The days blurred together as Arman continued his training under Dhruv's unrelenting guidance. Each session was more brutal than the last, but something inside him stirred—a new fire igniting with every drop of sweat, every bruise, every mockery. The bruises that once made him feel small now felt like badges of honor. Every ache in his muscles was a reminder that he was alive, learning, growing.
Yet, despite his progress, Arman couldn't shake the feeling that he was still falling behind. His classmates, with their hybrid abilities, were far ahead of him. Tanmay's explosive strength, Rai's lightning reflexes, and Raghav's unyielding stamina left Arman feeling like an outsider, a shadow in their brilliance.
But there was something he had that they didn't—his mind.
Morning of the Unexpected
The morning was chilly, the academy grounds bathed in the soft light of dawn. Arman stood near the training area, a place that had become both his sanctuary and his torment. He had learned how to meditate, how to center himself, to focus his energy. Today, Dhruv had promised something new, something more advanced than balance drills or sparring with dummies.
"Get moving, Arman," Dhruv called from behind him, his voice slurred from the ever-present alcohol. "It's time for your next lesson."
Arman turned, wiping the sweat from his brow. "What are we doing today?"
Dhruv smirked, the gleam in his eye almost predatory. "I'm going to teach you how to use your environment. The forest, the rocks, the wind—they're all your weapons if you know how to use them."
Arman's brow furrowed. "Environment? How?"
Dhruv shrugged nonchalantly, taking a swig from his gourd. "You'll see. First, go grab a weapon from the armory. The blade. The rest of the training will come later."
The Armory
The armory was cold, dimly lit, and filled with a variety of weapons—each one with a story, a purpose. Arman's hands hovered over the shelves, unsure of which blade would best suit his needs. Most of the weapons seemed far beyond his reach—elegant swords, glowing kunai, throwing blades, and intricate polearms. But nothing stood out to him more than a simple, unassuming short sword. It wasn't the sharpest or the flashiest, but there was something about it. It felt right in his hand, the weight balanced just enough to feel powerful but not overwhelming.
Arman carried it back to the training grounds, his heart pounding in anticipation. This was it. His first real weapon, something he could use to defend himself.
Mastery of the Environment
Dhruv was already waiting for him when he returned, his usual lazy stance replaced by a focused intensity. "Today, you'll learn that the weapon isn't always the most important part of the fight. Your surroundings can be just as deadly as any blade. The key is using them as extensions of your body."
Arman nodded, unsure of what Dhruv meant, but willing to trust his unorthodox methods. Dhruv gestured toward the dense forest, a tangled maze of trees and underbrush. "Your job is simple. You'll need to get through that forest without being hit by me."
Arman blinked. "Without being hit?"
"Without being hit," Dhruv repeated, his voice casual. "I'll be using everything I've got to stop you. Your job is to use the forest, the terrain, the trees, the wind, and most importantly, your instincts, to avoid me."
Arman's mind raced. Avoiding Dhruv was no small feat. The man was a monster when it came to speed and precision, and his alcohol-induced demeanor was just a mask for his true power.
Arman tightened his grip on the sword. It wasn't just a fight against Dhruv's skill—it was a fight against everything he didn't know.
The Chase Begins
"Start!" Dhruv yelled.
Arman shot forward, his legs pumping as he dashed toward the forest. The dense trees loomed ahead like giants, their branches creating a tangled web that could either help him or trap him.
The wind howled through the trees, and Arman's senses went on high alert. The air felt thick, like something was coming. His foot landed on a patch of wet earth, and he slipped, barely catching himself on a nearby tree. Panic surged in his chest as he heard a loud thud behind him—a sound he recognized all too well.
Without warning, Dhruv appeared in front of him, moving so quickly that Arman barely had time to react. The force of his presence hit Arman like a physical wall. Dhruv swung a massive strike at him, and Arman barely dodged, the air parting with the force of the blow.
Arman stumbled back, his sword raised in defense. But Dhruv was relentless. He swung again, aiming for Arman's side, but this time, Arman used the momentum of the attack to twist around the blow, dodging under Dhruv's arm and leaping into the air.
For the next few minutes, the battle unfolded like a dance of precision and power. Dhruv's strikes were lightning fast, and Arman's body was pushed to its limits as he dodged, parried, and evaded.
It was as if the entire forest was alive, every tree and stone an obstacle that could either help or hinder. Arman relied on the terrain—he slid under branches, used trees for cover, and climbed higher to gain a vantage point. But Dhruv was never far behind, his attacks coming from unexpected angles, his speed almost impossible to track.
The forest echoed with the sounds of combat—steel scraping against steel, the swish of air from Dhruv's powerful swings, and Arman's heavy breaths as he barely managed to stay ahead. He couldn't keep up with Dhruv's pure skill, but he was learning—learning how to use his surroundings to survive.
The Turning Point
Arman's body was already beginning to feel the strain, the weight of the day's training pressing down on him. His legs burned, and sweat stung his eyes. He stumbled again, this time barely managing to catch himself before crashing into a tree. But as he stood there, panting, a spark ignited inside him.
He wasn't going to quit. He couldn't.
In that moment, he realized something—he didn't have to beat Dhruv. He just had to survive long enough to learn. The lesson wasn't about defeating his opponent. It was about learning to adapt, to think on his feet, to grow.
With newfound determination, Arman pushed off the tree and darted forward again, his movements more fluid, more calculated. As Dhruv's next strike came at him, Arman twisted his body in a way that made the strike miss by inches, using the forest to mask his movements.
This time, when Dhruv's attack left an opening, Arman acted fast. With a swift swing of his sword, he struck Dhruv's arm, knocking it aside.
It wasn't a victory—it wasn't even close. But it was progress.