SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 133: Martial arts (1)

Varik leaned against the metal pillar. Crossed one ankle over the other.

"He’s fast."

"We noticed."

"Faster than his build suggests. Stronger too."

"And the system?"

"No glitches."

A second voice joined the call, male, older.

"Are you sure?"

Varik didn’t move. Just kept watching Lucen pull through the slope.

The kid hit the last segment. Ankles wobbling. Jaw tight. No theatrics. Just fight.

"He doesn’t even know what he is yet," Varik said.

"That’s what concerns us," the second voice replied. "Unknowns are dangerous."

"You’re still watching, right?"

"Obviously."

"Then keep watching."

Another short pause.

Then the woman spoke again.

"He’s making noise. After the dungeon clear, after Rikta... The guilds are starting to whisper."

"Let them."

"They’re not whispering about you."

That made Varik glance sideways.

Then he said flatly, "Good."

The call ended.

No goodbye.

Varik slipped the pad back into his coat pocket and looked back toward the track.

Lucen had just collapsed onto the cooldown mat, sprawled out like a corpse.

He raised a hand, middle finger up again.

Varik smirked, just barely.

’They’re worried about you already, and you’re still doing incline sprints.’

He didn’t say it out loud.

Didn’t need to.

He just walked over, dropped a bottle of water beside Lucen’s head, and said, "Next round’s in ten."

Lucen didn’t lift his head. Just muttered from the floor, "I’m gonna haunt you one day."

Varik replied, "Get stronger first. Then we’ll talk ghosts."

—

The mat wasn’t fancy.

Just padded enough that a fall didn’t break anything. Probably. Lucen looked down at it like it had personally insulted him.

He wiped sweat off his chin with the back of his wrist. Still breathing hard from incline sprints. Shirt clung at the collar. Ankles ached.

"Alright," Varik said, stepping into the middle of the mat and dropping his coat. "You’ve got spells. You’ve got aim. But your footwork looks like you learned it from watching bar fights."

Lucen grunted. "I’ve seen worse."

"From who?"

Lucen didn’t answer.

Varik loosened his shoulders. "We’re doing this bare."

"No gloves?" Lucen asked.

"No gloves. No mana flares. No system perks. Just hands and feet. I want to see what your instincts look like without casting."

Lucen gave him a half-smile. "They look like punching."

Varik stepped forward. "Show me."

Lucen didn’t hesitate.

He lunged.

Simple. Straight jab. Right hand. Fast enough to clip air.

Varik tilted his head five degrees and the punch missed.

Lucen followed with a left.

Varik caught his wrist.

Lucen didn’t stop, stepped in with the shoulder, trying to muscle through.

Varik turned, redirected the momentum, and Lucen hit the mat flat on his back before he could blink.

Thud.

He lay there a second, staring at the ceiling.

’Alright. That sucked.’

Varik stood over him. "What was that?"

"A punch."

"That was a thoughtless forward rush."

Lucen didn’t move.

"Looks like I’ve got some thoughts now."

Varik offered a hand. Pulled him up.

"Rule one," he said. "Distance matters. If you’re close, your punches need to come from the hip. If you’re far, don’t even throw unless you can close clean."

Lucen dusted off his back. "So stop flailing."

"Exactly."

They reset.

Lucen squared up again. Arms looser this time.

He bounced once on the balls of his feet.

Varik raised an eyebrow. "Trying to look cool?"

Lucen shrugged. "Trying something."

He jabbed again.

This time lighter. Testing.

Varik stepped back, not dodging, just measuring. Then fired a quick palm tap to Lucen’s shoulder.

Didn’t hurt. But threw his balance off.

Lucen stumbled a step.

Varik said, "Centerline. Always protect it. You leave it open, even an elbow from a toddler’ll mess you up."

Lucen exhaled. ’So it’s foot placement, hips, centerline. Got it. Easy stuff. I’m sure it’ll only take a decade.’

He didn’t argue.

Just reset.

Again.

—

An hour passed.

No spells.

No magic.

Just motion.

Lucen threw thirty punches. Maybe five landed.

He caught a tap to the jaw once. Varik didn’t even follow it with another. Just watched his footing. Kept circling. Like he was teaching a dog to walk straight.

They broke for water.

Lucen dropped onto the bench near the side wall. Rubbed the base of his neck. Breathing hard again. Shirt soaked.

"You ever fight like this?" he asked.

Varik leaned against the wall opposite. "Bare?"

"No powers. No perks. Just hands."

Varik thought about it.

"Once. Years back. Training league in the coastal wards. No casting allowed inside the dome."

Lucen blinked. "And?"

"I broke a kid’s collarbone by accident."

Lucen frowned. "You suck at inspirational stories."

Varik took a drink. "It wasn’t meant to inspire. It was meant to remind you—if you land wrong, you’ll pay for it."

Lucen wiped his face again. "Noted."

"You’re getting better," Varik added.

Lucen looked up. "Really?"

"No. But your sarcasm’s improving."

Lucen gave him the finger.

Varik smirked.

"Back on the mat."

—

Lucen hit the mat again.

Not with a scream.

Not with a grunt.

Just a flat, resigned thud and a wheeze as the air shoved out of his lungs.

He stayed there a second. Let his cheek press into the padded floor.

’Comfortable. Warm. I live here now.’

Varik’s voice came from somewhere above. Calm. Way too calm.

"You’re overcommitting again."

Lucen exhaled against the mat. "I’m over-hating-this again."

"Good. Hate means you’re thinking."

Lucen rolled over slowly and glared up. "You keep saying that like it’s a real teaching method."

Varik offered him a hand again. Lucen took it, half-reluctant, half-dead.

Once upright, Lucen rolled his shoulder, checked his knee, then dragged his thumb across a red mark on his collarbone.

"Did you elbow me or hit me with a crowbar?"

Varik answered like it was a genuine question. "Neither. Just used your momentum."

"Cool. Feels like momentum owes me dinner."

Varik didn’t flinch. "Round two."

Lucen groaned. "That wasn’t round two?"

"No. That was still warm-up."

—

This time, Varik didn’t wait.

He stepped in with a short, snapping palm toward Lucen’s chin, not a full strike, just a check.

Lucen jerked sideways, awkward, half-flinch.

Varik followed it with a sweep, light touch to the knee.