Brent returned home to say goodbye to his sister and see if any of his techniques could improve her situation. Unfortunately, they could not lessen the burden of the black tar that corroded her lungs. Brent left to return to school after his suspension. The gates of Eldergrove Academy had never looked so small.
Brent stood at the entrance, clad not in polished robes or silver family crests, but a simple tunic and a half-scorched shoulder guard gifted to him by the village blacksmith. The whispers returned the moment his boots touched the stone path—just like the first time—but they were different now.
Not mocking.
Uncertain. Wary.
"Is that him?"
"Brent Alder. The one who leveled five waves of monsters solo."
"I heard he healed an entire battalion and fought a warlord alone."
"That light—it was divine, they say."
No. Not him. That kid is worthless. Brent kept his head down, passing familiar faces. Some turned away. Some stared. A few, like Master Orran—the battle arts instructor—nodded with respect. Others glared with envy.
The suspension had been lifted after an official investigation confirmed that Brent had saved not just his village, but several outposts in the valley. Even Lord Maeron Crest couldn't buy enough silence to hide that.
Still, his return was quiet.
No applause.
No fanfare.
Just one boy and the Flame that refused to go out.
—
Class: Martial Foundation – Core Formations of Combat
Brent stood at the edge of the training field, surrounded by students working through their stances.
Master Orran paced before them—a mountain of a man with scars like old maps across his chest.
"Power without form is wasted," he barked. "Magic may win a duel, but skill wins a war. Your enemies will not wait for your chants and lights."
He turned, eyes resting on Brent for a second longer than the others.
"Offense. Defense. Footwork. These are your pillars. Respect them, and you live. Forget them, and you die."
They trained hard.
Drills began at sunrise and ended long after moonrise. Strikes into posts. Dodges under pendulums. Block-and-step routines repeated until knees bled and bones ached.
Brent, though gifted with healing, refused to use it unless absolutely needed.
"If you use light to bypass pain," his system reminded him, "you rob it of its power to shape you."
So he bore the pain.
And as the days passed, something else happened.
[System Integration – Combat Class Detected.]
[Adaptive Technique Tree Unlocked.]
You have begun training in the Foundations of Combat. Your Light recognizes the value of suffering as a crucible.
New Path: Sacred Art – Solar Fist
To unlock: Endure 10,000 strikes against immovable resistance. Pain will guide perfection.
And so began the Challenge of Iron.
Brent stood each night behind the dormitories, wrapping his hands in bloodied cloth, staring at the massive steel post buried in the ground.
One thousand punches a night.
The first hundred broke his knuckles.
The second hundred shattered the bones in his fingers.
He healed them—just enough—and continued.
By the third night, his hands were scarred black and trembling.
Other students watched from afar, whispering in disbelief. Some mocked him. Others were simply confused.
"Why not just use your magic?" someone asked.
Brent never answered.
But inside, his system whispered:
"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls."
Brent ignored the people, the pain, and the continuous counting of the system.
[Challenge Progress: 6,800/10,000]
"Because this pain… it shapes the fire."
[Sacred Art – Solar Fist: 68% Sync]
Each punch began to feel different—not weaker, but sharper. Focused. The impact no longer cracked his bones—it sent ripples down the steel, leaving faint burns where his knuckles touched.
The Light was learning with him.
And then, on the night of the tenth thousandth punch, as blood and flame mixed beneath the moon—
[Challenge Complete.]
Flame Resonance: 40%-42%
[Sacred Art – Solar Fist: Unlocked.]
Channel divine light into the fist through trained trauma points. Upon impact, releases a radiant detonation. Power scales with purity of purpose and accumulated suffering.
Brent collapsed to his knees, hands glowing gold even in the moonlight. His breath was ragged.
But he was smiling.
This wasn't magic.
This was mastery.
Week 4: Pre-Survival Assignment Briefing
Dean Illorik stood in front of the first-year students in the Assembly Tower, robes billowing, voice cold and absolute.
"Next week begins your first major field test. The Week of Wilds. You will be broken into randomized three-person teams and deployed into Verdant Hollow—a low-risk beast zone. Your goal: survive for seven days using the skills we've taught you."
Gasps echoed around the room.
"Low-risk?"
"Seven days?"
"Do we get weapons?"
"You get each other," Illorik said. "And your wits."
Brent's system flickered.
[Survival Challenge Incoming. New technique paths will unlock through fatigue, combat, protection, and sacrifice.]
He tightened his grip on the edge of his seat.
This wasn't just a test.
It was a crucible.
And Brent Alder was ready to step into the fire again.