---

"Welcome to our special training grounds."

Khan spread his arms wide, presenting the kings’ private arena like a showroom host displaying a prize.

Dean’s jaw dropped. "They have a private training ground?"

"We actually have a training ground of our own," Nyssara added softly. "You just don’t use it."

"And we have a special training ground as well." Zephyr’s voice carried a note of smug satisfaction.

Dean straightened, matching the kings’ smug energy with his own. "Yeah, you’re right. Our training ground is special."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Enough talk." Kenshin’s voice cut through the banter like a blade. He walked to the center of the training grounds without waiting for acknowledgment. "Let’s begin."

"Okie." Khan followed, his tone cheerful, his posture loose.

The class of weirdos and the remaining kings retreated in unison, boots scraping against stone as they widened the distance between themselves and the two fighters at the center.

Dean’s lip curled. "What’s his problem?"

"He’s found a worthy opponent." Daemion smiled as he answered, his eyes fixed on Kenshin.

---

"You don’t seem like a sword person." Khan slipped his katana into his storage ring with a casual flick of his wrist. "Let’s fight to your advantage for a while."

He tilted his head, considering his own words. "Oh, this isn’t disrespectful. I’m as good a swordsman as a pugilist, so I’m not limiting myself." He bounced from one foot to the other, settling into a fighting stance. "And something tells me we’ll be switching to weapons soon enough."

Kenshin snorted.

The easy energy around him vanished, replaced by something sharper. He dropped into his own stance, weight balanced, eyes locked on Khan.

From somewhere beyond the field, a voice echoed through the arena:

"BEGIN!"

---

The training ground trembled beneath Kenshin’s feet as he burst forward. Dust exploded behind him in a rooster tail of debris.

Khan watched him come without moving—posture loose, balanced, utterly unreadable.

Kenshin entered striking range and unleashed a straight punch aimed at Khan’s face.

Khan slipped to the side. The fist passed his cheek by inches.

Kenshin twisted instantly, converting the missed strike into a hook aimed at Khan’s ribs.

Khan blocked. Forearm met forearm. The impact cracked through the field like snapping wood.

He answered with a knee toward Kenshin’s stomach.

Kenshin caught the knee under his arm and drove an elbow toward Khan’s jaw.

Khan leaned back just enough. The strike skimmed past his nose.

Too smooth. Too precise.

Kenshin clicked his tongue and pressed harder.

A barrage erupted. Punches flowed one after another with barely a pause between them—jabs, hooks, elbows, low kicks—each strike chained into the next with relentless pressure. The air itself seemed to thicken around him, displaced by the sheer volume of his assault.

Khan retreated half a step at a time, redirecting instead of resisting. A punch slid past his shoulder. An elbow brushed his sleeve. A kick slammed into his thigh with a dull, meaty thud.

Kenshin saw the opening and lunged.

Mistake.

Khan pivoted sharply. Kenshin’s momentum carried him forward a fraction too long—the barest hesitation before he could arrest his own motion.

That fraction was enough.

Khan’s palm slammed into Kenshin’s sternum.

The impact blasted the air from his lungs in a ragged gasp. His body skidded backward across the dirt, boots carving trenches through the field before he forced himself to stop.

Khan was already moving.

Kenshin barely raised his guard before a spinning kick crashed into his arms. Pain shot through his bones—a deep, percussive shock that traveled from his forearms to his shoulders. The force lifted him off the ground and hurled him sideways into one of the wooden training posts.

The post shattered on impact. Splinters scattered through the air like shrapnel.

Kenshin landed in a crouch, arms throbbing violently.

Khan didn’t give him time to recover. He closed the distance instantly, footwork sharp and controlled, and drove a punch toward Kenshin’s throat.

Kenshin tilted aside. The strike missed.

A second punch came immediately—this time aimed at the liver.

Kenshin blocked.

A third strike—an elbow—descended toward his temple.

Kenshin ducked under it and retaliated with an uppercut.

Impact. Khan’s head snapped slightly backward.

Kenshin surged forward before Khan could reset. A low kick slammed into Khan’s knee. Another into his ribs. Then a straight punch toward his jaw.

Khan caught the punch mid-flight.

Kenshin’s expression tightened.

Khan twisted violently. Kenshin felt his shoulder twitch painfully as balance disappeared beneath him. The throw sent him crashing across the field.

He rolled twice before planting a hand into the dirt and forcing himself upright.

Khan was already there. Always there.

A kick whipped toward Kenshin’s head. Kenshin raised both arms.

CRACK.

The impact drove him into the ground hard enough to fracture the earth beneath his feet. Cracks radiated outward from the point of impact, jagged lines spreading like lightning across stone.

Before Khan could follow up, Kenshin exploded upward with a punch toward Khan’s stomach.

It landed clean.

Khan slid back several steps, the first solid hit he had taken.

Kenshin rushed him instantly.

Their bodies blurred across the ruined field. Every collision sent tremors through the ground, loose stones rattling and dancing with each impact. Fists crashed against guards. Kicks split the air with sharp whistles. Elbows and knees collided at brutal angles.

No wasted motion. No pauses. Only constant adaptation.

