The different forces on the continent were preparing for different moves, but no one seemed to be aware of what the others were about to do, so it felt like the calm before the storm.
Meanwhile, the wind howled at the entrance to the first Sacred Zone, an ancient shrine lost among the mountains. Only those with tempered hearts and unbreakable wills could enter without losing their sanity.
Crhono, Draneg, and Sohei had no choice: the Dew of Youth was the key to resisting the growing threat on the continent. Reality fragmented like a broken mirror as soon as they took the first step into the zone.
The ground disappeared beneath their feet, and in an instant, they found themselves separated. Crhono felt his surroundings change. He was no longer in the sacred zone but in a burning village.
The scene was frighteningly familiar: it was his childhood home, reduced to ashes. In front of him, familiar figures fell to the ground, again and again. No matter how much he ran or how many times he tried to save them, the cycle repeated itself.
His sword, his most faithful companion, fell apart in his hands every time he tried to wield it. "No! Not again!" he screamed, his eyes burning with desperation. His mind was struck by guilt and helplessness.
Each repetition of the scene made him lose strength as if something was draining his will. Draneg, on the other hand, found himself in a desolate wasteland. His body was crumbling little by little, turning to dust with each step. He could feel it. It was not a simple illusion: every particle of his being was disintegrating.
"Is this my destiny? To disappear into oblivion?" he muttered, trying to contain his panic. There was no trace of his companions. Only silence and the slow agony of his body being consumed by an invisible force.
Sohei faced a different torment. In front of him, multiple reflections of himself spoke in unison, showing him alternate futures. In each, his fate was a failure: in one version, he died betrayed; in another, his decisions led to the ruin of the continent; in the worst of all, he became the very monster he swore to defeat.
"No… it can’t be…" he whispered, cold sweat running down his back. The illusion not only showed possibilities but made each one feel real. How could he move forward, knowing his path was doomed from the start?
Time passed. Their bodies remained intact in reality, but their minds were torn apart by the ordeal. The only way out was to shatter the illusion from within. Crhono, despite his despair, began to notice a pattern. The pain was too perfect, too cyclical.
He forced himself to close his eyes and, instead of reacting, accepted the truth: the past could not be changed, but his will in the present could. At that moment, his sword stopped crumbling. With a scream of fury, he cut through the illusion in a single movement. Draneg understood that his fear of disappearing made him vulnerable.
It was the belief in his fragility that fueled the illusion. Facing the fear with determination, he stopped resisting and began to control the disintegration. When he understood that his existence did not depend on what others said or feared, the illusion collapsed.
Sohei made the most difficult decision. He accepted his uncertain fate. Instead of fighting the futures shown, he looked them in the face and recognized that his destiny was not yet written. His conviction strengthened, and as it did, the reflexes shattered.
One by one, the three returned to reality. They looked at each other in relief, but there was no time to rest: they had passed the first test, but there was still more to come. As they advanced towards the next sector of the sacred area, a blinding glow enveloped them.
The energy in the place was not just dense: it was an uncontrolled torrent that burned from within. Every step was like walking on hot coals. The pressure in the air was such that they felt their organs being crushed. Crhono fell to his knees, his breath ragged.
His armor seemed to weigh three times as much, and his muscles burned as if they were being torn apart. "This… is not normal…" he managed to say through clenched teeth. Crhono, with his experience, tried to balance his internal energy with that of the environment.
He channeled his life force into a steady flow, managing to mitigate some of the pain. Draneg used his knowledge of the mystical arts to create a protective field around his body, but even then, the pressure was immense.
The key was to adapt, not resist. Crhono taught the others to synchronize with the flow of energy, rather than fight it. With much effort, they managed to move more freely and finally reached the second ingredient of the Dew of Youth.
When they finally made it out of the area, their bodies were exhausted, but their spirits were still intact. There were still more challenges ahead, but they had proven themselves worthy of continuing.
Elsewhere on the continent, the sound of clashing punches and kicks echoed through the valley where Andrew trained relentlessly under Biacko’s supervision. The terrain already showed signs of intense training: shattered rocks, cracks in the ground, and trees with deep cut marks.
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Biacko rang a metal bell. Andrew, his body covered in sweat and superficial wounds, immediately stood up. Sleep was no longer a luxury he could afford. "Again," Biacko said in a firm voice. Andrew took a deep breath and assumed his combat stance. His legs were firm, fists raised. He had no time to hesitate.
Biacko was not a compassionate teacher. His teaching method was based on pure combat, forcing Andrew to learn through direct experience. Every blow he missed, every mistake he made, cost him a brutal impact.
"Your guard is open," Biacko said, moving with inhuman speed. Before Andrew could react, a devastating fist hit his stomach. All the air escaped from his lungs and he fell to his knees, his body shaking with pain.
"Up," he said and Andrew gritted his teeth and stood up again. He was not allowed to rest. The following exercises were a test of extreme endurance. For hours, Andrew had to dodge attacks incessantly, with the sole objective of surviving.
His muscles burned, and his skin was covered in bruises, but his body grew stronger with each blow received. After the brutal endurance session, Biacko changed focus. "A warrior who only resists is useless. You must be fast. Precise. Lethal." Andrew panted, but his eyes reflected determination.
Biacko placed several stones suspended in the air with a special energy. These stones floated and moved erratically, accelerating with each minute and then Biacko said, "Knock them down without missing. If you miss a single hit, we repeat from the beginning."
Andrew nodded and began the test. His movements were fast, but not fast enough. He failed at the fifth stone. Biacko restarted the exercise saying, "Again."
Hours passed. Andrew fell exhausted several times, but he did not give up. Each attempt improved his precision, his speed. By dusk, he knocked down all the stones in a single attempt.
"Good," Biacko said, with a slight smile of satisfaction. When the sun disappeared, Biacko did not give him a break. "You have already mastered endurance and speed. Now, let us see how well you really fight."
Without warning, he attacked with all his strength. Andrew barely had time to react. He dodged on instinct, but the next blow caught his back, sending him sprawling. "Too slow," Biacko growled.
Andrew stood up and charged forward with everything. His fists flew fast, and his legs moved with agility, but Biacko blocked and countered each of his attacks. The exchange was fierce. Andrew began to notice small errors in his master’s movements. For the first time, he wasn’t just reacting: he was analyzing, thinking, anticipating.
He waited for the right moment. When Biacko threw a kick, Andrew spun and countered with a direct blow to his side. Biacko stopped, surprised, and congratulated, "Hah. That was good."
Andrew fell to his knees, exhausted, but with a satisfied smile. He knew there was still much room for improvement, but he had made more progress than he ever imagined. The next morning, training would begin again, even more intense, but Andrew was no longer the same as before.
He was ready, at least to use the strength he had at his disposal to its fullest extent. Although he is still weak compared to Biacko, Lugia, and even his enemies, he is no longer a simple fish on a chopping board. He could now strike back, although not as hard as he seemed.
The point is that the helpless Andrew ceased to exist and unless you are far superior to his power, it would be very difficult to corner or even hurt Andrew. He could safely say that, within his level of strength, no one could compare to him.
Biacko also noticed this and felt that it was unnecessary to continue with the training, as there was nothing else to train. Now Andrew could only progress in combat and not in training.
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With this clear, Biacko proposed to return to Cannes. They had spent almost 6 months training and he knew that many people were waiting for Andrew, especially his wives.