Side Story: Training Arc, Hoaran's Perspective (1)

Hoaran smiled faintly as she glanced sidelong at Hanjo writhing from the fox stone that had dropped onto the top of his foot.

'Quick learner.'

The arts of shamanism were vast beyond measure.

Even she, who prided herself on having attained the principle of the nine, didn't know every single one of them.

Thus, when debating the most crucial talent for learning shamanism, answers varied wildly from person to person.

But if asked what talent was universally essential to all shamanic arts, the response shifted.

The first was an innate aptitude for accepting ki.

She had no worries on that front with Hanjo.

He already possessed a Gift.

In this world, where dozens, hundreds—perhaps countless—dimensions ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had merged into one, the ki from each realm had blended together as well. This fusion birthed phenomena impossible in their original isolated worlds.

That phenomenon was the Gift.

Those born with exceptional talent for accepting ki—be it as mages, shamans, or martial artists—could achieve greatness without formal training. Through layers of coincidence, the body part absorbing that ki would mutate, transforming into something new with unprecedented abilities.

The flesh accepts ki, rebirthing itself as a body wielding alien, novel power. That was a Gift.

In other words, Hanjo, with his Gift, already had more than enough of the ki-acceptance talent required for shamanism.

No concerns there.

But there was another issue.

If she had to name it, it might be called "brilliance" or "five excellences."

But not quite.

'The ability to perceive the essence of all things.'

The capacity to find answers on one's own.

Smart people certainly existed aplenty. Those with natural genius could grasp ten truths from one lesson.

Yet shamanism demanded something beyond mere intelligence. At its core, it was an extension of drawing a line upon the world through one's own will, from utter nothingness.

Simply teaching and memorizing wouldn't suffice.

Principles, truths, natural laws—whatever arose from phenomena. Shamanism required seeing, feeling, exploring, and deriving answers independently.

But to find those answers, one first needed the ability to recognize the problem itself.

And then... to awaken to the solution on one's own, to draw that line with one's unique imagery.

That was why the world brimmed with countless shamanic arts.

Each shaman birthed their own, after all.

She couldn't demand such ability from Hanjo, a total novice ignorant of even basic arts. It would be like telling an infant to run.

So, while expecting independent enlightenment, she provided a hint.

That drastically lowered the difficulty, yet Hanjo's swift grasp of the essence marked him as genuinely talented.

'You possess the gift of extracting essence from what simply exists.'

Even with a hint, few reached it so quickly.

The Fox Stone, or fox orb.

A stone liftable by will alone, imbued with strange power.

But no such thing existed naturally.

Thus, Hoaran had crafted it herself. And it truly was a treasure rare even in her own world.

With each new tail, a corresponding orb emerged.

That was the Fox Stone's essence, refined into its current form.

A ritual tool responsive to will, compelling motion.

That was its true nature.

Yet its appearance was just an ordinary pebble.

Polished smooth, sure—but the kind you might find by any river or shore.

Tell people to lift it, even with the hint of "by will," and most fell for the pebble guise, trying brute force.

Most who begged her to take them as disciples had failed to lift it.

Trapped by its form, by common sense of "lifting," they missed the essence.

But Hanjo saw it instantly.

Abandoning hands and muscle right away... approaching the Fox Stone's truth.

Even with the hint others lacked, grasping it in mere moments confirmed his talent for essence-perception, vital to shamanism.

'But it must be grueling.'

Lifting it one han made it exponentially heavier than before.

By the time it hovered overhead, the weight exceeded six times the initial load—torture for Hanjo.

Only a novice shaman with a couple arts under their belt could manage it.

And even then, barely; holding for 15 minutes was out of the question.

But that was fine.

This training was more about gauging his talent... and endurance.

Less about lifting the stone itself, more a test of persistence.

More importantly...

Hoaran shifted her gaze from Hanjo, who groaned while rubbing his foot, only to flinch and hurriedly return to her book.

Her eyes kept drifting to his massively swollen crotch.

'Have you lost your mind, Hoaran...?'

Not even in heat, yet her thoughts strayed there relentlessly. She couldn't comprehend it.

No—more accurately, it wasn't heat yet.

'What in the world is happening...?'

Her heat was scheduled for next week.

She could sense its approach.

A dull ache in her chest, a tingling in her lower abdomen.

Having grasped the principles yet bound by her bestial heritage—the curse of a yokai born with such traits—she knew these sensations intimately.

A celestial fox, yokai fox of centuries; she'd endured thousands of heats over those years.

The issue? A cycle never once off-schedule ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was now shifting.

Why start precisely from the day she took Hanjo as disciple?

'...Could it be because of that?'

Hanjo's seed... no, his essence... ugh, even that phrasing felt off.

Anyway, had swallowing it upside-down triggered this?

It was the only plausible explanation, so perhaps.

But that made her current state ridiculous.

Centuries celibate, yet gulping a man's load makes her go into heat?

'...But it's still manageable.'

Heat hadn't arrived.

Disrupting bodily harmony or delaying onset had methods.

And even if it hit, no big deal. Heat just ramped up libido a notch from normal.

Trifling for one of her cultivation.

Worst case, self-relief sufficed.

So heat itself was fine.

The real blow? Her celestial fox pride crumbling because her body reacted instantly to a mere man's seed, as if crying, "It's time at last! I knew it!"

Proof her centuries of discipline hadn't fully transcended the flesh.

'But as long as no one notices...'

Right, if it stayed hidden...

...if hidden, then staring wasn't an issue, was it?

Peeking past her lowered book, she spied Hanjo's still-towering erection as he groaned and tried lifting the stone again.

'Truly massive, even on second glance.'

Recalling she'd swallowed the seed spewed from that, Hoaran flushed. It had happened in the chaos, but she'd never seen a man's member up close before.

Books on yin-yang principles, yes—but illustrations only.

'Nothing compares to what I saw then.'

Over a han long at a glance, utterly atypical; no text depicted such.

Or perhaps that's why her gaze lingered.

Did something like that truly enter a woman's body?

Well, made for insertion, bodies for receiving—yin-yang harmony demanded it...

But really, could it fit?

'...And the scent was divine.'

Sweet as fruit.

'...I wonder if it tastes good too?'

Book descriptions varied wildly, truth elusive. But some depicted lovers savoring their partner's essence with delight.

She'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dismissed them as exaggeration—until Hanjo's aroma hit, irresistibly sweet.

'Shouldn't have wiped it all away... Hah?! Snap out of it, Hoaran...!'

Heat looming made reason blur; she shook her head fiercely.

'"As long as no one notices"—is that a celestial fox's mindset?!'

Scolding herself, calming her heart, Hoaran sighed and reopened her book.

Best way to steady mind and body: reading.

Thud. She slammed the book shut.

'...Wrong book.'

Of all pages, it opened to the sword empress captured by the lust demon.

And the content eerily mirrored her sudden heat onset...

Heat was, literally, the body preparing for conception.

The sword empress, ensnared by lust arts, ovulating for the demon's child—similarities abounded.

...With so much overlap, perhaps escape methods lay within? She reopened it.

'She's fallen. No vulgarity in her "no" lines anymore.'

Typical for these books.

Why reopen, knowing that?

'No, this one didn't peek on purpose...!'

Yet unease lingered.

Her condition felt far worse than usual.

Heats brought such tendencies, but never this intensely—save the day itself.

Even pre-onset, it rivaled peak heat.

'This feels ominous.'

Having devoured the lust demon–sword empress tale cover to cover, Hoaran sighed at Hanjo, still inching the Fox Stone upward with groans.

Her celestial fox instincts warned: this heat would be brutally harsh.