Trash Warrior Becomes War God

CHAPTER 9 PART 1

The Warrior Shrine smelled like old stone and burnt incense, which Lorenzo seemed to find deeply spiritual and Marco found mildly suffocating.

"Magnificent." Lorenzo was still going. He'd been going for ten minutes. "Absolutely magnificent. The way she executed Bastion Strike in the third exchange — the timing, the angle — that is your teaching, Young Master. Your vision. Your genius made manifest in—"

"It's basic stuff," Marco said.

"Basic." Lorenzo repeated the word like Marco had just called the sun a nightlight. "Young Master, that girl dismantled an eighth-level knight in front of the entire academy. Knights twice her level were standing in that arena with their mouths open like fish."

"She did the work. I just showed her where to point it." Marco dropped onto the wooden bench along the shrine wall and stretched his arms above his head. "And keep your voice down about all of it. I don't need the whole academy speculating about where she learned that."

Lorenzo pressed his lips together and nodded with exaggerated solemnity, as if Marco had just handed him a classified imperial document. "Of course. Discretion. Absolute discretion." He paused. "It was still magnificent."

Marco let it go.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then sat forward, elbows on his knees. The victory was fine. Expected. What mattered now was the next problem, and the next problem was him.

"I need to level," he said.

"Yes." Lorenzo settled onto the bench across from him, lacing his fingers together with the air of a man about to deliver a lecture he had been waiting his whole life to give. "The traditional path is meditation. A warrior opens himself to the natural fighting spirit flowing through the world — the currents in the earth, the tension in the air before a storm, the residual energy left by conflict. With discipline and patience, the body absorbs it. Slowly. Over time." He nodded sagely. "It is a deeply spiritual process."

"How long?"

"To advance from Level 1 to Level 2?" Lorenzo considered. "For a traditionally trained warrior — perhaps four to six months of daily practice. There are also Energy Crystals, condensed fighting spirit drawn from high-density regions, but they are rare and expensive. Most warriors cannot afford them consistently."

Marco stared at him.

"Four to six months," he said flatly.

"For a dedicated practitioner."

Marco stood up. "That's the most inefficient thing I've ever heard."

Lorenzo opened his mouth.

"In Sky Realm," Marco continued, already moving toward the shrine entrance, "you leveled through combat. You hunted monsters, absorbed their residual energy after death, and your body processed it directly. Fast, practical, and you actually got stronger in ways that mattered because you were fighting while you were doing it." He glanced back. "Is there anywhere near the city with Demon Beasts? Low level. Something a Level 1 can actually handle."

Lorenzo blinked. Then something shifted in his expression — not quite excitement, but the particular alertness of a man recognizing a concept that rearranged several long-held assumptions. "There is Frostpine Forest. Seventy kilometers northeast. Low-tier Demon Beast territory — or it was, several years ago. First and second-level creatures, mostly. Shadow Wolves. Frost Mice. Occasionally a Bog Crawler."

"Good." Marco was already at the door. "We're going today."

"Today."

"Is there a reason not to?"

Lorenzo stood, adjusted his robes, and sighed the sigh of a very old man who had recently accepted that his life was no longer predictable. "I will arrange a carriage."

The carriage was fast the way a carriage could only be fast when the driver had been given urgent instructions and no information about why. It hit every rut in the road with maximum commitment. Marco braced against the side panel. Lorenzo gripped the overhead strap with both hands and maintained his dignity through sheer force of will.

"Is this the normal speed?" Marco asked, after the third consecutive pothole launched them both three inches off the seat.

"The driver is enthusiastic," Lorenzo said tightly.

"He's trying to kill us."

"He is motivated by—" The carriage lurched. Lorenzo's head connected gently with the ceiling. He resettled. "—by a strong work ethic."

By the time Frostpine Forest appeared on the horizon — dark pines rising against a pale grey sky, the air sharpening with cold the moment they left the main road — both of them climbed out of the carriage moving like men who had been lightly beaten.

Marco rolled his shoulders, shook it off, and studied the tree line. The forest breathed out cold in slow, steady gusts. Somewhere inside it, something moved through underbrush.

"Rules," Marco said, turning to Lorenzo. "While we're in there — I hunt alone. My kills, my experience. You stay back unless something shows up that I genuinely cannot handle. Don't interfere just because it looks difficult. I need actual combat reps, not a rescue service."

Lorenzo nodded seriously. "Understood, Young Master. I will restrain myself."

"I mean it. If a Level 1 Frost Mouse is threatening to bite my ankle, let it."

"...I will restrain myself appropriately."

They entered the forest.