The sounds of brutal combat could be heard from within the hallowed Hall of Mernda. In ancient times, it was a proving ground of great renown, where the most powerful practitioners of Senpo meditated and trained in deepest solitude. Within its cordoned alcoves stood statues of fine redwood, carved to resemble Beastkin in various stages of movement. Their stances and strikes were not those of practised martial arts, but the low, fearsome lunges of animals. Indeed, there didn't seem to be an ounce of humanity within their frenzied eyes.
Pale's body was sent flying through the air as the impact of flesh against flesh resounded throughout the hall. Tumbling to her knees, the girl's breaths were rapid and demanding. She had already passed the point of exhaustion into a kind of trance that prioritised survival above all else. Even so, she was given no time to rest, leaping back as a fearsome silhouette planted a foot where her head was just seconds ago.
"Hah…" Forcing herself to stand, Pale took a stance as she attempted to steady her breathing, "What's with this old man…?"
In all of her years, she had never seen a creature move with such speed. Despite his advanced age, Elder Gelda was capable of outmanoeuvring her honed senses of sight and hearing. Even his blows, marred by the passage of time, threatened to break her in two with even a passing graze. He was very much like an animal, she thought--like the lowland wolves of his tribe's namesake. There seemed to be no end to his assault. Blocking, evading, retreating, all manner of defences crumbled before the sheer power he channelled through every swipe of his balled fists. Running away was only exhausting her, but what other choice did she have? Even with her prosthetics of Elven silver, trying to match him blow-for-blow would be like stopping a landslide bare-handed.
"Is something the matter, Pale?" Gelda wondered, "I was under the impression that you wished to channel your anger into something constructive."
"How is this 'channelling' anything!?" She argued, taking a moment to breathe, "There's anger, and then there's just throwing your weight around like an animal! How is this considered a martial art!?"
"I will not claim that Senpo is anything short of barbaric." He answered, "-But it is precisely that barbarism which makes it so effective. When two warriors meet, they exchange not only blows, but aspects of their personal philosophies. It could be said that a 'battle' is just that--an exchange of ideals. Senpo was developed as a method of overcoming the weakness of 'thought' that occurs during battle. A master of Senpo does not bother himself with notions of strategy or wit."
His words reminded Pale of the Demon attack her people were made to endure. The frenetic 'nothingness' which accompanied their movements--the 'chaos' of their attacks and the mindlessness with which they effortlessly slew dozens at a time. The army that had been organised to defend against them was not a professional force by any stretch of the imagination, but even widely-understood strategies--using spears to engage enemies at long-range and archers to cause damage from a distance, fell apart almost as soon as the Demons began attacking. No measures existed to defend against them. They were not organised creatures, but beasts of pure instinct whose randomness and ferocity overcame any resistance.
"Wild animals avoid fighting whenever possible." Gelda continued, "-Even a small wound can quickly become infected. That is why standing your ground against a predator is the most effective method of scaring it off. A bear will not hunt the creature who resists death. But even so, when faced with the possibility themselves, such beasts can summon strength far beyond what they would normally be capable of. Of course, as a hunter yourself, you would know not to corner a wild animal lest you force them into a frenzy."
"What point are you trying to make?"
"We intelligent creatures--Beastkin, humans, Onda… unlike beasts, our instincts join so perfectly with emotion as to become unrecognisable. It cannot be said for certain when our actions are dictated by reason or impulse, and this extends to the manner in which we fight. Tools and armour, strategy, formations, leadership… what is understood subconsciously by beasts is subject to the rationale of our intelligence, perhaps to a fault. The School of Iron--the very nature of Senpo, is to overcome the limitations of our shackling minds, and to unlock the all-powerful, self-destructing strength within each of us.
Taking a stance of his own, the aged elder didn't quite seem like the little old man Pale had met on that day she arrived in the village. His words tumbled in her head--the very crux of his argument, that the overwhelming desire to analyse each and every piece of information entering the mind is a limitation of intelligence, was nonetheless stored, understood and contextualised. To become 'unthinking', Pale thought, was not something entirely possible.
