The training ground was silent.
The air was thick with tension, a pressure that seeped into the earth itself.
Modred stood on one side—his blade resting loosely in his grip, crimson eyes locked onto his opponent.
On the other side, The Premiere grinned, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. His massive cigar burned low, the embers glowing in the dim light.
His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, his broad shoulders rolling as he cracked his neck. Yet the sheer presence he radiated was suffocating.
He took a long drag of his cigar, then laughed.
"Come on, kid," The Premiere smirked. "Show me what that fancy sword can do."
---
Modred vanished.
One second he was standing still—the next, he was already in mid-swing.
His blade cut through the air like death itself, a perfect arc slicing toward The Premiere's throat.
CLANG!
The Premiere's bare fist met the sword's edge. A shockwave erupted, the sheer force of impact sending cracks through the stone beneath them.
Modred's crimson eyes narrowed.
Without hesitation—he twisted his wrist, dragging the blade downward.
But The Premiere was faster.
BOOM!
A fist collided with Modred's ribs.
His body flung backward, skidding across the dirt—but before he could even recover, The Premiere was already above him, descending like a meteor.
"Too slow!"
CRASH!
Modred barely rolled away before a fist cratered the ground where he once stood.
Dust exploded into the air.
Modred breathed sharply.
"This old bastard is fast."
---
Modred didn't hesitate.
He launched forward like a phantom, his movements precise, lethal, without wasted motion.
His blade became an extension of his will, cutting through the air in rapid, unpredictable slashes.
A strike toward the neck—dodged.
A thrust to the heart—deflected.
A spinning cut aimed at the ribs—caught between two fingers.
Modred's eyes widened.
The Premiere grinned.
"You're strong, kid. But you still got a long way to go!"
And then—he retaliated.
BOOM.
A palm strike to the gut—Modred coughed blood.
BOOM.
A spinning elbow to the jaw—his vision blurred.
BOOM.
A kick sent him crashing through a boulder.
Modred gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand.
The Premiere exhaled smoke, laughing. "Still conscious? Not bad."
Modred wiped the blood from his lips.
Then—he smirked.
The Premiere raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You still got some fight left?"
Modred lowered his stance, his aura shifting.
Something changed.
His movements became sharper. Faster.
And for the first time—The Premiere looked amused.
---
Modred disappeared.
The Premiere's grin widened. "That's more like it!"
A blade shot from the shadows.
The Premiere sidestepped.
But Modred was already behind him.
His blade aimed straight for the back of his skull.
BOOM!
The Premiere barely blocked in time—the force of the impact sent him sliding back.
He chuckled. "Alright, kid. You're getting serious now."
Modred's crimson eyes burned.
He was moving faster. Hitting harder. His aura was growing heavier, more oppressive.
He lunged again.
This time, The Premiere actually had to work to keep up.
Modred's blade clashed with his fists, sparks flying through the air.
Every dodge, every block—The Premiere had to exert just a bit more effort.
For the first time, he wasn't just toying with him.
And then—
BOOM!
Modred broke through.
His sword sliced The Premiere's cheek.
A thin line of blood dripped down.
The Premiere paused.
Then—he grinned.
"Well, shit," he chuckled, touching his cheek. "You actually cut me."
Then—his aura changed.
And in the blink of an eye—he was gone.
---
A punch to the stomach—Modred didn't see it.
His body bent over The Premiere's fist, all air forced from his lungs.
Another hit—an uppercut.
The world spun. The sky and earth blurred together.
Then—a knee to the ribs.
CRACK.
Modred felt something break.
And before he could even process the pain—a final blow.
The Premiere's fist crashed down on his spine.
BOOM.
Modred's body slammed into the dirt, a massive crater forming beneath him.
Silence.
Dust settled.
The Premiere exhaled smoke, shaking his head.
"You're good, kid."
Modred groaned, struggling to push himself up.
The Premiere smirked. "But you're not good enough."
---
Modred forced himself to stand, breathing heavily.
He was bruised, battered, and barely staying upright.
But his crimson eyes never lost their fire.
The Premiere chuckled. "You remind me of myself when I was younger."
Modred said nothing.
The Premiere took another long drag of his cigar. "You got potential, kid. But raw talent ain't enough. You gotta refine it. Polish it. Right now, you're a wild beast."
He smirked.
"When you become a hunter instead—that's when you'll be scary."
Modred simply nodded.
The Premiere grinned. "Now, get some rest. Tomorrow, we do this again."
Modred exhaled.
Then—he collapsed.
The Premiere laughed. "Oh yeah. You're gonna fit right in."