Mystic arrived at the wild zone on the outskirts of the outer city. Her body was not in cloud form—her full, sleek leviathan shape gliding through the early morning mist as the others climbed down from her back.
They began stretching, stiff and slow.
Fan Yumei didn't give them long.
"Weights on."
Kai Shi, Zhou Qian, Min Zhao, and Jin Minhe groaned but obeyed—ten pounds per arm and leg, forty-five-pound weighted vests.
No mercy.
Fan Yumei tapped the activation runes.
The weight hit them instantly.
"Now jog," she ordered. "Three miles. Build the fire."
They groaned louder—but started jogging.
Fan Yumei didn't just stand back—she ran with them, matching stride for stride. Every step was intentional. Her breathing stayed controlled. Mystic, too, wasn't left out—flanking their run from the tree line, occasionally darting ahead through narrow clearings, curling her long body low and fast to maintain muscle discipline and mobility.
Each mile, Fan Yumei increased the pace. Jog. Run. Sprint. Mystic followed with low-altitude glides and forceful updraft dives, staying on course, training her core flippers with directional balance drills mid-run.
By the third mile, the group was soaked in sweat, gasping, half-limping. The trail's terrain grew more erratic—roots, inclines, slick foliage—and more than once, someone slipped. But they kept going.
Kai Shi fell back gasping. Zhou Qian dropped to her knees. Min Zhao leaned forward, hands on her thighs, drenched. Jin Minhe flopped to the side, coughing into the dirt and whispering something about retirement.
Fan Yumei stood above them, only lightly winded.
"You're supposed to be from the elite and special advancement classes," she said coldly, arms crossed. "This? This is pathetic."
They groaned in unison.
"Is this the bar now for elite and special advancement?" She scoffed. "I'd rather train with normal students."
Mystic glided in low behind her, steam drifting off her sleek white skin, her long body coiling in slow circles. Her quiet stare said everything.
"All right," Fan Yumei snapped. "Line up. Combat forms."
They scrambled into formation. Fan Yumei stood among them, not in front—equal footing, same drills.
"Hold your form. Meditate. Sync with your beasts. Don't break bond connection during transitions. Switch positions every sixty seconds. Five sets. Mental fortress work is non-negotiable."
She closed her eyes. Her stance was sharp, breathing even. Lufei lay calm and poised next to her, hooves anchored. Maxius stood with folded wings and eyes closed, his bond stable. Mystic floated a few feet above, slow-roll rotating through light aerial drills, pulse-fins flaring and settling with each qi rhythm beat Fan Yumei pulsed through the link.
The others mimicked, slowly syncing with their own beasts. Fan Yumei rotated positions with her beasts as well—switching front, side, guard stance, back alignment—never once losing connection. Her energy threads flexed and pulsed like trained wire.
Then came combat.
"Quick matches," Fan Yumei called. "No qi. No weapons. Just you, your hands, and your instincts."
And she didn't sit out.
Fan Yumei sparred against each of them directly. Her movements were fast, clean, and ruthless—sidestepping Zhou Qian's strikes, catching Min Zhao off-guard with a shoulder roll, redirecting Kai Shi's kick with a pivot and elbow tap that nearly spun him, and catching Jin Minhe's open hand with a wrist lock so fast he squeaked.
No one held back. No one walked away without bruises.
"Beast drills," she called next. "Pairs. Go."
Beast vs. beast.
Mystic moved forward, flippers spread, tail swishing in slow waves. Lufei and Maxius stood ready. Fan Yumei called out their formations mid-spar.
"Mystic: switch sides and suppress low from the left! Don't hold back!"
"Maxius: fake jump, draw right wing drag—now burst up!"
"Lufei: flank Zhou Qian's beast, pivot upper thigh—no-pressure impact!"
Mystic responded instantly—diving, rolling midair, sending low-pulse shockwaves that scattered leaves and flicked dirt up from her tail. She didn't go full power, but it was enough to test control, precision, coordination. Her focus was total—adjusting to pressure shifts, spiraling through aerial weights to build both stamina and precision response.
Then came the whistle commands.
Fan Yumei gave a sharp three-tone burst.
Mystic flared backward mid-swoop, coiling once, then flattening into a glide. She dipped once in acknowledgment—her muscle control exact.
Lufei reacted to a double-click pulse, turning clockwise with full poise, bracing for impact. Maxius tucked into a sharp barrel roll, catching Fan Yumei's signal and recovering mid-arc.
Fan Yumei rotated through sequences—timing drills, callout drills, bond delay correction—flipping through her notebook briefly to mark any faults she noticed.
Then came the no-star beast drill.
They all took turns practicing movement, flanking, binding, and disengagement. Mystic, too, demonstrated beast-only restraint techniques—lowered energy breath, soft stunning wave, containment wrap with just her tail.
Every beast had to respond on vocal command and whistle. No qi, no visuals—only audio bond recognition.
Fan Yumei recorded everything on their Omni bands.
Then came the feedback.
"Review. Let's go," she said, folding her arms.
Everyone had to critique two other matches. No exceptions. No lying. No soft praise.
Min Zhao pointed at Zhou Qian. "You hesitated before giving your command. Could've cost control in a real fight."
Zhou Qian flushed and nodded.
Kai Shi muttered, "Min—you dragged your foot. That's an opening for a claw strike."
Jin Minhe whispered, "Can I go back to bed now?"
Mystic watched them quietly, seated in a curl with her head resting near Fan Yumei's back.
Fan Yumei stood. "My turn."
Her feedback came sharp. Precise. She called out timing flaws, command lags, bond misfires, and hesitation gaps.
"Zhou Qian—if you wait another full second, your beast will act independently. That's a breach."
"Kai Shi—your verbal calls don't match your left-hand positioning. Mixed signals."
"Min Zhao—you pulled away mid-tether command. In a real fight, that's loss of control."
"Jin Minhe—your shoulder dropped mid-stance. That breaks intent. And your beast tracking sync? Late."
Zhou Qian swallowed. "You're… intense."
Fan Yumei didn't blink. "Growth doesn't happen in comfort."
When they finally thought they were done, they started removing weights and gathering their packs.
Fan Yumei looked at the chrono. 4:32 a.m.
"Why are you packing up already?" Her voice cut through the quiet like a blade.
They froze.
"Put your weights back on and let's get moving. You're not done yet. We're just getting started. You're burning the morning oil."
Fan Yumei started pacing with her hands behind her back, war aura fully out, as she began listing:
"We still have:
• Weapon handling battles
• Team coordination
• Technique refinement
• Survival drills
• Speed-response training
• Combination skill practices
• Personal beast skill sessions for those with maturing contracts"
The four looked at her like she was the devil incarnate.
"She is the devil," Kai Shi muttered. "She wants to kill us. She's worse than Instructor Lou."
"They definitely must be related," Zhou Qian groaned. "It's been a setup the whole time."
Mystic twitched her fins slowly, settled her body low, and let out a soft hoooummpp rumble—her version of a smug laugh.
They all felt the chill again.
What had they gotten themselves into?