such refined skill. He couldn't land a single blow; the monk was simply never where Kael expected him to be, or his attacks were redirected with minimal effort.
The brief 'spar' ended as quickly as it began, with Kael slightly off-balance and acutely aware of his own clumsiness, despite his stats. The monk stood calmly, hands clasped again.
"You see?" the monk said. "Your strength is a wild river. Uncontrolled, it causes floods. Guided, channeled... it can carve canyons or nourish fields. You have the river. You lack the channel."
Kael, humbled, nodded slowly. "I understand, Master. That is why I came here to learn."
The monk studied him again. "You still cannot provide the Sunstone Blossom. A symbol of commitment."
"No, Master," Kael admitted. "But I am committed. My path... prevents me from holding such things. But I can offer my effort. My time. Is there work I can do? Tasks I can perform to earn your teaching?"
The monk considered this, his gaze drifting towards the jagged summit, shrouded in mist. "Perhaps," he said finally, a hint of challenge in his tone. "The path requires more than strength. It requires patience, humility, persistence." He pointed towards a dilapidated woodshed leaning against the cliff face. "The shed needs repair before the high winds return. The roof leaks, the woodpile is low. Nearby, mountain cats with hides like iron prowl - they provide poor meat, but their sinew makes strong binding."
He turned back to Kael. "Tend to these tasks. Repair the shed. Gather wood. Bring me three unblemished sinews from the Ironhide Lynx that hunt the northern cliffs. Do this, show me diligence and focus, and perhaps we will speak again of the Way."
Kael looked at the dilapidated shed, then thought of hunting iron-hided cats bare-handed. It wasn't glorious combat training, but it was a start. A test of a different kind. And hunting the lynx would provide EXP.
"I will do it, Master," Kael said, bowing his head slightly.
The monk merely grunted, turning back to gaze over the valley from his rock perch, seemingly dismissing Kael entirely.
Kael took a deep breath. He had a master, albeit a conditional and cranky one. His first lesson wouldn't involve secret techniques or powerful stances, but manual labor and hunting tough beasts for specific, non-transmutable parts (sinew likely counted as a biological component usable in crafting, not 'loot' in the traditional sense, thus potentially bypassing the transmutation - a detail Kael would soon discover). His journey into the Way of the Empty Hand had begun, not with a punch, but with the prospect of fixing a leaky roof.