Martial Dao: I Can Enhance My Talents

Morning. The early light pierced the thin mist above Liangshui City, coating the Fang Family’s massive bluestone training ground in a layer of crisp, golden brilliance.

Autumn had arrived, and a cool breeze drifted through the early morning air.

As Fang Han stepped onto the training ground, the familiar medicinal scent of Qi Blood Soup filled the air.

Firewood crackled brightly beneath a large, coarse earthenware cauldron. Inside, a dark red liquid bubbled and rolled, GURGLE GURGLE, releasing a rich, aromatic fragrance.

He walked silently into the queue and accepted a porcelain bowl filled to the brim with Qi Blood Soup from a servant.

The warmth of the bowl soothed his palms. Tilting his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank the slightly bitter medicinal soup in a single gulp.

A searing warmth exploded in his belly, as if he had swallowed a small, nascent sun. The heat spread rapidly to his limbs and bones, dispelling the last vestiges of the morning chill.

He let out a soft, white puff of medicinal-scented breath, feeling the warm current surge through his body.

CLACK CLACK—

The sound of footsteps heralded the arrival of Tutor Fang Zhen, his towering, iron-like figure appearing on the training ground.

His sharp, falcon-like eyes slowly swept across the disciples lined up below. Wherever his gaze fell, the once-relaxed atmosphere instantly tensed.

Today, however, after his gaze passed over them, an almost imperceptible frown creased his bronzed, sharp-featured face.

A few people were missing from the queue.

"Huh? Where are Fang Xuan and Fang Zi? Why aren’t they here today?"

A short, stout disciple couldn’t help but turn his head and ask his companion in a hushed voice.

"Why else?"

The tall, skinny disciple next to him pursed his lips. His tone was a mixture of gloating and a somber recognition of a shared fate.

"Count on your fingers. There are only about twenty days left until the assessment, and they haven’t even touched the threshold of Refined Flesh. It’s a waste of effort to keep going."

"It’s better to be smart and get lost on their own. Saves them the embarrassment of being publicly expelled," another chimed in.

"It’s humiliating to just hang on. Leaving early is a good thing. If I hadn’t already reached the limit of Skin Refining and had that tiny sliver of hope, I’d want to give up too."

Understanding that these disciples had given up, Fang Zhen withdrew his gaze and said nothing about it.

The practice of the Martial Dao relied heavily on talent. Only those with talent had the ability to climb this path. For those without talent and no hope in sight, giving up early to find another way was for the best.

"The time has come! Crane Form, begin!"

He spoke without any unnecessary preamble.

His voice was loud and resonant, echoing across the open field with the penetrating force of metal striking stone.

"Hah!"

Dozens of disciples grunted in unison. As if pulled by invisible strings, they instantly sank into their stances, feet set apart, arms spread wide, assuming the opening stance of the Fang Family’s foundation—the Crane Form.

In an instant, the somewhat disorderly training ground fell quiet, leaving only the sound of steady breathing and the rhythmic tightening and relaxing of muscles.

Fang Han took a deep breath of the cool morning air and slowly exhaled. His mind focused, and his consciousness instantly sank deep within his body.

The stance for the Pile Skill was already branded into his being; he didn’t need to consciously adjust it, for it was perfectly natural and fluid.

As he circulated the Pile Skill, a warm current of qi and blood surged from deep within his limbs and bones. It was far more active and powerful than the morning before, flowing without the slightest resistance.

Empowered by his 2x Root Bone Talent, this qi and blood swelled like a rising spring tide, surging with a power that far surpassed anything he had felt before.

It was no longer a mere trickle but a rushing stream. Under the precise guidance of the Crane Form, it ferociously scoured the skin and membranes all over his body.

HISSS...

An intense, numbing, and scorching sensation instantly spread across the surface of his body. Fang Han couldn’t help but suck in a sharp breath through his teeth, and his knees gave an almost imperceptible wobble.

Even though this was the second time he’d experienced the twofold enhancement of his Root Bone, he still wasn’t quite used to it.

He forced himself to focus, steadied his stance, and locked his mind onto the surging qi and blood.

Pain!

The scorching qi and blood felt like countless fine, tough brushes, tirelessly scraping and tempering his skin and membranes over and over again.

Each rush brought a sharp, needle-like pain, as if it were trying to completely grind away his old, insufficiently dense skin.

Bliss!

Beneath the intense, stabbing pain, an indescribable sense of euphoria began to well up.

The "limit," a thin membrane that had hindered him for two long months, was now trembling violently under this ferocious assault.

He could clearly "hear" a faint CREAKING sound coming from deep within his skin—the sound of his fascia growing tighter and tougher.

With every pass of qi and blood, his skin grew a fraction tighter, a fraction tougher. It was as if he were a piece of fine iron being repeatedly hammered and forged, purging impurities to refine its very essence.

A sense of new, nascent strength was faintly stirring beneath his skin.

’It’s been four hours!’

In the past, after drinking the Qi Blood Soup and performing the Pile Skill, he would feel his qi and blood depleted and his muscles and bones ache after just two hours, making it impossible to continue.

But today, four hours had passed. Sweat had long since soaked through his thin training clothes, forming a small, wet patch at his feet. His body felt heavy with exhaustion, yet the warm current of qi and blood within him still surged powerfully, sustaining him and washing away his fatigue.

HUFF... PUFF...

He adjusted his breathing, struggling to maintain the Pile Skill. The hope in his heart, already firm because of the system, now burned like a blazing fire.

Every tremor and reinforcement of his skin was a silent declaration: ’Breaking through to Refined Flesh within a month is no longer just a fantasy!’

Finally, when his body sent the unmistakable signal that it could bear no more, he stopped and relaxed from the Pile Skill.

As he slowly relaxed his stance, a wave of intense exhaustion washed over him. But deep within the fatigue was an unprecedented sense of fulfillment and satisfaction.

CRACK—

He raised his arm and tensed his muscles. The thin layer of skin clung tightly to the contours of his muscles, revealing a faint toughness that was even greater than the day before.

This tangible progress was like the sweetest honey, nourishing his nearly desiccated confidence.

"Time for lunch!"

It was now noon, and the servants arranged by the family had brought the meal.

Fang Han went to line up and received his portion.

Several large chunks of fish and thick slices of fatty meat were clearly visible inside, along with some medicinal herbs to nourish the body. It could be considered a medicinal meal—a truly high standard of food.

The Fang Family’s treatment of its disciples was truly impeccable.

It made him feel fortunate once again that his starting point was as a family disciple, not a slave or a beggar.

"Next, self-practice of Martial Techniques!"

After the meal, Fang Zhen’s voice rang out again.

The crowd immediately dispersed, each person heading to a familiar corner. On the weapon racks, sabers, spears, swords, and halberds glinted in the sunlight.

Fang Han walked toward the rack of longswords. He reached out and picked up a Fine Iron Longsword that had a comfortable weight and an unsharpened edge.

The body of the sword was cool to the touch, and the coarse cord wrapped around the hilt chafed his palm. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

While tempering their bones, sinews, skin, and flesh, the Fang Family disciples could also choose a Basic Martial Technique to practice as a future combat method.

Fang Han had chosen the Qingfeng Swordsmanship, a style known for its agility and speed.