Maksym Pachesiuk
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Moon Cultivation [Book 2] - Chapter 106: Foundations and Detonations
🕑 Added 2025-07-13 23:36:01 +0000 UTCFara Rakotoarisoa was part of the Hall of Technology. Not Medicine, as Novak had suspected, but specifically the Engraving Division of the Hall of Technology. Which made sense, though it wasn’t exactly obvious from the name. The Engraving Division dealt with formations and arrays. And we already knew that it was through formations that demons hijacked bodies. Plus the edited footage, those special self-cleaning ampoules.
So far, everything checked out.
The question was, how many demons were actually involved in this? If Fara was from the same batch of suiciders from eight years ago, then there had to be someone senior in the Hall of Technology.
Which meant there had to be a demon wearing an older human body.
Not that Fara herself wasn’t old — she was over four hundred years.
Hopefully, she’d spend the next few centuries in a nice, quiet cell. But for that to happen, I needed to master the Iron Head.
We’d agreed that Adam would take Kate’s place in our sessions, and that’s exactly how it turned out. The sessions had been rescheduled to the early morning. Our schedules clashed badly, so I had to adapt. On the bright side, I now had two one-hour sessions a day — one in the morning, replacing Rene, and one in the evening.
Adam booked us a hall that looked more like a maintenance corridor. Steel floor with traction grooves instead of tiles, and battered metal walls. The ceiling was lined with reinforced glass panels shielding the lights, casting only the bare minimum illumination, dim, like in a metro service tunnel. Looked like this was where they practised offensive techniques. Also looked like late Third Stage vision was a hell of a lot better than late First.
Without a word, Adam tossed me a black oversized helmet, which I barely caught through the omnipresent shadows. Heavy. Sturdy.
“Training model,” Adam said. “In a real fight, better to have a proper one. And a new one. This one’s past its prime, but it’ll do for you.”
I put the helmet on, and it deployed supports that locked onto my shoulders, taking the weight off my neck and simulating the servomotors of actual armour.
“What do you know about the technique?” Adam asked.
“It’s a three-step dash and a headbutt into the target. Works pretty well if you’re aiming to turn yourself into a battering ram.”
“What’s the most important part of it?” Adam asked.
I recalled the comments under that library video.
“Not tripping?”
Adam gave a reluctant nod.
"I’ll admit, that’s a solid enough answer,” he said, “but I meant something more intricate. You need absolute control. Not just to avoid tripping, but to avoid snapping your neck.”
A shiver crept down my spine like insects crawling across my skin. But I kept my mouth shut and didn’t interrupt with pointless remarks.
“This technique requires accounting for a whole range of factors — from stabilising your lower back to evenly distributing qi between your head and feet. Otherwise, you’ll just smear yourself across the enemy.”
Adam stepped forward and came to stand beside me. He was wearing a different helmet: new and polished. He leaned forward, took a quick step, and in an instant dashed more than ten metres ahead.
Far faster than in the training video.
The qi gathered before his helmet detonated with a sharp crack. The echo bounced across the hall. Adam turned to me, took a step, and in the next moment, he was right back at my side.
The shockwave washed over me, and though he hadn’t aimed at me, my instincts screamed danger. I instinctively Monkey-darted aside.
Adam removed his helmet and gestured for me to do the same.
“No full-force attempts until your internal integrity’s solid. You’re banned from using this technique on a dummy, even if it’s made of paper! Understood?”
“Yes. But I shouldn’t master the technique too well either, or it’ll look suspicious.”
“That’s for me to decide,” Adam cut in. “We’re starting with the channels.”
“Not with the movements?”
“You can’t reproduce that dash without qi. You don’t even have a proper channel to your forehead, none through your lower back, and the ones in your feet are completely different from what the Mad Monkey uses. So — get to work!
“From the core,” he pointed at his own, “to the forehead,” and tapped his helmet.
“No legs?” I asked for clarification.
“For now, no,” Adam confirmed, and I started to sit down.
“No!” my temporary trainer barked. “Standing. This is a movement technique, you won’t be doing it sitting. Channels need to be built in the actual position. If you can’t hold your balance at this stage, during the real dash it’ll throw you off, or knock you out cold. Or both.”
I sighed and got back on my feet. Took a few steps away from the wall to give myself space. Adam nodded and began pacing in a slow circle, observing.
“Feet parallel, left foot forward, knees slightly bent, loose. Shift your centre of gravity forward.”
“You said no legs...” I muttered, mildly reproachful. But Adam wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
“The main problem with this technique,” he said, “is that you can’t see the forehead hologram. You can’t see how the qi flows through the channels. For that, you need a trainer, or at least a partner.”
Adam sent me a trainer-access request, and then granted the same in return. That way, my interface could show his training hologram. I could shift a holographic model of my own skull out in front of my eyes and trace the qi flows along it, but trying to watch them externally and guide them internally at the same time was disorienting and caused spatial confusion almost as bad as when I tried to look into a storage ring.
No, there was no enlightenment. Not even a sliver of insight.
Especially since Adam had already dismissed this method as the slowest. Because this wasn’t a mind technique, the channels bypassed the brain. He had a faster solution. That’s why he gave me trainer control — so I could see his hologram.
