The wind cut through the training ground, carrying the smell of damp earth and grass. My legs felt like lead as I pushed myself upright for what felt like the thousandth time. The morning sunlight filtered through the trees, painting the clearing in gold and green, but it did nothing to ease the ache in my body.
"Again," Lawrence said, his voice as unrelenting as the sunrise.
I groaned, flexing my fingers. They still tingled from the last fall. "You know, a day off wouldn't kill you," I muttered.
Lawrence folded his arms, a mix of patience and irritation in his expression. "A day off might not kill me, but it'll kill you. That hunter you faced barely broke a sweat. You survived because you were lucky. Luck won't keep you alive."
I hated when he was right. He always was.
"Fine," I grumbled, planting my feet again. "What's next? Another round of 'let's throw Kyon into the dirt'?"
A smirk tugged at his lips. "If that's what it takes to keep you breathing, then yes."
He moved into his stance—one foot forward, the other slightly back, knees bent. His hands hovered near his chest, loose but ready. "Today, we focus on Taekwondo. Vampires rely on brute strength. Superior footwork exploits their weakness."
I mimicked his stance as best I could, though it felt awkward, like trying to balance on a tightrope. "And this is supposed to make me a vampire's worst nightmare?"
"Footwork wins fights," Lawrence said, stepping forward with fluid precision, almost like a dance. "When they charge, it's not your strength that matters. It's your ability to avoid their attacks and create openings."
"Openings for what?"
"For this." His leg snapped up faster than I could blink, stopping inches from my face. The force of the kick stirred the air, and I swallowed hard. "Right. Openings."
What followed was an hour of frustration. My kicks lacked power, my balance wobbled, and every time I thought I was getting it, Lawrence would sweep my legs out from under me.
"You're thinking too much," he said, exasperated. "Combat isn't about overanalyzing. It's about reacting. You've got Observation Flux—use it."
"Easy for you to say," I shot back, picking myself up again. "You're not the one getting your ass handed to you."
"You're not listening," he said, stepping closer. His voice dropped into that low, serious tone that made it impossible to argue. "Close your eyes."
"What?"
"Close. Your. Eyes," he repeated. "Trust your Flux. Feel me. Hear my breathing. Sense the tension before I move."
Reluctantly, I obeyed. The world around me went dark, but my other senses sharpened. I heard the faint rustle of leaves, the distant chirping of birds—and Lawrence's steady breathing.
He moved. I felt it before it happened. My body sidestepped instinctively, and his kick missed me by a hair.
"Better," he said with a rare note of approval. "Now again."
By midday, I was drenched in sweat, my body begging for a break. Lawrence tossed me a water bottle as I leaned against a tree.
"You've done enough dodging. Now, let's see if you can hit back."
I scoffed. "Yeah, because I've been so great at that so far."
"You will," he said, his tone dead serious. "But not until you push past your limits. It's time for Armament Flux."
I stared at him. "You've seen me try. It doesn't work."
"You just haven't been desperate enough. Armament Flux isn't about force—it's about control. Visualization is key. Close your eyes again."
I sighed but obeyed.
"Picture your fists," he said, his voice steady. "Feel the energy in your core, the heat building there. Now imagine it spreading down your arms, coating your hands. Make them unbreakable."
Frustration bubbled inside me as nothing happened. Then, just as I was about to give up, I felt it—a spark of heat, faint but real. It traveled down my arms, pooling in my hands. When I opened my eyes, my fists were glowing, wrapped in flickering red and yellow lightning.
"Whoa."
"Don't just stand there," Lawrence said, stepping back into his stance. "Use it."
I lunged forward, my glowing fists colliding with his arms. The impact sent a shockwave through the clearing, and for the first time, Lawrence staggered.
"Not bad," he said, shaking his arms. "But don't let it go to your head. You're still a rookie."
We sat in the grass after sparring, the afternoon sun casting long shadows. My hands still tingled from the Flux, though the glow had faded.
"Why don't you guys use weapons?" I asked, breaking the silence.
Lawrence leaned back, his gaze distant. "Weapons make you predictable. They can be disarmed, broken, or turned against you. The Argent Sword believes the body itself is the best weapon."
"Sounds risky."
"It is. But risk is part of the equation. Weapons can give you an edge, but they can also trap you into relying on them. True strength comes from adaptability, timing, and precision. That's what we train for."
He paused, glancing at me. "Have you ever heard of Filipino martial arts? Kali, Escrima, Arnis?"
I shook my head.
"They use anything as a weapon, but the focus is always the fighter, not the tools. Same with Wing Chun—small strikes, precise targets, brutal efficiency. The throat, the groin, the back of the head. Those aren't forbidden for survivalists, Kyon."
I frowned, unease bubbling in my chest. "It doesn't sound very... honorable."
Lawrence turned to me, his expression hard. "Honor doesn't keep you alive. Survival does. You think the hunters care about honor when they're trying to rip you apart? If you're not willing to do whatever it takes, you're already dead."
His words hit like a punch to the gut. "So what? I'm supposed to become a killer?"
He let the question hang in the air before answering. "You're supposed to live. Survival isn't clean. It's not pure. Sometimes, you have to make choices you don't like. But you do it because your life—and the lives of those you care about—depend on it."
I looked down at my hands, the faint memory of their earlier glow haunting me. "I don't know if I can do that."
Lawrence sighed, his tone softening. "No one does, not at first. But you're stronger than you think. And when the time comes, you'll do what needs to be done. Not because you want to, but because you have to."
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I leaned back against the tree, exhaustion pulling at me. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I was beginning to understand what it meant to survive—not just as a fighter, but as someone who had something worth fighting for.
"I'll be ready," I said quietly.
Lawrence studied me for a moment, then nodded. "We'll see tomorrow."
And despite everything, I found myself smiling. Not because it was over, but because I was still standing. Still fighting. And I wasn't done yet.