Maksym Pachesiuk
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Moon Cultivation [Book 2] - Chapter 110: Damage Control
🕑 Added 2025-07-20 23:36:00 +0000 UTCSince early morning, I couldn't get a bite down. As luck would have it, the machine served me a bowl of my favourite ‘metallic rice’ among other things, but that wasn’t the main reason. In less than half an hour, I had to attack Martin Lao.
I knew it was necessary, but personally, Lao hadn’t done anything to me. Nothing personal, as they say. Rubbish I never believed in. The moment you attack someone, it’s always just you and him, it’s always personal.
Still, it had to be done, no matter how unpleasant it felt. Like a trip to the dentist in my old world, with that disgustingly whining drill. And this time, the reasons ran deeper than just a toothache.
I hadn’t refined Iron Head yet, and although I still had the element of surprise on my side, I wasn’t sure how much it would help. Using an unrefined technique was far more difficult than swinging a mace, and I had no confidence it would work out.
I was a little late getting to the hall. Not because I’d tried to delay the inevitable — I’ve always been a fan of ripping the plaster off quickly. No, the reason was that if I arrived before Lao, I wouldn’t be able to choose a spot that gave me a good angle for attack.
The hall was already full, though the air didn’t yet reek of sweat. The filtered atmosphere still held a hint of antiseptic used by the cleaning drones.
Rene was leaning against the wall beside the glass-walled trainer's office, scanning the room like a hawk on the hunt. In his case, the prey was mistakes.
But he didn’t strike the moment he saw one. He observed, gathered data, picked the tastiest target, and pounced, scooping up all the others along the way.
Now his gaze caught on a girl. A cadet flinging her fists forward in wild, uncontrolled bursts, making up for her lack of precision with so much enthusiasm it nearly knocked her off balance. Even to me, it looked ridiculous, but I had no idea what technique she was trying to train, so I couldn’t fairly judge.
Rene, however, judged.
He pushed off the wall and started towards the girl, tossing comments at other cadets along the way.
“Are you punching or posing? More power in the strike, put some energy into it!”
“Legs! Fix your stance.”
“Too slow! Speed it up.”
At last, he reached his target.
“Not just your arms, Tahagi! Use your torso. Legs, hips, shoulder — then the fist. And breathe out, don’t hold your breath.”
Rene took a stance and snapped forward with a straight punch, somewhere between boxing and karate, exhaling loudly as he did: “Ha! Ha-ha-ha!” he repeated in a quick series. “Understood?”
The girl’s head bobbed automatically.
“Again,” Rene ordered.
“Ha?” she repeated, exactly the same way she had before.
"Ha!" Rene repeated.
"Ha?" Tahagi echoed again, no changes involved.
"Let’s start with the legs," Rene said patiently. "Legs," he pointed at his feet with both fingers and shifted slightly, demonstrating just how solid his stance was. "Support, movement. Ha!" he showed the strike.
Rene’s full attention was on Tahagi.
Perfect! One problem fewer.
I entered the hall almost immediately after Lao, but it was already full, and it’s not like anyone here followed some kind of order. The cadets simply stood wherever there was more space or where the equipment they needed was. Thank God most of the equipment, like targets, was simulated holographically.
Still, there was some layout, reminiscent of a shooting range, though without booths, just lines.
Lao had taken the seventh line from the left wall. The first, third, fifth, and sixth were already occupied. That left the second and fourth. I didn’t even consider the lines closer to the centre, since movement techniques were traditionally practised near the walls. There wasn’t any strict rule about it, but people instinctively avoided the centre, where more projections flew around and there was a higher risk of accidentally getting hit by one.
On the first line, someone was practising movement; on the third, they were already launching strikes. For better cover, logically, the second line was best, but that would mean I’d have to cross three or four punchers during my little circus act, avoiding whatever projections they were throwing around. Even two lines made things difficult enough.
I stepped into the starting position and, without a word, burst forward in Monkey form for three steps. The diagonal offset was minimal, so unstable qi immediately began gathering in my legs. I didn’t disperse it; instead, I pushed back, fell onto my hands and used the momentum to spring back upright. That particular method of using the technique worked perfectly for me, unlike the handspring, which I still couldn’t pull off.
I started observing Lao.
He worked with the same focus as always. His strikes were polished, short, direct, with an emphasis on stable projection. All of it in a steady, mechanical rhythm.
It felt like his body didn’t belong to him, as if he was simply following a script being played out in front of his eyes. In that, he strongly reminded me of Arnaud, right before the medics carried him out of the hall. Although, Lao was definitely sweating less. In fact, he was hardly sweating at all. And if that was any indication, he was still far from reaching a critical state.
I ‘monkeyed’ backwards twice, keeping my eyes on Lao. No one had shown me this move — I’d come up with it myself after seeing similar manoeuvres used in other techniques. All that remained was to find the right moment.
