The crowing of roosters echoed in the distance. Dewdrops dripped onto greens. Whilst the rays of sunshine peeked over the horizon, urging the sleeping people to wake up.

The first light of the morning touched my skin, it's rays prod my sleepy ass to rise up and start to move about.

"Hmm." I squinted my eyes, my hand blocked the rays hitting my face. For a while, I just tossed and turned on my bed, before deciding to get up.

"Hwaaamm~." I gave a big yawn to welcome another day. "Good morning, Cowell!"

Cowell is the name of the city I'm in. In what part or exact location of the Kingdom? I have no idea. Don't expect such things from a bum.

I strolled downstairs, heading to a barrel filled with water I saved whenever it rained. I stripped out of my clothes, my bare scrawny body exposed.

Grabbing a bowl I used to bathe myself with, I shuddered as the cold water and my body met. "Whooo!" I reached towards the clothes I used and started washing them.

After my tormenting bath, I put the wet clothes into a pole to dry them before heading upstairs to change.

I fixed myself at the broken mirror, brushing my hair up and fashioning my outfit for the day before smacking my lips in satisfaction.

Odd, you say? Like I said, I'm not your regular thief nor bum, for I still have the mind to look presentable. A man should be decent.

The sound of men shouting reverberated in the distance. Whilst I climbed atop a tree in the vicinity of an institution.

Peering over the thick canopies of leaves, I looked down upon the group of people collectively shouting "Hah!" each time they struck out with their weapons.

Sweat drenched their whole body, but they were far from tired. A large and muscular man stood at the front, gazing over at the crowd with a stern and cold expression.

"Once more!" he shouted.

"Hah!"

"More! Too weak!"

"Hah!"

"Didn't you lot had breakfast?! More!"

"Hah!"

"So flimsy! Are you lot twigs?! More!!"

"Hah!"

These continued for quite some time with Mr. Po-faced – I coined the large man – harassing the group of soldiers.

I watched every of their movements intently, carving it into memory. Two hours passed with me just perched at the tree branch, looking over them. From time to time, my arms would move, imitating their movements.

"Good! Now, go take a break! Dismissed!" barked Mr. Po-faced.

"Sir, yes, Sir!" they all saluted uniformly.

Then, Mr. Po-faced left, leaving the soldiers on their own, giving them respite.

Like always, the soldiers bunched themselves into groups of their own clique. Off to the side, a group of five bullied a newcomer – I call him tenderfoot.

The five toughies hurled insults at tenderfoot who kept his head low. The toughies would sometimes do subtle jabs and smacks, but nothing more that would leave a mark. The classic goal of toughies like them was to assert dominance. They were usually those that are weak against the strong, strong against the weak.

Turning my head, I looked at the other part of the training grounds.

Hermit is off into a corner, minding his own business. He's prepping himself for his upcoming adventure as an edgy protagonist, taciturn and with no charm but people would fawn over him. Perfect!

Fancy pants on the other hand, is flaunting his charms as a peacock, while arrogantly glanced over the boorish men around him. His clique praising and flattering him all the while.

'Oh! Oh! This oughta to be good!'

My eyes stopped at a man, his expression lost and bewildered.

'He's definitely one of those people!' – I exclaimed vigorously. – 'I should call him 'the body snatcher'!'

My childish mind ran wild in fantastical imagination, as I remembered the stories told by the bards at the city square.

They sung stories about chosen people reincarnating into other people's bodies, taking over it and living as that person. Usually, when they took over, they would have no idea at what was happening and is bemused, exactly like that man up ahead.

'I refuse to believe he ain't one.'

One more thing, when they reincarnated, the original owner of the body probably passed away, before the body snatcher reincarnated into the empty shell.

'Tsk! Poor original owner, Mr. Po-faced is too harsh in his training and probably drive the man to his demise. Poor soul. May the maker guide you.' – I prayed solemnly.

'Well, the training grounds are as per usual.'

Shaking those silly thoughts of mine, I hopped off the tree and into the ground I landed.

Steadying myself up, I closed my eyes and started visualizing the movements performed by the soldiers. My body moved and took a fighting stance, both arms held out like holding a spear. While my feet remained glued into the earth, firm and strong.

