tungshan kick

Amidst all this, Glenn, who had just recovered, realized that he couldn't move freely. Someone was watching him—directly and unmistakably.

The thought left him frozen. His mind was a mess. The mark carved into his neck made escape impossible.

He began gathering information on how to remove his bounty, but his every move was being monitored—by Froslova and her battalion agents.

Then, someone approached him.

Introducing himself as one of Froslova's subordinates, the man informed Glenn that Froslova intended to train him physically.

Glenn wanted to refuse. He was here for information, nothing more.

But then again, this wasn't exactly a losing situation for him either. Even so, he firmly declined and walked away.

He wandered through the city, searching for answers. He even entered the narrowest, most deserted alleys, fully aware of the risks.

And soon, danger found him.

A loud commotion erupted nearby. Glenn remained still, watching as a fight broke out. One of the fighters, unsettled by Glenn's gaze, turned to him and barked, demanding he look away.

Glenn, unfazed, simply offered a small smirk.

That was enough to enrage the man.

A fist came crashing toward Glenn—then suddenly, chaos.

Before the fight could escalate, the battalion arrived, storming the area. The focus shifted away from Glenn as the battalion swiftly overwhelmed the combatants, emerging victorious.

Through this, Glenn realized something—Froslova was on his side. More precisely, she had chosen to back him.

And so, he finally agreed to be trained.

---

The first lesson was simple in concept: splitting wood with precision.

Glenn thought it would be easy—just a swing of his sword. But no matter how hard he slashed, the wood remained unscathed.

It wasn't ordinary wood.

It was *Baland wood*, a rare material from Africa, known for its unnatural flexibility. To cut it required a perfectly precise strike. To break it, an impact with absolute focus.

Froslova demonstrated.

With a single strike from the base of her palm, the wood shattered instantly.

Glenn tried to mimic her. He failed. His attacks were too reckless, too brute-force. Precision was not his strength.

He attempted a measured slash—nothing.

He tried slapping it—still nothing.

He even attempted a *one-inch punch* from Chinese martial arts—only to sprain his wrist.

Froslova chuckled at his struggles.

Glenn spent the entire night trying to break the wood, but it remained intact.

By morning, Froslova returned. She found Glenn still awake.

*"Good,"* she said. *"This is what I needed from you—though you may have overdone it."*

And with that, they moved on to the second lesson.

---

*"This one's easier than it looks,"* Froslova assured him.

The task? Breaking three wooden planks stacked together.

Glenn nearly lost hope. *I couldn't even break one. And now she wants me to break three?*

But he didn't back down.

On his first attempt, he instinctively used the *one-inch punch* again—

And to his shock, the planks shattered in one blow.

He blinked, stunned. He tried again, over and over, and every time, the result was the same.

Confused, he reached for another set of planks. They felt identical—just as flexible as before.

He struck again—success.

Froslova finally explained.

*"This wood only breaks when pressure is applied evenly on both sides at once. That's what you did without realizing it."*

The key was distribution of force. A single, powerful strike on one plank would disperse the energy, making it unbreakable. But when multiple planks were stacked, the force naturally spread, making them easier to destroy.

It was a fundamental principle behind *Pyre Hand*, a specialized military combat technique from the *Aux* forces.

Froslova could execute it effortlessly, striking with the base of her palm. For her, it was second nature—part of her combat skillset.

This technique relied on precise control of impact, compressing energy through a clenched fist or direct strike to generate destructive force.

But it wasn't quite the right fit for Glenn.

*"You rely too much on brute strength,"* Froslova observed. *"You should train the part of your body you use the least."*

And so, she introduced him to another technique—

*Tungshan's Wira Kick.*

Unlike conventional strikes, this technique required Glenn to swing his left leg in a sweeping hook motion, pivoting his weight precisely. Then, using the momentum, he would execute a backflip kick.

*"Be careful,"* Froslova warned. *"The risk of breaking your leg—or worse, your neck—is extremely high."*

As she demonstrated, Glenn couldn't help but notice something.

*Her legs…*

He was taken aback.

Froslova's legs were… beautiful. Even more so than Linya's.

She caught him staring.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

*"If you don't get it from words,"* she said flatly, *"I'll just show you directly."*

Without warning, she swung her leg.

A sharp kick landed on Glenn's head.

Then, in one swift motion, she flipped—

And slammed his skull into the ground.

Glenn lay there, dazed, his vision spinning.

When he finally looked up, his expression was different.

His instincts screamed at him.

He needed to stay on high alert—especially around *her.*