Either Dorian was severely overdressed, or he was in the wrong place.

He glanced around, an eyebrow raised, at the ragtag boys milling around him dressed in plain loincloths. They were of all sizes and shapes; fat, thin, tall, short—the only constant was their cultivation, which hovered in the 1st and 2nd levels of the Origin Realm. A few threw him odd looks as he sauntered up.

“Is this the spot for basic hunter training?” he asked with a grin.

“Yeah,” said a paunchy boy who vaguely resembled a tottering gourd. “You lost, kid? Latrine’s that way.” The boy beside him snickered. This one vaguely resembled the spokes of a wheel—all lanky limbs radiating from a small torso.

“Relax,” he said, patting gourd-boy. “Don’t be such a wart. It’s a new trainee, that’s all!” He squinted at Dorian, licking his lips. “I know you. You’re that wimp Kuruk’s always picking on! Kaya’s lil’ bro, isn’t it?” He snickered. “Finally get to Origin level 1? Took you long enough, eh?”

He gave Dorian a lazy smack on the back. Dorian smiled, shrugged, and briefly considered breaking the offending arm.

Gourd-boy’s nose crinkled. “Wait. You’re whose lil’ bro?”

“Kaya,” said Spokes-boy. “Y’know, the buff hottie with the big—“ He made a heaving gesture with his hands, then winked at Dorian like they were sharing a secret.

“Oh, her!” said Gourd-boy. His eyes glazed over a little, and a big smile broke across his face. “Man! The things I’d do to her—“

Then a third voice broke in. “Alright, alright! Back off, you two.” A tan, well-muscled boy stepped between them.

“Feh!” said Spokes-boy, sticking out his tongue. “Spoilsport.” He and gourd-boy receded, leaving Dorian and his would-be savior.

“Don’t mind them,” said muscles-boy. “Che and Achak aren’t always jerks. They just like messing with the newbies.” Smiling, he held out a hand. Dorian took it, bemused.

“I’m Muata, by the way! I’ve been in basic training almost a year and a half.” He thrust out his chest proudly, like it was some huge accomplishment. “You can call me ‘senior’ Muata, haha! You are?”

“Io,” said Dorian, wondering how he found himself in this conversation. “A pleasure.”

“This is your first day, right?” Muata said, patting Dorian on the shoulder like he was a long-lost younger brother. “You should know hunter training’s no joke. I’m the only one left of the crew who started on my first day."

Dorian sighed internally and resigned himself to the conversation. Which act to play? ‘Dumb-newbie-version-four’ should do the trick.

“Woah!” said Dorian, eyes widening. “Really?”

“Mh. Not just anyone can be a hunter,” said Muata, nodding. “You’ve got to have the right stuff. Surviving a year in this class is the hardest thing you’ll ever do!”

“Huh!?”

“It’s true,” said Muata sagely. “Believe it or not, a year ago I came to this class just like you. Weak. Wimpy. Small. A shrimp of a man, barely more than dirt…”

Dorian’s left eye twitched.

“Look at me now!” If Muata puffed out any more, Dorian was scared his chest might burst like a balloon. “This class tempers you more than in body and qi…but your soul, too.”

He wagged a finger at Dorian. “Hear me, young Io. The techniques Master Tocho teaches will shape who you are forever.”

“Techniques?” Dorian perked up. “What kind?”

A glint appeared in Muata’s eye. “Bahaha! Let me show you!”

He squared up, flexing all his muscles until he looked like an overripe tomato in the sun. Then, with a feral roar that probably reached half the tribe, he twirled, danced, gamboled, flexed, shouted, and thrust out his palms. It looked like he’d been possessed by a demon that was also trying to summon another demon.

After about twenty seconds—about ten seconds in, Dorian was sure he’d suffered a stroke—Muata punched out with a ‘Ha!’.

A measly little whimper of bright qi left his hands and plopped onto the sand.

Muata stood upright, chin high, and put his hands on hips. Like he was waiting for something.

Dorian was speechless. “Erm… wow! So cool!”

