Breathing Technique (1)

Across the continent, debates raged endlessly over who stood as the absolute strongest, but they were far from the only venerable rivalries dividing the populace. In fact, time-honored disputes had pitted faction against faction since antiquity.

Elves versus Demons.

Dogs versus Cats.

Summer versus Winter.

The West versus the East.

Countless other points of contention existed, though people generally exercised restraint in daily life out of courtesy, knowing full well how easily such topics bred friction. Naturally, while manners prevailed in polite society, the Gallery knew no such mercy. Whenever users had a spare moment, they spent hours bickering back and forth over which side was superior. On the rare occasion that an argument overheated and devolved into pure vitriol, the Main Moderator would step in personally to lay down the banhammer.

Yet among all these perennial clashes, one rivalry stood above the rest in sheer controversy.

It was none other than the feud between the Western Mana Cultivation Method and the Eastern Internal Cultivation Art. An ideological collision that had raged uninterrupted since mythological antiquity, burning just as fiercely in the present day.

Just as the myths recounted, the West favored the Mana Cultivation Method, while the Central Plains swore by the Internal Cultivation Art. Yet as centuries rolled by, an intriguing sociological theory gained traction among scholars.

The Mana Cultivation Method was easy to learn, but spiritually shallow. The Internal Cultivation Art was grueling to master, but incomparably profound. Such was the deep-seated perception surrounding both disciplines. In truth, while that characterization held a grain of truth, it was also riddled with fallacies.

No matter the philosophy, true power spoke for itself. It was an immutable truth. Even so, with ancestral pride and centuries of continental heritage on the line, neither side was willing to concede ground. That was why flame wars erupted at the slightest provocation. To those who wielded mana, respiratory art was the very cornerstone of their self-worth.

Indeed, whenever these ideological battles flared up, veteran cultivators unintentionally leaked a wealth of practical secrets to prove their superiority. While casual posters occasionally spouted unverified nonsense, discerning readers filtered it out with ease. After all, nothing stripped a martial artist down to their foundational competence quite like debating the intricacies of breathing techniques.

Oh? So she's teaching him an Internal Cultivation Art now?

The strongest warrior of the Messiah Empire and current unemployed 'home security guard,' Ash, found her interest piqued. As was her daily routine, she had been lounging about, idling away the hours on the Gallery. When the Heavenly Demon initially began imparting internal arts to Grylls, Ash had merely shrugged and let it slide. The Heavenly Demon she knew would never hand down a shoddy or defective manual. And even if she proved to be a charlatan, it made little difference; the moment Grylls posted that she had deceived him, the truth would be dragged into the light for everyone to see.

Of course, Grylls might lack innate talent, or the Heavenly Demon might prove an abysmal instructor. Ash originally figured she would simply sit back and watch the entertainment unfold. That had been her stance at the outset—until an unexpected comment surfaced.

"What?!" Ash exclaimed aloud, her shock matching the Heavenly Demon's word for word. Experiencing a sudden nosebleed while practicing foundational Dantian Breathing was practically unheard of.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Immediately, Ash fired off a barrage of detailed questions. And as Grylls described the sensation step by step, an inkling struck her.

Could it be... that this guy has the exact same condition I had?

Ash knew the phenomenon intimately because she had lived it herself. She possessed an anomalous constitution that naturally accumulated mana simply by drawing breath. With every respiratory cycle, several times the mana volume of an ordinary person flooded directly into her mana hole—her dantian. In her youth, merely performing foundational breathing had caused blood to gush from her nose, just as Grylls had described.

At the time, no one understood what was happening, so her mentors brushed it aside as a bizarre fluke. It was a condition that had never been documented in medical or martial treatises. Because she stumbled at the absolute foundation, her instructors initially assumed she had zero affinity for swordsmanship. Yet once she navigated past that initial threshold, her growth had exploded at an incomprehensible, terrifying speed.

Having walked that exact path herself, Ash could say so with total certainty.

Is it real? Could it actually be?

Ash bombarded Grylls with further inquiries, probing every subtle shift in his meridians. The more answers he provided, the clearer it became that his physical state mirrored her own past. Naturally, their circumstances were not entirely identical; Grylls had accumulated an excessive reserve of mana by consuming supernatural elixirs. Yet the underlying mechanism—a massive intake of raw mana surging into the vessel with every single breath—was an exact match.

Is it because of the Forest of the Four Seasons?

In all likelihood, yes. The ambient mana concentration within the Forest of the Four Seasons was several times—if not dozens of times—denser than anywhere else on the continent. Though merely a prevailing hypothesis among imperial scholars, its credibility was immense. The fact that an Adult Mandrake Root could grow to maturity there served as living proof.

Even if their environments differed, their physiological conditions aligned. A sudden determination took root in Ash's heart. I have to nurture Grylls, no matter what it takes.

Looking at his achievements so far, his raw potential was far from negligible. More importantly, he possessed more than enough motivation to grow stronger. Trapped in an unforgiving wilderness, he was a man forced to grasp at any lifeline simply to survive.

If he ends up surpassing even me... hehehe.

