SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 137: Martial arts (5)

Lucen stepped onto the mat, boots silent. His breath was steady, no panting. Shirt stuck to him like shame. He squared his feet, remembering Varik’s lessons about centerline and minimalist movement.

Varik nodded once and said, "Let’s start with chaining."

Lucen blinked. "So... magic combos?"

"No spells. Just fight combos."

Lucen suppressed a smirk. "I was hoping for fireworks."

Varik shook his head. "You hit them without them knowing you’ll hit them. That’s fireworks."

Lucen tucked his fists tighter. "Got it. Invisible fireworks."

Varik stepped in with a basic rhythm: soft tap on Lucen’s shoulder, light hip-check, pull-back. Movement that invited a reaction.

Lucen held still. Nothing.

"Don’t react yet," Varik whispered. "Parenthesis first."

Lucen flinched slightly, eyes narrowed.

Varik jabbed to his side. Lucen shrugged it off.

"That’s the doorway," Varik said. "Step inside and own it."

Lucen pivoted, stepping half a meter forward, floated into a combo, jab, jab, low hook. Not fast. Not precise. Just a chain. Varik blocked at the elbow, Tai Chi style redirect.

Lucen shook his arm as if resetting it. "So this is circuit training, but with my face."

Varik nodded. "Better make it count."

—

Next, scenario drills.

Varik squared, face calm. "I’m your ambush."

Lucen stared.

Without warning, Varik charged, feint-left, pivot-right, hip-check forward.

Lucen rolled his shoulder, slipped right, and fired a checking jab to Varik’s chest. Not clean, but enough to stop the momentum.

Varik took it. Harder than Lucen expected. Silent nod. "Again."

This time Varik acted slower. Lucen circled, waited, then initiated, jab, pivot, elbow tap.

Varik rocked. "One more. Use the rhythm to set it up."

Lucen exhaled. ’Rhythm.’ Then composed himself. Waited.

Varik hesitated, and Lucen moved. Boom. One-two, jab, elbow, shoulder bump. Followed by a final palm strike to Varik’s chest.

Varik rippled and broke contact. "Better."

—

After that, they moved to dirty fighting, close quarters.

Varik closed distance with a sequence of taps to probe. Lucen responded with short strikes, grazing Varik’s sternum.

Varik grabbed his wrist, twisted Lucen off-balance, then released. Lucen stumbled, but caught himself.

"You’ve learned to catch yourself," Varik observed.

Lucen nodded, catching breath. "Barely."

Varik stepped back. "This stage is mind games. Body moves you. You respond without thought."

Lucen stared back. ’Well, let’s hope my body got the memo.’

—

Final drill for the session: shadow spar.

No contact. Mirrors around them. Just movement.

Varik flowed through stances, pivot left, feint right, drop, circle. Lucen mirrored him, copying while adapting.

Each time Varik changed speed, Lucen followed. Occasionally leading.

At one point, Lucen shifted first, caught Varik flat-footed.

Varik didn’t break stance. Just nodded. "You led."

Lucen didn’t smile. He only murmured, "That felt different."

—

They paused. Both breathing hard. Sweat dripping. Quiet hum of the gym around them.

Varik broke the silence. "Final part tomorrow: real spar. You against me, no hiding."

Lucen turned to look at him. "No spells?"

"Nothing but your fists and instincts."

Lucen grunted. "I’m tired."

"Good."

Lucen stepped off the mat, voice low, human: "Yeah, me too."

—

The floor was cleared. Lights lower now. Just the faint flicker of a side glyph casting a slow pulse through the gym’s open training area.

Lucen cracked his knuckles.

Not for show.

His joints ached from the mountain climb two days ago. Still hadn’t fully loosened since the rope training. Shoulders tight. Legs sore. And his left wrist? Taped up, again.

But he walked barefoot to the center of the mat anyway.

Varik was already there. Sitting. Calm. Breathing through his nose like it wasn’t the finale of a week-long bootcamp.

He stood as Lucen approached. No words yet.

Lucen flexed his hands. "This is the part where I die, right?"

Varik just looked at him. "You won’t die. But you’ll wish I let you."

Lucen exhaled. Rolled his neck. ’Perfect. Classic Varik pep talk.’

Then they squared up.

No system pings.

No combat alerts.

Just skin, tension, and air.

Varik didn’t rush him.

Lucen stepped in first. One probing jab, clean and fast.

Varik swayed back like it was wind, not a punch. Didn’t block. Didn’t parry.

Lucen followed with a low step to fake a leg sweep, then reversed into a body hook.

Varik caught the wrist mid-motion. "Telegraphed."

Lucen cursed and yanked free, then immediately stepped into a real leg sweep, this one tighter.

It clipped Varik’s ankle. He shifted, almost stumbled.

Lucen blinked.

’Wait. That worked?’

No time to celebrate.

Varik surged forward in response.

Two steps, short angle. His elbow came like a whip. Lucen threw both arms up to guard.

Impact cracked like a clapboard against flesh.

Lucen grunted, stumbled back two paces.

Then Varik said, "Good. Now adjust."

Lucen didn’t answer. Just ducked and tried to roll inside Varik’s guard, aiming to drive his shoulder in under the ribs. But Varik sidestepped, redirected with one palm, and flipped him onto the mat like he weighed nothing.

Lucen landed hard.

The mat hit like it hated him personally.

"Ow," he muttered.

Varik offered no response.

Lucen rolled up to a crouch, coughed once, then charged again, this time with sharper footwork.

He baited Varik’s left. Caught it with a redirect.

And landed a clean strike to the side of his ribs.

Varik took the hit without flinching. Nodded once.

Lucen blinked again.

’That felt real. That was clean.’

The moment was short.

Varik drove his elbow into Lucen’s chest—not enough to break ribs, just enough to send a message.

Lucen staggered, one knee dipped, but he didn’t fall.

"You’re learning," Varik said.

Lucen gasped, voice tight. "That’s what this is? Feels more like trauma."

"You’ll remember it."

Lucen lunged again.

This time their arms locked, close range. Grappling now.

Varik tested his weight, leaned forward.

Lucen grounded his feet like Varik taught. Shifted hips. Tried to counter the hold with momentum. Shifted grip. Then stepped into a low reversal throw.

It half-worked.

Varik went off-balance for just a second before stopping himself mid-fall with one hand.

He didn’t fall. But Lucen wasn’t on the floor either.

They broke apart.

Breathing fast.

Varik finally said, "Better."

Lucen wiped a hand across his face. "I’ll take better."

They circled once more. Fists low now. Less showy.

Varik raised his hands again. "Final thirty seconds. Make me respect you."

Lucen didn’t hesitate.

He came in like he was picking a lock, fast hands, fake rhythms, legs working harder than his brain.

Varik deflected the first strike. Took the second.

The third?

Lucen landed an uppercut straight to Varik’s chin.

His own knuckles rang like he’d punched metal.

But it landed.

Varik stepped back. Smiled once.

Then hit him with a body shot that took the wind out of him and dropped him to the mat.

Lucen wheezed, one eye half open.

"Respect that?" he coughed.

Varik stepped over him.

"Yeah."

Lucen stared at the ceiling, limbs dead.

’I think my ribs have opinions now.’