For Master Alder, a seasoned expert in Martial Dao and head of the Monastery of Discipline, there were few things in life that could shake his inner calm.
Years of training in the Path of Clarity, the martial system rooted in spiritual discipline, had refined his soul. Even if the heavens fell and the mountains crumbled, his breath would remain steady.
But now, his heart was in turmoil.
"Is that… Arhat Fist? No, it's something more..."
Master Alder narrowed his eyes, studying the young novice before him.
All around, warrior monks practiced their forms with powerful, controlled force, the air around them charged with energy. Yet, the punches and kicks of this small, fragile child gave off a deeper presence—something beyond raw power.
Every strike he delivered carried a natural grace, flowing seamlessly from stance to stance like water running over stone.
"This can't be right."
"How could a child—barely out of toddlerhood—grasp such profound martial wisdom?"
Even basic martial arts, including those taught in the monastery, required years of dedication before one could execute them properly. The Arhat Fist, though considered foundational, demanded at least six to seven years of focused training to reach a competent level.
But this boy…
He wasn't just copying what he saw. His technique surpassed even that of senior monks. In fact, his form seemed to evolve beyond Arhat Fist, refining it into something masterful—perhaps even superior.
"There are traces of Arhat style... but the technique is something else entirely."
Alder's breath caught.
"He's replicating a martial art at the level of our monastery's legendary skills..."
That kind of martial mastery was supposed to be impossible without decades of study.
"Master Alder?"
Other novices nearby noticed the elder's intense gaze and instantly fell silent, afraid they had angered him.
All of them stood stiffly in place.
All but Aeron Vale, who continued practicing his newly realized technique—the Great Principle Fist of Enlightenment—with calm precision.
Alder dismissed the rest of the children with a wave. "Leave us."
He remained behind, eyes fixed on Aeron.
---
Aeron, for his part, was fully immersed in the flow of his movements. His limbs pulsed with gentle warmth, as though he were bathing in a sacred spring. His breathing deepened. His bones felt lighter. Energy gathered naturally in his lower abdomen.
"Internal energy?"
He blinked in surprise. From his understanding, inner strength—true spiritual force—was a trait of Innate Realm martial masters. It took years to develop even the smallest wisp.
And yet, here he was.
A three-year-old novice, already forming true inner energy.
Suddenly, his stomach growled. He stopped, panting lightly, realizing that his young body was not built to handle such advanced practice for long.
He looked around.
The training courtyard had changed. The monk warriors were gone. The other children had vanished. In their place stood seven elder monks, cloaked in rich crimson and gold robes.
Their presence was overwhelming. The one at the center—a tall monk with flowing silver brows—seemed to command even the abbot standing just behind him.
"The Grand Master?"
Aeron recognized three faces: Master Alder, the head of the martial monastery; Master Baird, keeper of discipline; and High Abbot Garrick, leader of the entire Sacred Flame Monastery.
The others he didn't know, but if they stood with the abbot, they were clearly among the highest authorities in this sacred order.
Then the abbot stepped forward and smiled gently.
"Child," he asked softly, "where did you learn that martial form just now?"
Aeron's heart settled. He had expected this.
He hadn't hidden his ability.
In fact, he had shown it deliberately.
He knew that if he wanted to unlock the full potential of his Heaven-Defying Comprehension, he would need access to advanced martial arts—the kind reserved only for high-ranking disciples or inner-circle members of the monastery.
By watching birds and worms, he could comprehend minor techniques like Sky-Step of the Sparrow and Burrowing Dragon Crawl.
But by watching a foundational temple art like Arhat Fist, he had instantly realized an advanced superior technique—the Great Principle Fist of Enlightenment.
That distinction was clear. If he could gain access to even greater martial arts, what more could he comprehend?
But to do that, his identity would have to change.
He could no longer remain just a novice monk.
Aeron bowed slightly and replied in a soft, respectful voice:
"Master, I saw my seniors practicing their form, and… I tried to follow. As I moved, something came to me. The form took shape in my body. I… I didn't mean to do anything wrong."
His eyes shimmered with innocent confusion.
In the world of the Universal Human Alliance, this kind of talent would have marked him for dissection or surveillance.
But here—in a monastic order steeped in ancient discipline and reverence—extraordinary gifts were seen as divine blessings.
If anything, they would revere him, perhaps even suspect he was a reincarnated martial saint or child of destiny.
The elders fell silent.
The long-browed grand elder narrowed his eyes, voice low. "You say… you created a superior martial technique by watching Arhat Fist?"
No one would believe such a claim under normal circumstances. Superior martial arts were crafted over decades—sometimes centuries—by Grandmasters who had walked the razor's edge of life and death.
To claim to have realized one from observation?
Absurd.
But they had seen it.
They had witnessed the boy perform a form they had never taught—a style so profound, so refined, that it could only be compared to the monastery's own seventy-two sacred techniques.
And yet, no one recognized it.
"Could it be that… this child truly created it?"
It wasn't impossible. The energy flow, the grounding of the stance, the harmony of body and breath—all of it was precise, brilliant, and deeply rooted in Buddhist Martial Doctrine.
The technique was real.
And so was the internal energy it had awakened.
The monks exchanged glances.
Was this child… a once-in-a-millennium prodigy?
A living embodiment of the martial path?
---
Aeron watched their reactions carefully.
He had taken a calculated risk.
His goal was not fame—but access.
If he was seen as ordinary, he would never touch the advanced scriptures or learn elite martial paths. But if he stood out—if he proved himself as someone the monastery could not ignore—they might take him under their wing.
"This is the only way forward."
He bowed again, letting just the right mix of humility and confusion show on his face.
"I apologize if I have overstepped."
Abbot Garrick raised a hand.
"There is nothing to apologize for. Tell me—do you feel discomfort after performing this technique?"
Aeron nodded honestly. "A little. My stomach feels... very empty."
One of the monks chuckled.
"Fitting for a child," said another with a warm smile.
The atmosphere lightened, but the tension remained beneath the surface.
None of the monks could deny the truth they had seen:
A toddler had developed internal energy.
He had instinctively realized a superior martial art no one had ever taught him.
And he did it by watching others practice.
---
The Grand Elder finally stepped forward. His long brows swayed with the wind.
His voice was clear but carried the weight of mountains:
"This boy is not ordinary."
"He must be brought into the inner sanctuary. Trained. Tested."
The other elders nodded.
Abbot Garrick turned to Aeron.
"Child, from this day forward, you are no longer a novice."
"You will join the Inner Disciples of the Sacred Flame Monastery."
Aeron's heart stirred.
This was it. The path forward. The doorway to power.
---
(End of Chapter 3)