“Humph! It’s not worth mentioning,” said Muata. By his proud smile, it seemed he thought it was very much worth mentioning. “Don’t be too excited! It will take you years to get where I am—maybe decades. Master Tocho says I’ve got Mortal-grade Martial Talent, and it took even me a year of hard practice. You will fail your first hundred times. Maybe your first thousand.” Muata shuddered, like he was recalling painful memories. “During your first six months, you will be a loser. Even more than you are right now, believe it or not. You’ll feel like quitting every single day. Never quit! That is what separates someone like you… from someone like me.” He beat his chest with a fist.

Dorian’s face did a little involuntary spasm. “Um. Thanks?”

Then the instructor came in and started barking, and Dorian sent a silent word of prayer to himself.

Tocho showed the move—[Ray], from the [Fist of the Rising Sun]—and Dorian relaxed a little. After Muata’s little peacock show, he worried this entire tribe was kooky. But Tocho seemed, at the very least, not a charlatan. If Tocho’s technique hit something, it might actually hurt.

Of course, it was riddled with imperfections. Dorian could try to spin a new technique from it entirely… he decided against it. The [Fist]’s idea was sound enough—it was based off a Phoenix, Tocho had said—and besides, making systemic fixes to the tribe’s signature offensive techniques on his first day might draw too much undue suspicion.

Better to just play the prodigy, he decided, and learn the technique as-is.

After another showing, Tocho left them to practice.

Dorian would start slow. Pretend like he was learning it for the first time. In a way, he was; he just had a hell of a lot more insight than most.

Hesitantly, he started the [Ray]’s initial motion—

“Stop!”

He’d barely made a move, and already Muata was looking at him with a frown.

“Wrong!” He declared. Dorian blinked. As far as he could tell, it’d been picture-perfect.

“Bah. I’ll show you how it’s done,” sighed Muata, shaking his head.

Whatever doubt Dorian had that Muata actually found something wrong vanished in an instant. He could only watch, a funny look on his face, as Muata executed his hellspawn mating ritual a second time.

…it wasn’t so useless, come to think of it. The more Dorian looked, the more he saw exactly what not to do. He leaned in, eyes widening. Yes—Muata did the [Ray] like a blunt fireball. In truth the Phoenix was fast and sharp, cutting; the true technique ought to be like a ray of sharp light, a flash of heat!

“Ooh!” Dorian gasped. “Again, senior Muata, again!”

To his right, Tocho had gotten out a big stick. He was going down the line berating the trainees, but Dorian didn’t much care. He scrutinized Muata’s form, utterly intent. In his mind, the true technique was taking shape, like a rusted sword polished off…

“Now you try,” said Muata with a self-satisfied smile.

With his new technique firmly in mind, Dorian stepped out—

“Wrong!”

He winced. ...Really?

“Your elbow shouldn’t be tucked like that, nope,” said Muata, shaking his head. He stroked his chin like it was an imaginary white beard. “It should look like this—“

He proceeded to demonstrate a motion that was like what Dorian did, but substantially worse. It was analogous to a toddler seeing a masterpiece painting, then trying to replicate it blindfolded using only a stick in the mud.

Dorian’s right eye twitched.

“I… see,” he said.

“Again!” barked Muata, hands at his hips. Then, ten feet away, Dorian heard Tocho utter that exact thing in almost the exact same fashion.

Amused, Dorian moved again, this time in a one-to-one replica of Muata’s first motion.

“Wrong!”

“…”

This Muata likes playing the ‘wise senior brother’ a little too much, doesn’t he?

“Tuck your elbow in more! And your feet are too wide! Again,” said Muata, crossing his arms.

Those instructions happened to be exactly what not to do… but Muata looked very serious. Dorian scratched his head.

“Erm. Many thanks, senior Muata!” he said earnestly, and moved as Muata said.

“Wrong again!” To Dorian’s vast relief, Tocho was nearly halfway down the line—just a few students away.

He listened and nodded, and nodded some more as Muata kept babbling. “…the higher the [Ray]’s pitch, the better the technique,” said Muata, waving his finger like a teacher’s pointer. Then he glanced down the line.

