The training yard of the Beggar Sect was little more than an open clearing surrounded by crooked wooden huts.

  The ground was uneven and packed with hardened mud where countless feet had trampled it over the years. A few wooden posts stood near the edges of the clearing, their surfaces cracked and splintered from repeated strikes with staffs and fists.

  By the time Chunma arrived, dozens of disciples had already gathered.

  Most were young. Some looked barely older than children. Their grey robes were patched and worn, and many of them still carried the thin frames of people who had grown up hungry.

  Small groups talked quietly while they waited. Others stretched their arms or lazily swung wooden staffs at the posts.

  Chunma stood near the back of the yard and observed them.

  This place lacked discipline.

  In his previous life, training grounds had been loud with commands and structured drills. Soldiers had trained in tight formations, repeating movements until their bodies responded without thought.

  Here, everything felt loose and unorganized.

  Strange.

  The Beggar Sect existed across the entire continent, yet their training looked like this.

  Perhaps strength was not their priority.

  Or perhaps the real training came later.

  Chunma folded his arms and continued watching.

  The three boys from earlier were standing near the center of the yard. They noticed him after a moment.

  The leader scowled.

  Chunma simply looked away.

  Not worth my attention.

  A moment later, a familiar voice echoed across the clearing.

  “That’s enough talking.”

  The disciples straightened almost immediately.

  Elder Han stepped into the yard.

  His movements were calm but steady, and his sharp eyes swept across the gathered disciples as he walked forward.

  “Form rows.”

  The recruits hurried to obey.

  They arranged themselves into uneven lines across the muddy ground. Chunma took a position near the back.

  Elder Han walked slowly in front of them with his hands behind his back.

  “Outer disciples of the Beggar Sect train every morning,” he said.

  His voice carried easily across the yard.

  “Some of you joined this sect for food. Some for shelter.”

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  He paused briefly.

  “And some of you joined hoping to gain strength.”

  A few of the disciples shifted slightly at those words.

  Elder Han stopped walking.

  “The world contains something most people cannot see.”

  The yard fell quiet.

  “It flows through the air. Through the earth. Through every living thing.”

  Chunma’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  What is he describing?

  “This force is called Resonance.”

  Murmurs spread through the disciples.

  Chunma repeated the word silently in his mind.

  Resonance.

  He had never heard such a thing before.

  In his previous life, strength came from discipline, steel, and bloodshed on the battlefield. There had been no talk of invisible forces flowing through the world.

  So this is how warriors of this era grow strong.

  Elder Han continued.

  “Those who awaken to it become Resonants.”

  A few disciples whispered excitedly.

  Chunma watched their reactions carefully.

  Resonants.

  So that was what the warriors of this age were called.

  Elder Han raised his hand slightly and the murmuring stopped.

  “Today you will attempt to sense Resonance.”

  Several disciples immediately straightened.

  Others looked doubtful.

  The elder gestured toward the ground.

  “Sit.”

  Everyone lowered themselves onto the dirt.

  Chunma crossed his legs slowly.

  The ground was still damp from last night’s rain, but he ignored the discomfort.

  Elder Han stood before them.

  “Close your eyes.”

  The disciples obeyed.

  Chunma did the same.

  “Breathe slowly,” the elder instructed.

  “Focus on the space around you.”

  The training yard fell silent.

  Wind brushed softly against the wooden huts.

  Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

  Chunma inhaled slowly.

  Then exhaled.

  At first there was nothing.

  Just air.

  Just silence.

  Then something changed.

  It was faint.

  So faint that most people would likely ignore it.

  But Chunma had spent years sharpening his senses on battlefields where noticing the smallest movement could mean the difference between life and death.

  He felt it.

  Something in the air.

  Not wind.

  Not heat.

  Something else.

  What is this…

  His breathing slowed even further.

  The strange sensation grew slightly stronger.

  Curious, Chunma opened his eyes just a little.

  For a brief moment he saw something strange.

  Tiny golden specks floating in the air.

  They drifted slowly like dust caught in sunlight.

  Chunma blinked.

  The particles remained.

  That wasn’t there before.

  He closed his eyes again.

  Around him, several disciples shifted impatiently.

  “I don’t feel anything,” someone muttered.

  Another sighed loudly.

  “This is pointless.”

  Elder Han’s voice cut through the complaints.

  “Silence.”

  The yard returned to stillness.

  Chunma focused again.

  The golden particles seemed to react faintly when he breathed.

  When he inhaled slowly, they drifted closer to him.

  When he exhaled, they scattered again.

  A strange warmth began forming in his chest.

  Chunma frowned slightly.

  Interesting.

  Across the yard, one of the disciples suddenly gasped.

  Chunma opened his eyes.

  A faint crimson shimmer had appeared around the boy’s arms.

  It flickered like heat rising from metal before fading again.

  Several disciples stared.

  “Did you see that?” someone whispered.

  Elder Han walked toward the boy calmly.

  “Continue breathing,” the elder said.

  The boy nodded quickly and closed his eyes again.

  Chunma watched the faint golden particles drift lazily through the air.

  So this was Resonance.

  A power that had not existed in the world he once ruled.

  Or perhaps it had existed all along and humanity had only recently learned how to touch it.

  The thought lingered in his mind as he breathed slowly.

  Each inhale pulled the faint golden specks slightly closer. Each exhale scattered them again.

  It was subtle.

  But it was real.

  Around him, the other disciples shifted restlessly.

  Some sighed in frustration. Others whispered quietly to one another as they struggled to feel anything at all.

  Chunma remained still.

  The warmth in his chest grew a little stronger.

  Interesting.

  He continued breathing quietly, allowing the strange particles to drift closer.

  Across the yard, Elder Han was watching.