I sized up the gap to the starting line and dropped into Iron Head — legs only, no headbutt. I leaned slightly forward and launched myself from the spot. Three steps instantly carried me past the starting line, and a wave of weakness spread through my body from not executing the technique fully.
“Bloody hell!” swore the cadet to my right. I’d startled him with the sudden movement and for passing so close by. “What the hell, man? Take your tricks to that side!” he barked, pointing to the opposite end of the hall.
"Sorry," I said. "I’ll be more careful."
I really did need to be more careful, especially not to attract Rene’s attention. He might forbid me from continuing what I was doing.
So I returned to the starting position and ran through another round of Monkey jumps. I turned, glanced at Rene, and made sure he was still occupied, then looked to Lao, past his two neighbours who were also working on their strikes.
Three cadets, three different attack techniques, each executed at a different speed and with varying force. Even the projections themselves moved at different velocities. To find a clean corridor between them would take far more time than I had. It was inevitable that I’d catch at least a few of them.
Adam had warned me about this, we even tried practising it, that the projections could knock my trajectory off target. But Adam didn’t know how to hold back, no matter how hard he tried. The transparent fists the cadets were launching were nothing like Adam’s pointer-finger projection.
Still, I aimed for Lao’s left shoulder — the one closest to me.
Step. Lunge!
I slipped past the first neighbour. On the second line, a projection hit my shoulder and shattered against the shield that enveloped me. Lao’s own fist projection did the same. Now that was a proper punch – I felt my shield creak under the pressure, but it held. And I was already too close to miss. He was within arm’s reach, the same one his projection had come from.
I had been aiming for the shoulder, but ended up colliding forehead-first into his fist just a fraction of a second after the projection hit me. My forehead pushed his hand back, my shield gave way, and I felt the blow on my forehead — softened, but still solid.
If I’d executed the technique correctly, I would’ve just stopped, but it was a messy attempt, and I collapsed from the counter-hit.
The world tilted, flipped, and fell as if I’d plunged underwater. Someone screamed somewhere in the background.
I tried to get up, but the world kept spinning and pressing down on me.
It took a few tries and a firm helping hand.
Did it work?
That firm hand was followed by Rene’s furious face, as he barked at me, unable to hold back:
"You pulled off a complete bloody disaster, you idiot!"
How did he know what I was thinking? Or did I say that out loud?
My head!
Rene let go of me, and without his support, I nearly collapsed again. Someone else caught me, and I managed to lock eyes on Lao.
He was the one who had screamed.
His arm was broken, bent at an unnatural angle and swollen at the elbow. The fabric around the joint was soaked with blood.
The sight made my stomach twist. I gagged, but nothing came up.
It went on for a few more seconds until the medics burst into the hall and jabbed something into my neck.
The rest I learned much later that evening, when they pulled me out of the capsule. Zola and Kate were there, though I wasn’t allowed to speak to the former, they took me straight to Vaclav.
I complained that a snack wouldn’t hurt on the way, but Kate said something special was waiting for me.
And it really was something special. Novak didn’t receive us in the lounge this time, but in the kitchen. He was frying steaks himself!
I hoped it wasn’t bug meat, and if it was, I didn’t want to know. The smell was heavenly. A plate was immediately placed in front of me, and I fell on it like a wolf. Medium rare, with pepper, spices, and a hint of garlic. Cherry sauce, and some sort of roasted onion with a pumpkin-potato flavour.
I licked the plate clean in minutes.
"Seconds?" Novak asked.
It was only then I noticed he was in an excellent mood.
"I recommend the cheese casserole," said Lina, poking at something similar in her deep bowl. She was clearly not in the same good spirits, looked absolutely exhausted. And Adam was nowhere to be seen.
"Is the casserole sweet?" I asked, since it looked like a dessert. Kate was eating the same and sipping tea alongside it.
"Yes," Novak confirmed with a smile.
"Then more meat for me, please!" I said.
They brought me another portion of steak, which I now ate calmly and with control.
"Did it work?" I asked.
"It worked better than I expected!" Novak declared, placing another piece of meat on the pan. "Your qi flowed through his channels until it reached the elbow of the already-bent arm. The angle was too sharp, and it burst out. Blew the elbow open!" he explained, clearly delighted.
"That’s something you can’t simulate. And you got injured enough yourself to avoid unnecessary suspicion. The official story? You performed a diagonal lunge instead of a straight one — just a leftover habit from your time using Mad Monkey."
"What now?" I asked.
"Now—eat. This meat will help your recovery before tomorrow’s cultivation. And a cup of Evening Sun will ease the tension and help you unwind."
I was sure both the meat and the tea weren’t cheapб but at the same time, given how Vaclav avoided explaining any of his future plans, it still felt like he was simply cleaning and oiling the machine after use.
I couldn’t deny that his plans did work, but on a personal level, it rubbed me the wrong way.
Comments
Kolerog
You have typo: б should be ,
Jonathan Griffith
Tyftc!