Kenshin ducked beneath a hook and drove his shoulder into Khan’s chest. Khan staggered half a step.

Kenshin pivoted sharply and launched a spinning back kick toward Khan’s ribs.

Khan caught the leg.

Again.

But this time Kenshin expected it.

The instant Khan grabbed him, Kenshin planted both palms into the ground and twisted his body around, his free leg whipping upward into Khan’s chin.

The strike landed clean.

Khan finally lost balance, sliding backward across the dirt.

Kenshin didn’t let up. He charged again, vision locked entirely onto the opening he had finally created.

Khan lifted his head slowly.

Then lowered his stance.

Kenshin felt it instantly—the pressure changed. Not heavier. Sharper. Dangerous.

Khan stepped forward once. That single step erased the distance between them.

A jab snapped into Kenshin’s guard.

A second strike hammered into his ribs before he could react.

Then the third—an upward palm beneath his chin.

The world tilted violently. Kenshin’s feet left the ground.

Before he could recover, Khan spun and drove a kick into his side midair. The impact sent him crashing across the training ground, bouncing once before skidding to a stop through broken dirt and splintered wood.

Silence settled briefly over the field.

Kenshin coughed hard, forcing himself onto one knee.

Across from him, Khan stood motionless in the drifting dust.

Waiting.

---

"I can’t believe it."

Aelric’s voice was thick with shock. Even though he could barely keep up with the speed of the battle, even though the fighters were little more than blurs punctuated by explosions, he had seen enough to understand what was happening.

Kenshin was losing.

"That’s my junior." Eden’s expression was smug. Finally, someone would put these neanderthals in their place.

"Your junior is stronger than you are." Rhaegar’s tone was teasing. "And you still have the joy of spamming ’my junior.’"

"And who said the battle is over?" Dean added.

---

"See?" Khan tilted his head. "I told you I was as skilled a pugilist as I am a swordsman." A pause. "Though it seems you’re skilled at neither. You fight as though you’re used to punching below your weight class. Are you solely a brute?"

Kenshin got back on his feet, his injuries knitting back together as he stared at Khan. "You hit like a little girl. But you have a way of fighting with techniques that interests me."

"You’re right." Kenshin’s voice was calm, almost conversational. "I’ve never actually fought with techniques. I’ve never needed them. And by the state you’re operating in right now, I still don’t need them."

"You doubt me?"

"No." Khan shook his head. "I just understand now why I felt as though something was missing. You were holding back."

"Not necessarily." Kenshin’s jaw tightened. "I was trying to learn your fighting style. You boasted of being a pugilist, and you’ve proven to be a master pugilist." He cracked his neck. "But judging by your demeanor, you are more of a swordsman than a pugilist. So I can’t have myself losing a hand-to-hand fight against you."

He planted his feet on the ground. "Feel free to use that lightning boost you applied in the hall. Right now, I’ll be using something I don’t particularly like. It feels like cheating, you know."

"What’s that?"

"My talent."

Kenshin burst forward.

---

Before Khan could react, Kenshin had reached him.

He threw an overhead kick—a brutal, descending arc that caught Khan across the guard and sent him flying backward.

Without pause, Kenshin was on him again.

Khan realized he could not react fast enough. He could track Kenshin’s movements, could see each strike coming, but his agility stats simply paled in comparison. His body could not keep pace with his eyes.

Tch.

As Khan flew backward, he activated his ability. [Lightning] surged through his body—a cascade of blue-white arcs that crawled across his skin, sank into his muscles, rewired his nervous system. He twisted midair and landed on his feet.

The buff aspect of his ability, applied at full force, provided an eighty percent boost to his agility, a seventy percent boost to his perception, and sixty and fifty percent boosts to his endurance and strength respectively.

Khan vanished.

The ground where he had stood exploded half a second later, a crater blooming outward in a shockwave of dust and debris.

He twisted sharply. A kick tore through the air beside his face—the pressure behind it, despite missing cleanly, carved a trench through the distant mountainside. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

Too fast. Even with Lightning reinforcing his body, Kenshin’s acceleration still overwhelmed him in short bursts.

Kenshin landed lightly and disappeared again.

This time, Khan reacted earlier. Lightning burst beneath his feet.

BOOM.

Both figures collided mid-charge.

The resulting shockwave blasted outward hard enough to uproot entire sections of the training grounds. Reinforced barriers surrounding the arena flickered violently as cracks spiderwebbed across them.

Kenshin’s fist drove toward Khan’s ribs.

Khan intercepted with his forearm.

Pain exploded up his arm instantly—a searing, bone-deep agony. The sheer force behind the strike numbed the limb despite the Lightning reinforcement flooding through it.

A second punch came immediately from below.

Khan shifted sideways. The fist grazed his stomach. The reinforced Lightning armor around his body ruptured instantly, the arcs scattering into dissipating sparks. Blood sprayed from his side.

Kenshin followed with an elbow toward his jaw.

Khan ducked beneath it and retaliated with a Lightning-coated palm strike toward Kenshin’s chest.

Impact.