A sinister smirk curled across Ash's lips as a long-dormant sensation surged within her chest. Every apprentice she had ever tried to raise in the past had either proven utterly disappointing or fled in sheer terror. But Grylls was different. Stranded in the lethal depths of the Forest of the Four Seasons, he had nowhere to run. If he wanted to escape that primordial prison, his only path was to forge himself into a monster through his own sheer strength. It was the perfect arrangement.

First, I need to guide him on how to break through to the next stage.

At present, Grylls's internal vessel was completely oversaturated. Introducing further mana into that pressurized state had forced his body to trigger a desperate defense mechanism. Ash was preparing to impart her personal, battle-tested technique to resolve the bottleneck when an unexpected obstacle barred her way.

"This person is so unbelievably frustrating," Ash muttered, wrinkling her pretty nose in annoyance. Her expression was a mix of irritation and profound exasperation. Does she really have to be this stubborn?

The obstacle, unsurprisingly, was the Heavenly Demon. The moment Ash offered to instruct Grylls in respiratory circulation, the cult leader raised objections at every turn. Her tone made it abundantly clear: Grylls was her claimed apprentice, so Ash had better back off.

She's from the Central Plains, so I suppose I understand the sentiment, but still...

Martial artists from the Central Plains held the master-disciple relationship in sacred, almost fanatical regard. It was a culture that proclaimed, 'A master is both ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠teacher and father, while a disciple is a son.' Internal Cultivation Arts were secret legacies never bestowed upon outsiders without absolute trust.

Which means she trusts him that deeply.

Had the Heavenly Demon argued from sheer petulance or flawed premises, Ash would have counterattacked relentlessly until she gave in. But the demon sovereign dismantled Ash's points with rigorous, profound martial logic. In the end, Ash opted to concede a step. Continuing to squabble on the forum would do nothing to aid Grylls. Even so, clearing the man's clogged meridians remained paramount. Thus, she proposed a final compromise.

Ash wasn't lying, but she certainly harbored an ulterior motive. An Internal Cultivation Art was excruciatingly difficult to master. While both disciplines shared the same mechanical steps up to initial circulation, a massive divide emerged the moment one reached the subsequent Mnemonic Oral Formula.

Unlike the pragmatic, physical directives of Mana Cultivation, Eastern Internal Arts were steeped in abstract, deeply philosophical allegories. Where Mana Cultivation simply instructed the practitioner to direct energy from one point to another, an Internal Art demanded esoteric contemplation: 'As water welling from the canyon flows into the vast sea...'

Ugh, just thinking about it gives me a headache.

Yet it was not without merit. Just as a carp raised in a turbulent river differed in size and vitality from a carp dwelling in a tranquil lake, breathing techniques shaped the spirit differently. Mana Cultivation suffered severe limitations when it came to conceptual breakthroughs and profound enlightenment, whereas an Internal Art excelled in them. Because its oral mnemonics carried multifaceted layers of philosophical realization, it was far easier for a practitioner to break through later barriers.

"Pfft!" Ash burst into laughter. For the supreme Heavenly Demon to display such exasperated defeat spoke volumes about Grylls's quirky personality. Still, his unabashed optimism was charming.

Well, I can't really argue with that, Ash conceded with a silent nod. Even so, she had no intention of throwing in the towel. Before long, Grylls would come running back, begging to learn the Mana Cultivation Method.

He'll definitely complain that the Internal Art is too complicated.

Grylls was an ordinary civilian—a polite, well-mannered one, but an ordinary civilian nonetheless. By the standards of Ash's world, commoners were people who could barely read simple signposts. While she knew little of Grylls's precise background, she was well aware that his circumstances had been bleak. His parents had passed away in an accident, leaving him to fend for himself in poverty. Someone in that position would have spent all their energy just surviving, leaving little time for high-level academic study. Expecting him to decipher philosophical verse was a tall order.

He claims he's from another world, but could that really be true? In the Gallery, claiming to hail from another realm was a dime-a-dozen roleplay gimmick. Who in their right mind would believe someone boasting that a single bomb could vaporize an entire city?

Ash and the Heavenly Demon shared their specialized tips through private messages. Having absorbed their guidance, Grylls apparently entered deep meditation, for his replies ceased entirely. Ten minutes ticked by in absolute silence. Just as Ash began to feel a prickle of unease and hovered her fingers to leave a message, a new comment appeared.

Her worry had been entirely unfounded. Whether his gastrointestinal tract was abnormally fragile or functioning in overdrive, this was a routine occurrence for Grylls.

Ludicrous as the tale sounded, it was a famous martial anecdote. Circulating mana—the act of Qi Circulation—demanded terrifying, razor-sharp focus. Even a brief verbal interruption could shatter one's delicate internal harmony.

Once again, complete silence blanketed the thread. This time, Ash was not in the least bit anxious. Completing a full circuit of mana took considerable time, especially for a novice. She settled back comfortably, confident that he would post an update once he finished his meditation.

That was, until a brand-new post popped up on the Gallery board.

The title seemed utterly mundane, but the author was none other than Wild Grylls. Wondering what fresh crisis had erupted, Ash clicked into the thread.

"..."

For the first time in her illustrious life, the peerless Sword Master Ash found herself struck dumb before an utterly insurmountable conundrum.

And far across the dimensional divide, within the imperial pavilions of the Central Plains...

"...What kind of deranged gibberish is this?"

The sovereign of the Demonic Cult was experiencing the exact same existential crisis.