Chapter 374: Instructors

Chapter 374: Chapter 374: Instructors

Chapter 374: Instructors

Early the next morning, before the sun had fully risen over the hidden valley, Rhain sought out Fridleif.

Fridleif was in the central hall, overseeing the distribution of rations for the coming war. When he saw Rhain enter, his face immediately lit up.

"Benefactor! You are up early," Fridleif said, rising from his seat. "If there is anything you need, just say the word. The Crystalveil Tribe will provide it without question."

"There is one thing," Rhain proposed. "I intend to elevate the combat strength of your warriors before Skarn returns. For that, I will need access to your martial arts library."

Fridleif’s eyes widened, and then a look of pure ecstasy replaced his surprise.

"Of course! Of course!" Fridlief laughed heartily, his peak Core Formation aura trembling with excitement. "To think a powerhouse like you would personally guide our men! This is a blessing from the ancestors!"

Without a moment’s hesitation, Fridlief asked an old man to their tribe’s library.

Guided by an elderly tribesman, Rhain arrived before a stone chamber built into the valley’s inner wall.

Dozens of worn manuals were stacked upon dusty shelves.

Rhain’s dark grey eyes swept across the collection.

Using his Eyes of Truth, the nature of every manual was instantly laid bare before him.

One Mystic-Grade martial art. Seven Epic-Grade manuals. A dozen Rare-Grade techniques. And the rest... Uncommon and Common ones.

’Tribal foundation is truly low,’ Rhain thought. ’But for warriors of this level, it is more than enough.’

Rhain flipped open the single Mystic-Grade manual and scanned it once.

Then the seven Epic-Grade ones.

His golden pupils flickered faintly as the Eyes of Truth deconstructed every essence circulation route, every flaw in the movement patterns, every inefficiency baked into the techniques after generations of imprecise transmission.

In less than fifteen minutes, Rhain closed the final manual.

Every Mystic-Grade, Epic-Grade, and Rare-Grade art in this library now existed perfectly within his mind.

He didn’t even bother touching the Uncommon and Common ones.

"Let’s go," Rhain said, turning toward the exit.

The elderly attendant stared at him in bewilderment. He had watched the outsider flip through the tribe’s most precious manuals faster than one would flip through a picture book.

"Y-You are done, honored guest?" the old man stammered. "Did you not... find anything suitable?"

"I found everything I needed," Rhain replied simply, walking out.

--------------

The training grounds of the Crystalveil Tribe were packed.

Over a hundred elite warriors stood in formation, their muscular frames glistening with sweat under the morning sun.

All of them were at least at the Spirit Manifestation Realm, with seven or eight early-stage Core Formation veterans standing at the front.

Fridleif had ordered every capable fighter in the tribe to assemble, and no one dared to slack off.

Rhain walked to the center of the grounds, his dark robes fluttering gently.

Hundreds of pairs of eyes locked onto him.

The tribesmen had all heard the rumors.

This was the outsider who had slaughtered the Bone Skull squad with his bare hands.

But admiration was one thing. Accepting an outsider as their instructor was another.

"This benefactor looks so young..."

"Can he really teach us anything? We have trained in our tribe’s arts since childhood!"

"What can an outsider possibly understand about our techniques?"

The murmurs were quiet, but they did not escape Rhain’s ears.

He didn’t care about them.

The problem was... he couldn’t demonstrate.

His essence was sealed by the laws of this trial realm.

The tribe’s martial arts were all essence-based techniques. Without essence, even he could not physically execute them.

’So I will have to teach them differently,’ Rhain decided instantly.

His eyes landed on the most built veteran at the very front — a middle-aged man with a thick beard and arms like tree trunks, radiating the aura of a Core Formation Realm second-stage.

"You," Rhain said, pointing at him. "Step forward."

The veteran hesitated, then stepped forward and cupped his fists. "Benefactor."

"What is the tribe’s signature martial art that all of your core warriors practice?" Rhain asked.

The veteran puffed his chest with pride. "The Mountain Shattering Fist! An Epic-Grade martial art! Every elite warrior of the Crystalveil Tribe learns it!"

"Good. Execute it for me. At full power. Against that." Rhain casually pointed to a massive, ten-foot tall boulder at the edge of the training ground, used for testing strength.

The veteran nodded confidently. He let out a roar, his essence surging as he stomped forward. His fist pulled back, his waist twisted, and he slammed his fist forward with a savage yell.

BOOM!

A heavy, dull impact echoed.

The boulder shook violently and a shallow, fist-sized dent appeared on its surface, with a few cracks spreading outward.

The veteran withdrew his fist, and looked at Rhain expectantly, waiting for praise.

Rhain’s expression did not change.

"Terrible," he said coldly.

The veteran’s face stiffened. The surrounding warriors all sucked in a breath.

"Your stance is a full three inches too wide, which leaks forty percent of your leg power before it even reaches your waist," Rhain stated, his voice ringing with calm authority. "Your shoulder lifts half an inch too high when you punch, which hinders the essence channel in your arm. Your breathing is reversed — you exhale when you should be holding, and your essence circulation stalls for 0.3 seconds at your elbow before exploding. It’s sloppy, wasteful, and weak."