“Well, I’ve taught you as best I can, young Io!” he said. “Master Tocho has come for inspection.” He stepped back with a pitying frown. “When you mess up, don’t give up! Oh—and whatever happens, do not cry. Master Tocho will pounce on weakness like a wyrm on rotting flesh…” he shuddered. “Good luck!”

With a final sympathetic pat, Muata faded away.

Now came Tocho, bald, scarred, looking every bit the battle-worn veteran instructor. He raised his stick, his face a sadistic mask. “Well?” He said. “I’m waiting.”

Why is it that every person I meet assumes I’m incompetent? Dorian nearly snorted. I suppose Io was pretty incompetent, but these people don’t even know me! …Is it how I look? Hm. He resolved to gain thirty pounds of muscle and grow a mustache after this was all over.

For now, he just smiled at Tocho. And moved.

Qi rose in him like the sun rose in the sky; in his mind, the image of the Phoenix, rising and falling and rising once more, burned like a midnight star. His hands were feathered by light, his arms wreathed in it. The move was fast as the flap of a Phoenix’s wings, the fire as deadly, and a sound cut through every noise, bright, clear, attention-grabbing—

SHWIIIIING!

Light burst out, blinding, shrieking in pitch, and drove a clean, steaming cut into the packed-sand ground. The cut smoldered red in the black; but rather than fill it in the sands around it held back, as though afraid.

[Level-up!]

[Ray] Lv. 1!

[Level-up!]

[Ray] Lv. 2!

[Level-up!]

[Ray] Lv. 3!

[Level-up!]

[Ray] Lv. 4!

[Level-up!]

[Ray] Lv. 5!

Ah…very nice. Dorian grinned. He’d never tire of those. Then he winced as the notifications kept piling in. Five levels? Oops! He supposed it was a low-tier technique, but he’d overshot by about two…

I’ll roll with it.

Nobody moved. Forget a pin—you could hear a grain of sand drop. Then something substantially louder fell, jarring everyone out of their shocked stares.

Tocho’s stick crashed to the ground. Everyone jumped.

“Im-Impossible!” Tocho gasped. His eyes bulged comically. “Y-y…. Y—“ His mouth moved, but no coherent words were coming out. At last he settled on, “A-again!”

He pointed a trembling hand. “Do it again!”

“What’s wrong, Master Tocho?” said Dorian, cocking his head innocently. “Did I do it wrong?”

“AGAIN, DAMN YOU!” roared Tocho. Faking a cringe, Dorian complied.

Same move, same result, and another molten scar was driven into the sands.

Tocho rubbed his eyes. He looked at Dorian like Dorian had grown a tail.

There was a long pause. Then, “How?” croaked Tocho. He seized Dorian by the wrists. “You’re trained, aren’t you? From who? Chief Damien? How many years have you practiced it? Answer me!”

“Ah!” squealed Dorian. “I—I’ve never trained before!”

“Lies!” snarled Tocho.

“I swear it!” he gasped. “Y-you can ask anyone! My sis is in the elite hunter class. I only just broke through to Origin level 1—she can vouch for me!”

Tocho’s eyes narrowed. “Your sis?”

“Kaya, sir,” said Dorian with a swallow.

“Urk!” Tocho’s eyes widened. “Perhaps….it runs in the family…?”

His face scrunched up like a dried grape as he thought. Slowly, his thoughts turned toward the conclusion Dorian wanted him to come to…

“Martial Talent,” breathed Tocho, whitening. “Must be. But which? Earth-grade, or Spirit-grade? Or even—can it be… Heaven-grade Martial Talent?!”

“What’s that?” Dorian scratched his head. Then his eyes lit up. “Oh, I forgot! Sorry, Master. I actually have been trained…”

“What?! For how long? By who?”

Dorian swiveled around to point one imperious finger at Muata, whose arms were slack at his sides. His jaw threatened to fall off his face and his eyes were so wide you could fit skipping-stones into them. His body trembled faintly. He looked like his soul had left his body.

“For the past half hour, senior Muata taught me all about [Ray]! Thank you for the pointers, senior!” Dorian said with a bow and a grin.

Time Elapsed: 12 hours