Chapter 51: Going Solo

Joshua woke up to the dim morning light filtering through the wooden slats of his room. The air was still, carrying the faint scent of smoldering embers from the funeral pyres the night before. He flexed his fingers, feeling the lingering exhaustion in his muscles, but he ignored it. There was no time to rest.

He sat upright and folded his legs, closing his eyes to center himself. The battle had exposed a glaring weakness—he wasn't strong enough yet. He needed to push further. Taking a deep breath, he guided his energy lines, urging them to absorb the natural flow of spiritual energy in the air. Bit by bit, he increased the intake, forcing his core into overdrive to refine the energy more efficiently.

Pain lanced through his body like burning needles, his very veins straining against the sudden influx. He gritted his teeth, pushing through it. This was necessary. He had to expand his core's capacity. If another battle like yesterday's occurred, he refused to be the the one fainting from exhaustion again. He needed to be ready.

He recalled the mysterious message:

Through battle, you gain experience.

Through hardship, you gain determination.

Through perseverance, you gain power.

Suddenly, the door to his room burst open with a loud BANG!

"What in the Abyss do you think you're doing?!"

Joshua's eyes snapped open to find his master, Maydee, standing in the doorway, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with fury and something deeper—concern.

He blinked at her, still dazed from his meditation. "I'm meditating, Master. Practicing faster absorption and refinement of energy."

"You call that meditating?" she snapped, storming into the room. "It felt like a Gifted had suddenly appeared and was gathering energy for a devastating attack! I almost bombarded your room on sheer instinct."

Joshua exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm sorry, Master. I didn't mean to alarm you. I'll try to keep it down."

Maydee crossed her arms, her sharp gaze scanning him for any signs of weakness. "You should be resting, not straining yourself to the point of collapse. The battle is over, Joshua. You can afford to breathe."

Joshua shook his head. "I can't. The next battle will come, and I refuse to be caught unprepared."

Maydee sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before lowering her arms. Her voice softened, though her authority remained. "Listen to me, you stubborn fool. You're still healing. Training recklessly could do more harm than good. Take things slow."

Joshua clenched his fists but nodded. "Understood, Master."

She studied him for a long moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "I need to leave for Aethelwood."

Joshua's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"I must report the attack to my master. This incident needs to be investigated by the Gifted. Someone powerful was controlling those beasts, and we can't afford to let it happen again."

Joshua immediately straightened. "Then I'll go with you."

"No." Her answer was immediate and firm. "Due to your unique disposition, stepping into a town full of Gifted is a death sentence. You'll be hunted on sight. I won't risk it."

Joshua gritted his teeth. He hated feeling powerless, but he knew she was right.

"For now," Maydee continued, "stay inside the village. Meditate, train in the practice fields, but don't overdo it. Amador will ensure no beasts breach the perimeter."

Joshua exhaled, forcing himself to accept her decision. "How long will you be gone?"

"A week, maybe two, depending on the number of beasts blocking the way."

Joshua nodded slowly. Two weeks. Two weeks to train, to refine his core, to prepare for what was coming next. He would use every second of it.

—

Here's a refined and more dramatic version of your passage:

Maydee departed the village, her figure growing smaller with every step. Flanking her were four of the village's most battle-hardened warriors, their expressions carved from stone, their hands never straying far from their weapons. Their duty was clear—her safety above all else. Their own lives were secondary. The daughter of the chief, the village's only Gifted, had to be protected at all costs.

Joshua stood at the gates, watching her disappear into the misty horizon. A weight pressed on his chest—a gnawing sense of helplessness that he couldn't shake. She was heading toward the unknown while he remained here, stagnant. He clenched his fists, frustration surging through him.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, dragging him back to reality.

"Why the long face, lad?" Amador's deep voice rumbled like distant thunder.

Joshua exhaled, steadying himself. "I apologize, Chief. I was just thinking… thinking about how to become stronger, faster."

Amador let out a low chuckle, though his gaze was sharp. "Strength is good, but if you rush, you'll shatter instead of grow. A warrior's foundation must be solid, not built on reckless ambition. I can't have you losing yourself to madness because of that Blank attribute of yours."

Joshua smirked, a flicker of amusement breaking through his frustration. "I'm not going insane anytime soon, Chief." Then, after a pause, he continued, "But… I do need a favor."

Amador's brows lifted slightly. "And what favor would that be?"

Joshua met his gaze, his resolve unshaken. "I need to strengthen myself through combat. And I can't do that inside the village."

A long silence stretched between them as Amador studied him, weighing the risk against the necessity. Then, finally, he sighed. "My daughter will be furious," he admitted. "But I understand your intention."

He turned, glancing toward the shadows where he knew Bran was lurking, ever watchful. "Go. Bran will make sure you're safe… or at the very least, retrieve your body should any accidents happen." A wry smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

Joshua chuckled, shaking his head. "I appreciate the sentiment, Chief. But don't worry. I'll be careful." His expression darkened slightly, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. "If I'm not… well, my master will skin me alive before any beast gets the chance."

Amador laughed, clapping him on the back. "Then let's hope you survive both the wild and your master's wrath."

—

Joshua wasted no time. He strode into his room, grabbing his essentials with practiced efficiency. Dried rations, a water flask, a whetstone for his blade, and a small pouch of medicinal herbs—each item placed with care into his knapsack. His fingers brushed against the smooth metal of his round shield, his trusted companion, before slinging it onto his back.

Outside, in the shadow of the chief's house, Amador spoke in a hushed tone. "You know what to do, Bran. Do not intervene unless absolutely necessary. The boy needs real battles—ones that will sharpen his instincts and temper his resolve."

From the darkness, Bran's voice came, low and unwavering. "Understood, Chief." And just like that, he vanished, melting into the unseen.

Joshua emerged moments later, knapsack secured, his expression firm with purpose. He met Amador's gaze and bowed slightly. "Thank you, Chief. For everything."

Amador merely grunted, arms crossed. "Don't die, boy. I'd rather not have to explain that to my daughter."

Joshua smirked. "I'll try to avoid that."

With those final words, he stepped beyond the safety of the village, venturing once more into the wild.

The familiar dirt path stretched before him—the same one he and his master had traveled just days before. But this time, he walked alone. A cold wind whispered through the trees, rustling the dense foliage. He inhaled deeply, gathering energy, allowing it to surge through his veins. His eyes glowed faintly as his vision sharpened, extending his senses into the living world around him.

Caution was key. He unslung his shield, gripping it tightly as he entered the dense forest. Each step was slow, measured. His ears picked up the distant cry of a bird, the rustling of unseen creatures moving through the undergrowth.

Then—movement.

Two hundred meters to his right. A lone beast.

Joshua stilled, focusing. He could hear the slow, deliberate steps of a predator scanning the woods for prey. The sound of sniffing, of claws brushing against damp earth.

But the creature didn't know.

Didn't know that it was the one being hunted now.