Then, without dallying, instead of a spear or a sword, my fist shot forward, stabbing empty air.

With my eyes still closed, I conjured an imaginary spear, thrusting it forward, then would sometimes parry, copying the soldiers' movements down to the finest details.

I'm quite fond with fighting styles, you see, as I was influenced by those ruffians at Old Baba's tavern. They would always talk about their adventures, how they fought and whatnot. Fighting is a natural thing for them, for they are mercenaries.

Going back to what I was doing, I thrust once more. Sweat trickled my body whilst my breathing heavy.

'So ineffective.' – I would always conclude for the past 2 years that I've been watching the soldiers train.

It was not the fighting style itself, but myself.

I have a small and skinny body, so holding a weapon as heavy and long as a spear is taxing – even though it's just imaginary. But performing the movements for spearmanship was still not suited for me. So are swords.

I've also started to mimic their hand-to-hand combat styles, but that is more unsuitable for me.

Their movements include mimicking the movements of animals, nature and the like.

They would sometimes act like monkeys – much to myself laughing my ass off – and started fighting like one. At times, a tiger, and they would fight viciously. Or like a bull, using their full bodies to charge their enemies and topple them.

There are also soldiers who prefer to fight aesthetically instead of just pure brute force. They would wave their hands, palm open and would gracefully move like water or sometimes even flowers.

'So weird.' – I would always think. But the power behind them is nothing to scoff at. I've seen one before who snapped a training dummy in half with just a gentle palm strike.

Such hand-to-hand combat style have completely ensnared the young me, and would always watch soldiers who practice those techniques with sparkling eyes.

Those fine and exquisite movements completely amazed me, to the point that I myself had started flailing my arms around like a dancer – well, to an outsider I'd probably look stupid, if not even bonkers.

But unfortunately, such fighting styles was not for me. Those hand-to-hand combat styles are designed for people who uses aura. So what I'm doing was just copying the outer shell.

I would always feel despondent whenever I think about that. Training aura are just for people who had attended an Academy, a member of an institution like Guilds or if you're a disciple of an aura user. For ordinary people like us – much less me who's a bum – practicing aura is just a pipe dream.

But I never gave up. And 1 year ago, an idea dawned on me.

I calmed my breathing. Then held both arms up, chin down, my knees bent and knuckles just below my cheek bones.

Without saying a word, my lead arm shot forward, hitting empty air. The first step.

I retracted my fist, and punched once more. This time however, when my arm was pass 90 degrees, my fist turned and twisted over as my left arm extended, creating more power. The second step.

I punched once more, adding to the previous ones, I slightly rotated my body, and extended my shoulder forward near the end of the punch. The third step.

I relax my elbow down, and brought my fist back to the starting position. Now, instead of the upper body, this time I just moved my lower body.

I took a small step forward with my lead foot – left foot – without leaning forward too much. My foot landed with the front of the foot and not the heel, then brought them back into starting position. The fourth step.

Abruptly, I combined them all!

My lead arm blurred! It moved so fast normal people wouldn't be able to trace them. It whizzed and accelerated unhinged, carrying with it is a force my scrawny body shouldn't have. When my fist reached it's full height, the burst of compressed air exploded outwards! Creating a loud bang!

Without stopping, I jabbed once more. At my 20th jab, I changed stance and started to bounce and advance. Whilst doing so, I jab with my left arm twice in the span of a second.

Getting more fancy with my footwork, I double jabbed and threw a right cross punch. Adrenaline and excitement filling my being, I hurled a left jab, followed by a right cross and a finishing left hook. For 20 minutes, I just threw combinations after combinations.

"Hah!" I shouted as I took a step back, my upper body bent down, my eyes forward and focused, staring straight ahead like I'm looking at my mortal enemy. 

I then begun to project a foe in front of me, much taller and bigger and is holding a weapon.

I filtered all noise and distraction as my concentration heightened. The shadowy figure produced by my imagination became more real.

His condescending gaze bore onto me, and he beckoned with his chin arrogantly. My emotion as calm as a lake, I sprinted onward!

It's time for a shadowbox.