Chapter 576: Mastering Disarm
(Planet Dodo, Secret Training Facility, Leo’s POV)
Leo did not want to admit it, yet learning how to send an imperceptible wind wave to pop a set of water balloons was turning out to be some of the hardest training he had ever endured in his life, as for days on end, without so much as a proper rest, he and Veyr kept firing pulse after pulse of wind waves over the long water trough, only for the surface to ripple each and every time from the faintest disturbance in the air currents above it.
No matter how much they experimented, no matter how stubbornly they pushed themselves, they simply could not get the execution right, as though the move itself refused to be learned by brute repetition alone.
"It’s not about speed or power...." Leo eventually realized, as even when he drove the wind pulse forward faster than the eye could follow or packed it with enough force to shatter wood, it remained detectable all the same.
Which was why he assumed that the solution had to lie in proper technique, with it having nothing to do with just the raw ratios of velocity and strength.
"The imperceptible wind pulse moves like a bullet, rotating and tunneling into the air currents around it.
But the key here is the balance ...." The Eleventh Elder had advised on their very first day of stage three training, yet it wasn’t until day 10 that Leo finally grasped what it meant.
To send a pulse of mana that produced neither sound nor the slightest shift in the surrounding air currents, he needed to shape it into a small rotating spiral, one that neither spun too fast nor too slow.
Spinning too fast caused a faint whistling pitch to hum through the air, while spinning too slow allowed the surrounding air currents to catch and deform it, making it perceptible.
So the key to mastering the move lay within the narrow, unforgiving range between the two extremes, in a precise resonance point where the rotation aligned perfectly with the stillness of the air, allowing the pulse to vanish imperceptibility before striking its mark.
However, finding that sweet spot was easier said than done, as the amount of precise mana control one needed to produce it was off the charts, and even if they managed to master it, one still needed to factor in the surrounding air currents and natural wind speeds which were phenomena that impacted it drastically.
"Nah, nah, nah, fuck this shit, I’m tired of repeating this process like a fucking donkey," Veyr snapped, throwing his hands up as if the very air offended him.
He stepped back from the trough, his chest rising and falling with sharp, irritated breaths, glaring at the neat row of water balloons as though they were the culprits behind his frustration.
His actions of-course prompted the Eleventh Elder to step in, who had done nothing but watch Leo and Veyr train for the past two hours, without offering a single word of input.
"Veyr," he said, his voice smooth but firm, "Donkeys are patient creatures, don’t insult them by comparing yourself to one if you don’t possess its virtues." He let the words hang, then gave a light shrug. "You can call yourself a cat, but cats are more clever than you."
Veyr let out a sharp snort. "Oh yeah? If I’m a cat then you’re a fucking mouse mage, cause what the fuck is this move even about?
I’ve been here ten days, Elder, and all I’ve got to show for it is sore arms, dry eyes, and the urge to throw these damn balloons in your face."
The Eleventh Elder’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, the kind that somehow annoyed and intrigued Veyr in equal measure.
He stepped forward, his boots clicking lightly on the ground until he stopped between the two Dragons, glancing at Veyr first, then Leo.
"To learn this move, you need to let go of your need to control the wrong things," he said at last.
"You are both trying to command the air as if it must obey you. But the air doesn’t respond to force, it responds to rhythm. So you must learn to match it, not dominate it."
"That sounds like something a mage would say," Veyr muttered, folding his arms.
The Elder chuckled. "Perhaps. But there’s a reason I can do this," he said, raising a hand and sending a perfectly imperceptible wind pulse forward, bursting a single balloon at the far end of the trough without so much as a ripple in the water, "and you cannot. Your mana is a guest in the air, Veyr. When a guest barges in uninvited, the host notices. Your job is to make sure no one even knows you were there."
Leo studied the motion carefully, narrowing his eyes.
The pulse that the eleventh elder sent wasn’t exactly fast, infact from attacking standards it was pretty slow, but still its perfect balance made it undetectable.
"Now," the Elder continued, stepping back, "take a breath, both of you. Reset your stance. We will do this again, and again, and again until you both get it right."
For once, Veyr didn’t argue. His jaw was tight, but the Elder’s tone left no room for further complaint. They reset, drawing in mana, shaping it, and releasing pulse after pulse toward the balloons.
The next four days blurred into an exhausting cycle of attempts, corrections, and failures, each one stripping away another layer of frustration and replacing it with a sharper instinct.
The Elder didn’t let them rush. If a pulse made even the faintest sound, he made them stop, breathe, and begin again.
If the water rippled, they adjusted their spin, shaving fractions of a rotation until the disturbance vanished.
On day eleven, Leo finally managed to send a pulse that caused almost no visible ripple, though it still left the faintest tremor in the air. The Elder only gave a curt nod and said, "Better. Again."
By day twelve, Veyr’s temper had cooled into something closer to determination, and he began to match Leo’s output, both of them occasionally landing near-perfect shots.
Still, the Elder reminded them constantly: "Almost perfect is still a failure. In the field, the difference between imperceptible and barely perceptible is the difference between living and having a blade in your ribs."
Day thirteen brought the first taste of real progress. Leo’s pulses were now consistently silent, though still not quite invisible to the air.
While Veyr hit two in a row without any disturbance at all, his face breaking into a rare grin, until the Elder told him to start over for losing focus mid-series.
And then came day fourteen.
Leo stood before the trough, his breathing steady, his mind clear.
He no longer thought about the ratios or the force, he simply felt the air around him, adjusting his mana to slip into its rhythm.
His hands moved almost on their own, shaping the pulse into that perfect spiral, neither too fast nor too slow, each rotation resonating in harmony with the stillness around it.
*....*
The pulse left his hand without a whisper, without a shift in the currents, vanishing into the space between moments.
This time, the water didn’t ripple.
The air didn’t tremble.
*Pop* *Pop* *Pop*
And to his delight, all three balloons at the far end burst cleanly, which became the only sign that the pulse had ever been there.
The Elder’s smile widened, genuine this time. "There," he said softly. "That is the heart of ’Disarm.’ Now, strike again."
Leo did, sending another perfect pulse, and another, each one bursting its target without leaving the faintest trace.
For the first time in two weeks, he felt the weight of the training lift, replaced by the quiet satisfaction of mastery.
"You can call it luck, or you can call it skill," the Elder said, "but from today onward, you can call it yours. Thank you for allowing me the pleasure to train you, Lord Shadow Dragon..."
Leo exhaled slowly, feeling the faint hum of mana settle within him. The training had been long, repetitive, and at times maddening, but now that he mastered the third and final stage, he knew he could perform [Disarm] in battle.
"No, Thank you for training me, Eleventh Elder, this time the honor was mine." He replied, as he bowed deeply to the man.