Chapter 82: Notes

After a few seconds of silence, the old man finally began to teach.

"Look, kid, you’re probably going to die anyway," he said bluntly, arms folded. "So here’s the deal I’ll teach you what I can. Whether you understand it or not depends entirely on you. And remember this I’m only going to say it once. I’m not repeating anything."

Razeal nodded silently, sitting down with his notebook ready, pen in hand. He’d already asked the system to record everything. The old man was clearly impatient, and if he wanted to learn properly, writing everything down was the only way to make sure he didn’t forget.

"First thing perception," the old man began. "You can use the flow to perceive everything around you. If you focus deeply enough, you’ll feel all the flows in your environment. That means any movement wind, energy, vibration even the movement made by your opponent you’ll be able to sense it. I don’t need to explain this part too much, since you’re already able to see and feel the flows."

He waved a hand dismissively. "That part, you’ll have to learn on your own. I don’t know a way to teach it. If you’re really talented, you’ll figure it out."

Razeal kept scribbling notes quickly, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"The second is internal control mastering the flows within your own body," the old man continued. "Like I said before, you can control the flows inside your own body. you can guide the flow of your blood, your muscles, your thoughtsveven your very movements. You can control your whole body with it. It’s hard, obviously, but you’ll have to find your own method."

He paused, looking serious.

"This is critical. Mastering your own body through flow will completely change how you move and react. Your body will move exactly the way you want it to. No wasted movement, no hesitation. And when you combine that with perception..."

The old man leaned closer, voice low and firm.

"There won’t be a single skill or attack that can touch you."

Razeal’s pen didn’t stop for a second, but his eyes widened slightly as those words sank in.

"And lastly... do whatever you want with the rest of it. But remember this see those waves? Those flows moving around? Never, and I mean never, try to touch them if not prepared to flow with them.. never be still.. when trying that because flow will take you with flow. Doesn’t matter if it’s wind or water or mana."

He stepped closer, voice growing sharp.

"Also, you’ll need to learn the amount of flow you want to accept and use. That alone is hard damn near impossible. Because if you make even a fraction of a mistake, the entire source of that flow wherever it’s coming from will collapse on you. You’ll be crushed under the full force of, say, the planet’s wind flow. Understand?"

He didn’t wait for a response.

"And yeah, don’t touch the more sensitive flows until you’ve mastered the simpler ones. Especially planetary and cosmic flows. I think you’ve already felt them. You don’t need me to tell you they scream danger just by existing near you. You’ll know which ones I mean."

The old man’s tone turned sharp again. "And really don’t mess with gravity flow. Just don’t."

While he spoke, Razeal sat on the ground, diligently writing every word into his notebook. The old man’s teaching was rushed and raw, but it was the only instruction he’d get. Razeal knew better than to rely on talent or memory alone.

"Senior," Razeal said, glancing up briefly, "you didn’t really explain how to use the flow. I get the theory, but... how?"

The old man didn’t look back, just spoke as he stared at the horizon. "You gotta flow with the flow. Imagine a tsunami coming at you. Every flow is like that, only infinitely more powerful. If you want to survive, you don’t stand against it. You don’t run. You find the perfect moment and you ride it."

Razeal’s hand paused for a heartbeat, then continued scribbling.

"To ride the flow," the old man said, his voice suddenly solemn, "you must stop pushing against it. You must become hollow. Listening. Not resisting. Not commanding. Moving only when it moves through you."

He took a step forward, then stopped, breathing deeply.

"You cannot ride the flow until you can feel it. And you cannot feel it until you are still."

Razeal’s grip tightened around the pen.

"So feel it. If not, you’ll be crushed. Every time you try to use the flow, you’re putting your life on the line yeah... One mistake just one fraction off and you’ll die. Instantly. Even without your enemy lifting a finger."

There was a silence between them.

Then the old man shrugged. "So yeah. My only advice: don’t use it.. Any flow."

Razeal’s pen stopped mid-word. He absorbed the words fully, the weight behind them. But then, without a word, he resumed writing. His time was limited. He didn’t even have the luxury to think too hard about it.

Serious as it was, Razeal knew this was a path he had already chosen.

Even if the price was death.

Not that it mattered much right now this training ground gave him the ultimate advantage: unlimited revivals and infinite retries. As long as he was here, he could push himself to the very brink, over and over, until he truly mastered everything.

He clenched his fists, eyes narrowing.

Still... something was missing.

He had perception now. And he had the beginnings of an attack skill through understanding flow. But he couldn’t fight physically. Not really. He needed a medium a conduit to transfer the burden and pressure of the flow, just like the old man used his sword.

He turned quickly.

"Senior!" Razeal called out. "Can you teach me how to use a sword? I mean how to use it with the flow, like how you did!"

The old man raised an eyebrow, exhaling slowly.

"Kid... I don’t know jack shit about swordsmanship," he said, arms folded. "Most swordsmen walk a straight path train swordsmanship, rise to become a Grandmaster, then eventually, maybe, a Sword Saint. Whatever."

He waved a hand, clearly unimpressed.

"In all my years, every single one of them every opponent I’ve faced was obsessed with sword aura, power, perfect strikes, flashy stances... long, slow, drawn out movements that look cool but mean nothing in a real fight."

He cracked his neck with a scoff.

"From my perspective, it’s all useless."

Razeal blinked, listening carefully.

"I lack no power. No strength. So I’ve got no reason to waste time polishing pretty techniques. To me, a sword is just a weapon l be it a blade, a stick, or a rock. Its job is simple: kill the enemy, as fast and effortlessly as possible. Nothing more."

The old man pointed a finger sharply.

"The best advice I can give you? Go out and fight. Don’t learn any official stance. Don’t memorize any techniques. Don’t restrict yourself. Be like the flow. Attack from any angle, any position. Let combat shape your style."

He gave a final nod.

"Combat will teach you the best way to fight because real fighting has no form."

Razeal nodded quickly, partially understanding... but mentally bookmarking the rest for later, knowing he’d need to break it down in pieces.

"Senior, I have one more question.." Razeal started, raising his hand.

But the old man cut him off.

"No questions. No answers. Time’s up," he said flatly, already extending his hand. "Now hand me the books."

Razeal’s face immediately fell. He looked like he wanted to cry.

But he didn’t protest. With a sigh, he simply handed over the stack of twenty books.

The old man took them with a crooked grin, scanning the covers one by one with a suspiciously pleased expression. That familiar lecherous smirk spread across his face again, reminding Razeal that yes this old monster was also, unfortunately, a pervert.

"Now leave, you useless brat," the old man muttered, not even looking up. "I know you’re gonna die someday."

Razeal hesitated. He looked up.

"Um... Senior can I say one last thing?"

"No, you can’t. Just leave."

"It’s not a question..I mean..."

He took a deep breath, standing firm.

"Can you... take me as a disciple?" he asked, hopeful. "I swear I’ll be a really good one!"

He wasn’t joking. With someone like this old man as a master, he could gain strength, knowledge, survival. There was no way he’d let a figure like this go so easily.

But the old man didn’t even blink.

"No, you can’t," he said flatly.

"Ehh?! Why not? Come on! Just give me a reason, Senior I might be able to fix it!"

The old man looked at him, face wrinkling like he’d just smelled something awful.

"That’s because... you don’t have Hong Blood."

He turned away.

"And now leave."

And then, without warning..

[Host, you have died.]

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