Electricity exploded outward in a blinding corona. The strike blasted Kenshin backward through three layers of reinforced stone walls before he regained footing. The stone crumbled behind him, each wall collapsing inward in a cascade of dust and rubble.

Smoke rose from his chest. Burn marks spread across his skin, blackened and cracked.

Then the flesh began knitting back together almost instantly, muscle reweaving, skin smoothing.

Kenshin was already moving again. The distance between them disappeared in a heartbeat.

A kick slammed into Khan’s ribs.

CRACK. Several bones fractured immediately—a wet, splintering sound that was audible even over the roar of the fight. The impact launched him across the arena like artillery fire.

Khan twisted mid-flight and drove his hand downward. Lightning erupted from his palm. The recoil forcibly altered his trajectory just enough to avoid crashing directly through the wall of the training grounds.

He landed in a crouch. Blood dripped from his mouth. Mana surged through his body immediately, forcing shattered ribs back into place.

Kenshin arrived before the regeneration fully finished.

A straight punch descended toward Khan’s head.

Khan raised both arms.

BOOOOM.

The ground beneath him imploded. His knees bent violently from the force—joints screaming, muscles straining. The reinforced platform shattered beneath his feet, creating a crater hundreds of meters wide. Chunks of stone and debris rained upward before gravity remembered them.

Khan’s vision blurred for a fraction of a second.

Too much force.

Kenshin pressed instantly.

Punch. Elbow. Knee.

Every strike carried catastrophic weight behind it. Kenshin fought like someone who had never needed finesse because overwhelming force solved everything.

And yet—

His movements were adapting.

Khan saw it. Kenshin’s angles were changing. His timing was sharper. He was learning.

That realization made Khan smile.

A punch tore toward his throat. Khan tilted aside and trapped the arm beneath his shoulder. Lightning surged violently across his body.

His knee slammed upward into Kenshin’s stomach.

The impact folded Kenshin slightly.

Khan didn’t stop. A second strike crashed into his jaw. Then a spinning elbow toward his temple.

Kenshin blocked the elbow.

But the Lightning coating Khan’s body exploded on contact.

BOOM.

Electricity erupted through Kenshin’s arms and detonated across his nervous system.

For the first time since the fight began—

Kenshin’s movements stuttered.

Khan’s eyes flashed.

Opening.

His palm slammed into Kenshin’s chest. A concentrated burst of Lightning exploded point-blank.

The resulting detonation swallowed half the battlefield. Light—white, blinding, absolute—consumed everything. The barriers around the training grounds flickered violently again, several sections outright shattering from the overflow. Jagged cracks ran through the remaining barriers like broken glass.

Kenshin burst from the smoke.

His chest was mangled—skin gone, muscle exposed, part of his ribs visible through the damage. Blood steamed where it met the still-superheated air.

Yet even as the students watched, the flesh regenerated. Rapidly. Muscle rewove. Skin crawled back into place.

Khan exhaled slowly.

Kenshin answered by appearing directly in front of him.

No warning. No buildup. Just instantaneous violence.

His fist crashed into Khan’s stomach.

The world folded.

The shockwave split the clouds above the academy apart—a clean line stretching beyond the horizon, the sky itself carved open by the force of the impact.

Khan coughed blood violently as his body shot backward. His endurance was high enough to survive the hit. But survival wasn’t comfort. Pain exploded through every organ in his body, a symphony of agony that blanked his vision for a heartbeat. Mana surged frantically to stabilize the internal damage.

Kenshin pursued relentlessly.

Khan forced Lightning to surge harder through his body. Arcs of blue-white electricity erupted across the battlefield, charring the ground, turning loose debris to slag.

This time, when Kenshin appeared—

Khan matched him.

Their fists collided.

BOOOOOOM.

The training ground vanished beneath them. An entire section of the reinforced arena collapsed inward from the pressure alone—stone pulverized, barriers shattered, the earth itself giving way.

Both men moved simultaneously.

Strike. Block. Counter. Slip. Knee. Palm. Kick.

Every collision produced continent-rumbling shockwaves contained only by the academy’s absurd barrier systems. The spectators could no longer properly see the fight—only violent flashes of lightning and expanding rings of destruction, each one cracking the barriers further.

Khan ducked beneath a punch and drove his elbow into Kenshin’s liver.

Impact.

Kenshin’s side ruptured violently. Blood sprayed outward in an arc, steaming.

Khan immediately followed with a Lightning-coated uppercut. The strike launched Kenshin skyward, a human bullet trailing blood and electricity.

Khan appeared above him instantly.

A downward kick crashed into Kenshin’s spine.

BOOM.

The air detonated. A visible shockwave rippled outward, flattening what remained of the arena’s walls.

Kenshin plummeted into the earth like a meteor.

The impact erased the remains of the battlefield completely. Dust—dense, suffocating, absolute—swallowed everything.

Silence lasted less than a second.

Then Kenshin emerged from the crater.

He rose through the settling dust like something rising from a grave. His spine audibly snapped back into place—a wet, grinding sound that made several spectators wince. Flesh regenerated across his back, skin smoothing, muscle reweaving.

He rolled his shoulders once.

And smiled.