The Elder leaped. At once, his body had become a blur in the stale air of that hall. No pair of eyes could hope to follow the arcing angle of his pounce. Pale's mind raced to find a solution--any solution, that would see her overcoming the ferocity of that attack, but only a single line of thought--a single 'instinct', assaulted her. The instinct to retreat. An irrational, suicidal idea certain to kill her, but which had nonetheless formed. It was precisely the weakness Gelda had spoken of.
She didn't have time to react. Or, more correctly, time to think. Running simply wasn't an option, as it wouldn't be against a wolf, or a bear, but in less than a second, she would be struck by the Elder's attack--less time than she had to consider the situation fully. It was a frustrating experience, trapped within the buffering confines of your own mind, hoping to formulate a plan at the very last second, but she knew from experience that such a miracle wouldn't occur.
It was slow. The world was ever so slow at that moment.
One foot rose into the air, a premeditated movement to aid with timing. Pushing forward with her other leg, Pale's fist formed into a clumsy ball. Her body twisted--which way didn't particularly matter, and in fact, she didn't take the time to decide, allowing her arm to extend forward at the same time that her foot collided with the hard, wooden floor.
Inexplicably, she had just thrown a punch, and one which was neither particularly professional nor expertly-aimed. The act of preparing herself to strike was thrown out of the window completely--rather than deciding on her form or target, she dove down to the natural conclusion of her fist striking something, whether it was effective or not. Indeed, her thoughts only returned at the end of the movement, processing only a single piece of information; that her fist had collided with something. A sound like the tearing of leather exploded from the end of her knuckles, curled fingers sinking deep into the wrinkled labyrinth of Gelda's face as the old man moved with unerring ferocity to strike her.
With spurts of blood trailing from his nostrils, the Elder was sent flying--not figuratively, but literally, flying, towards the far end of the hall, barely making a sound as his ancient body slammed against the wall. It was a wonder he hadn't sailed straight through the woodwork with how fast he was going. Gelda's heavy, wrinkled face did well to hide the severity of the injury Pale had just planted on him, but the splinters which fell from behind him as he hit the floor spoke of the unbelievable power she had just summoned.
There was a moment of silence. It could scarcely be believed that what had just occurred was the product of a single Beastkin's strength. The unprofessional arrangement of her fingers had left Pale's prosthetic arm with dents running across its latticed surface. Dents--on Elven silver, one of the most durable metals in the world. As if afraid of her true potential, she could do nothing but stare with widened eyes at the results of her instinctive punch, loath to believe it was the doing of anything but sheer sorcery.
"Hoh… ah…" Politely coughing into his hand, Elder Gelda sighed contentedly while grasping his face, "Well, that wasn't perfect, but…"
Unbelievably, he was still capable of standing after taking that blow which would have murdered a man twice his size in an instant. Running to his side, Pale had an expression of regret on her face.
"I-" She stammered, "I'm sorry…"
"Do not- mmh…" Closing his eyes to endure the pain, Gelda paused, "Do not apologise. I wouldn't have agreed to train you if I was not prepared for this to happen."
"Are you alright?"
"I will live." Extending a hand to grasp Pale's, he was pulled unsteadily to his feet, "But, even so- I must offer my congratulations. Though amateurish, you have already grasped the basic principle of Senpo--to strike without thinking."
"Isn't that just… barbarism?"
"As I've said, barbarism is the only way to enlighten oneself to the power of the unthinking." He explained, "Just as the ant carries weight far in excess of its own, and as the bee stings with no regard for its own life, it is possible, too, for cultured beasts such as ourselves to become slaves to the power of 'instinct'."
Pale didn't answer for a moment, "Is that… the right thing to do?"
"Whether it is or isn't is no longer the question." He replied, "As you've already proven to me, only those with the capability to erase the 'self' may master Senpo. To eliminate the very core of one's being, and to become a beast--, that is the sacrifice demanded to achieve true strength."