Every warrior on the field was stunned into silence.

No one had ever dared to critique the Mountain Shattering Fist so ruthlessly, let alone point out such minute details with such precision.

Rhain continued with an instructive tone.

"Do it again. This time, pull your left foot back three inches. Sink your waist lower. When you punch, keep your shoulder sunken, twist from the heel, not the knee. And when your essence reaches your elbow, do not force it, let it flow like water bursting a dam. Understand?"

The veteran’s face was red, half from shame and half from disbelief, but he gritted his teeth and nodded. "Yes... benefactor!"

He retreated, adjusted his stance exactly as Rhain had instructed, pulling his foot back, sinking his waist, and threw the exact same punch again.

This time, everything was different.

WHOOSH— BOOM—!!!

There was no wasted motion, no stiff twisting. The essence, which had previously sputtered, now flowed in a perfectly seamless torrent from his dantian to his fist, erupting all at once.

A blinding white shockwave exploded from his knuckles.

CRACK— BANG!

The massive ten-foot boulder shattered. It exploded into thousands of fragments that rained down across the training ground.

Every single warrior, including the veteran who had thrown the punch, stared at the pile of rubble with their mouths wide open.

That was the same Epic-Grade martial art. The same person. The same cultivation.

But the power had increased by at least threefold!

"It... it exploded?" one warrior stammered. "Harg shattered the Testing Boulder with one punch? That boulder has stood there for ten years!"

"Gods... just by adjusting his foot and shoulder... how is this possible?"

The veteran looked at his own trembling fist, then looked at Rhain, his face filled with fanatical reverence.

"Thank you for your guidance, Master!" he roared with a shaking voice.

The rest of the warriors snapped out of their shock and all looked at Rhain with the same worshipful gaze.

"INSTRUCTOR!" the warriors roared in unison, "PLEASE TEACH US!"

Rhain accepted their request with a nod.

"From today onward, we will rebuild your foundations from scratch."

The warriors scrambled into a perfect formation, their earlier laziness completely gone.

As Rhain began dictating corrections, walking down the rows of warriors with his hands clasped behind his back...

A pair of mesmerized eyes quietly watched from the sidelines of the training ground.

Anya stood beneath the shade of a spirit tree, her hands clasped in front of her white dress, staring unblinkingly at the dignified figure commanding hundreds of warriors with nothing but his words.

The morning sun cast a golden halo behind his dark silhouette.

Her young heart thumped wildly in her chest.

She had never seen anyone so composed, so profound, so... dazzling.

As if sensing her gaze, Rhain paused mid-sentence and turned his dark grey eyes toward her.

Anya instantly froze like a startled rabbit.

"You," Rhain said casually. "Do you also want to train?"

Anya’s entire face, from her neck to the tips of her ears, turned red with embarassment.

She frantically waved her hands, unable to form a single word, her eyes darting everywhere except at Rhain.

"I-I... I... I don’t... that... benefactor, I..."

The nearby warriors who saw the young mistress’s flustered state let out good-natured, roaring laughter, making her blush even deeper until she wished she could bury herself in the ground.

Rhain gave an amused smirk and turned back to the warriors, continuing his instruction.

---------------

On the other side of the valley, at the close-quarters training pit...

"NO! NOT LIKE THAT! ARE YOU SWINGING A SWORD OR WAVING A BROOM?!"

Lyra’s sharp voice cracked across the pit like a whip.

A dozen tribal swordsmen stood drenched in sweat before her, clutching crude blades with trembling hands.

For the past two hours, the Stormveil Queen had ruthlessly dismantled every single flaw in their swordplay.

"Again! From the first stance! If any one of you swings that sword like a farmer chopping firewood again, you will be running laps around this valley until sunset!"

The tribesmen whimpered but obeyed instantly.

None of them dared to slack off in front of this crimson-haired demoness.

Her demonstrations were terrifying.

Even with her essence sealed, her blade had moved so fast that one of the senior warriors had lost his wooden practice sword in a single exchange—and didn’t even realize it until Lyra pointed at his empty hand.

"W-What kind of monster is she..."

"Don’t complain! Focus! Do you want to die when the Bone Skulls come?!"

And at the canyon entrance...

"Heh heh heh..."

Karsten crouched in the mud, his scarred face illuminated by a truly wicked grin as he packed a pit with sharpened bone spikes coated in a sickly green paste.

"Master Karsten, what is that gunk?" one of the tribal scouts asked nervously.

"Devil-Root sap," Karsten chuckled darkly. "Melted into the sap of the black thorn bush. One scratch, and your legs go numb within ten breaths. Twenty breaths, and you can’t even blink."

The scout shuddered.

"And this!" Karsten pointed proudly at a cleverly concealed rope rigged between two rocks, holding a boulder the size of a house suspended above the narrow path. "The moment their front ranks cross this line..."

He made a sweeping gesture.

"SQUASH."

The other mercenaries worked alongside him, turning the natural bottleneck of the gorge into a web of death trap.

The mercenaries grinned as they worked.

After all, this was what they did best.

In one single day, the combat strength of the Crystalveil Tribe had undergone a transformation.