And so we started with me simply watching Adam perform the relevant part of the technique. I was lucky his energy centre was also located at the solar plexus and no adjustments needed.
Adam put the helmet back on, assumed the stance, and I watched as glowing blue channels lit up beneath it. A thread of qi shot from his solar plexus up into his neck, ran along his spine to the base of his skull, split into three, and curved around his head to meet at a point in the centre of his forehead — roughly at the hairline. From there, it blasted forward, flashing silver and detonating instantly.
It happened too fast to follow in full, but I caught the gist.
“Wait, it’s just like Mad Monkey! Only with your forehead! Between the forehead and the explosion, a shield forms that blocks the backlash.”
“Not quite,” Adam replied. “Here, the blast is directional, so there’s no full shield formation.”
Even in the dim lighting, Adam saw the shift in my expression.
“That’s why I said you need a trainer. Someone to drag you to the infirmary when you mess up and blast yourself the wrong way.”
“Ha-ha,” I answered dryly.
Maybe I had been too hasty in choosing this technique… but it was far too late to back down now.
“Memorise the channel paths,” Adam said and repeated the segment more slowly.
Then he made me put on the helmet.
Turned out, this hunk of metal was purpose-built for training Iron Head. Inside, it had pressure grooves with rollers that pressed against the skin, tracking qi movement. And if the flow strayed from the intended path, the helmet gave off a deeply irritating buzz.
I pulled a thread of energy from the reactor, guiding it towards the spot on my neck where the helmet’s roller pressed. I barely reached it when the helmet let out that awful buzzing.
No one said this would be easy.
I dispersed the thread. Inhaled. Exhaled. The qi reactor burned steadily in my chest, crackling softly. As long as it pulsed without stuttering, I could try again.
“Slowly. No jerks,” Adam advised, as if I’d been planning anything else.
First, to the base of the neck. Then — up the spine. To the back of the skull. And from there — branching forward along three paths.
I got the spine segment down quickly. The branching point, as expected, gave me trouble. It was starting to get on my nerves.
Then, out of nowhere, Adam smacked me in the back of the head. I flailed clumsily and crashed to the floor.
“What the hell?!”
“You were about to blow up your occiput,” he said, wincing. “Trust me, not a sensation you want.”
“Ah… Then, thanks, I guess,” I muttered.
“You should be thanking me,” he said flatly. “That’s enough for today. We’ve been at it almost an hour.”
“Seriously?”
I hadn’t even noticed how quickly time had flown.
“Seriously. You can run to Rene now. You might still catch your future victim. Observe. But don’t blow your cover.”
I arrived right at Rene’s peak session. Had to wedge myself in between two other first-years near the right wall. Luckily, I was the champion, so no one complained too much. From there, I had a clear line of sight on Martin Lao — my target.
Since the training with Adam had drained my qi reserves a bit, I decided to start with the basics, performing the moves without infusing them: Chain Punch and Hook. It was all muscle memory at this point — smooth, automatic. But this time, my focus wasn’t on the lines of the hologram. It was on Martin.
Rene had called him promising more than once. Tall, dark-haired, straight strikes, solid projections. I’d never really seen him as an opponent before, so this was the first time I properly assessed him. And it quickly became obvious, his projections were stronger than most. They surpassed my Chain Punches in force, though they lagged significantly in speed.
Comparing his second technique to the Hook was tricky, but for some reason I was certain, in a real fight, he wasn’t on my level. He was strong, sure, but far closer in skill to the fighters I’d faced early in the tournament.
He didn’t seem to suspect anything. And I managed to conceal my interest in him.
I was just finishing my third set of Chain Punches, a record-breaking seventy-three hits without slipping out of the hologram, when Rene approached and stood beside me. He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just watched. Then he spoke:
“Decided to take a break during class?”
I didn’t even flinch, I was used to it. But his tone wasn’t the usual one. Not neutral. Rene sounded displeased.
“Back to basics,” I replied, shifting my gaze to the hologram to make it look like I had things under control. “Just set a personal record!”
“Back to basics?” he raised an eyebrow. “We’ve got a one-on-one session on the Mad Monkey technique the day after tomorrow. Why the hell are you doing basics?”
I hesitated for half a second, then sighed.
“Adam wrung me out this morning. I’m conserving energy.”
Renу tilted his head slightly, still calm, but now alert.
“You haven’t started Iron Head already, have you?”
Awkward question. Too early for him to know I’d begun studying the technique.
“I asked him, but Adam said it’s too soon. He’s just covering for Kate. She’s got some stuff going on, but didn’t tell me what.”
“Mentors don’t usually report to their mentees,” he said, stepping back a pace. “Fine. But tomorrow you give it your all. No basics. You can run those outside the hall.”
“Got it,” I said.
“I’m serious, Sullivan. Mad Monkey isn’t a joke. And during that individual session, I expect full focus and full effort.”
“You’ll get it,” I replied shortly.
Rene stood beside me a few seconds longer. Then turned and snapped at the guy next to me.
“Karpenko! You warming your ears, or are you actually planning to train?”
Comments
Jonathan Griffith
Tyftc!
