Gon's Harem System
Chapter 170: The same weird stare

Chapter 170: The same weird stare

The open field stretched flat and dusty under the afternoon sun, heat shimmering off the packed dirt.

The training yards had quieted some, mages spread out for range drills after the morning’s rune work.

Rune, circles glowed faintly at the edges, but most stood in the open now, swords and staves raised, testing how far their magic could reach.

Gon stood with a loose group, his rune-etched sword in hand, the hum still tingling in his grip from earlier.

The training master paced nearby, arms crossed, his scarred face set as he watched them line up shots.

Mira was a few paces down, her orb hovering at her shoulder, spitting sparks like it was restless.

She stepped forward, raising her hand, and the orb flared, bright, sharp, a bolt of light ripping out toward the field.

It hit the ground hard, scorching a black patch into the dirt, smoke curling up in a thin wisp.

The air crackled, and a few mages flinched, stepping back.

She smirked, tossing her hair, and reset for another go, too fast, too eager.

Gon watched her, swinging his own sword once, sending a small rune burst out, just a flicker, enough to kick up a puff of dust a few feet away.

Controlled, steady, he liked it that way.

She went again, the orb glowing hotter this time, and the flare came out wild, too bright, too big, a streak of light that blasted the ground ten paces off, charring a wide circle.

The dirt smoked, a sharp hiss cutting the air, and the master’s head snapped toward her.

"Enough!" he barked, striding over, his voice rough as gravel.

"You’re burning holes, not aiming, dial it back or sit out!"

Mira’s smirk faltered, her jaw tightening, but she lowered her hand, the orb dimming with a low buzz.

She shot a glare around, like it was their fault she’d overdone it.

Gon smirked to himself, turning back to his spot, the weight of the moment settling into his bones.

He rolled his shoulders, shaking out the last remnants of tension, then lifted his sword again.

The grip was firm in his hand, worn but steady, the rune-etched blade glinting under the fading sunlight.

He swung, short, tight, just enough force to keep control.

As the blade cut through the air, the rune along its edge flared faintly, a small pulse of energy rippling outward.

It spat from the steel in a thin, sharp burst, crackling as it hit the dirt a little farther than before.

Not much, but noticeable.

His lips pressed together, satisfied.

Nothing loud.

Nothing flashy.

Just enough.

The training master’s eyes were still sweeping the yard, keen and searching, and Gon had no intention of drawing unwanted attention.

He didn’t need the mess Mira had made with her wild displays.

She wanted to show off, to let everyone know she had power to spare.

Gon didn’t care about that.

He wasn’t looking to impress, just to improve.

Quietly.

Steadily.

He adjusted his stance, shifting his grip, and swung again.

The rune on the blade hummed in response, the vibration subtle but strong, like something alive beneath his fingers.

Another faint pulse rippled outward, stretching the range just a little more, the energy skimming the edge of a patch Mira had already scorched.

Good enough for now.

He’d keep it small, build it up over the days, refining it piece by piece.

Power meant nothing without control.

If Mira wanted to burn out early, that was her problem.

The field around him buzzed with energy, other mages testing their own abilities, their own limits.

Bright bursts flared in different spots, some flickering weakly, others snapping out in uncontrolled arcs.

Some missed their marks entirely, colliding with nothing but open air.

Laughter and frustration mixed in the evening air, the sounds of exhaustion settling in after the long day.

But Gon ignored it.

He stayed in his rhythm, swing after swing, letting the rune do its work.

The afternoon faded into dusk, the sun sinking low, casting long shadows across the training yards.

Gon wandered to the edge, sword sheathed, arms heavy from the day’s drills.

He found a spot near a lone dummy, leaning against it to rest, catching his breath.

The air cooled, dust settling, and most mages had trickled back to the quarters, their voices fading into the distance.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache settle in, steel in the morning, runes after, a solid day.

A sharp sound pulled his attention, steel slicing air, fast and clean.

Across the yard, the boy with the curved blade stood alone, working a dummy with brutal swings.

His moves were sharp, angry, neck cut, chest slash, gut stab, each one landing hard, straw bursting out in clumps.

His dark hair hung damp over his eyes, sweat streaking his face, but his grip stayed steady, the curved blade flashing in the dying light.

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just cut, reset, cut again, tearing the dummy apart like it owed him something.

Gon watched, still against the dummy, hands resting loose.

The boy paused mid-swing, head turning just enough for their eyes to meet, brief, cold, a flicker of that same loaded glare from before.

It hit like a jab, sharp and personal, and Gon held it, staying still, his jaw set.

The boy’s stare lingered a second, then he turned back, slashing once more, clean through, the dummy’s head tumbling to the dirt with a soft thud.

He didn’t flinch, just stepped to the next one, blade already moving.

Gon stayed where he was, breathing slow, watching the boy’s rhythm, fast, fierce, every swing a promise.

Danger, he thought, not moving, letting the feeling sit.

He’d seen that glare too many times now, breakfast, the hall, the dummies, and it wasn’t just training.

Something deeper, something coming.

The boy swung again, gutting the next dummy, straw spilling out, and Gon tracked every move, planning to outlast him, step by step.

The yards emptied out, dusk turning to dark, the last few mages trudging off.

The training master’s call from earlier, gear down, rest up, echoed in his head, but Gon lingered, eyes on the boy.

Another swing, another dummy split, the curved blade glinting as it caught the fading light.

Their eyes met again, just for a beat—Gon didn’t blink, didn’t shift.

The boy sheathed his weapon, slow and deliberate, then walked off, boots quiet on the dirt, leaving a trail of shredded straw behind.

Gon pushed off the dummy, stretching his arms, the ache sinking deeper.

Day two training was done.