The metallic sound of impacts echoed across the courtyard in short, constant bursts, too fast for the average person to follow, as if two forces were colliding without any pause between exchanges. Victor and Scarlet moved at high speed, advancing and retreating in fractions of a second, blades clashing at tight angles while the ground beneath them already showed clear marks of accumulated pressure. The heightened gravity no longer seemed to affect his movements as before, but it was still there, compressing every action, making each mistake more costly.

Victor was being pressured. That much was clear.

Scarlet wasn’t just attacking; she was dictating the pace of the fight. Each blow came with precise intent; there was no wasted movement, no hesitation. She didn’t need to be stronger than him. She didn’t need to be faster in the raw sense. The difference lay in control. In reading the game. In how each of her attacks already considered his response before it even happened.

Victor tried to compensate for this with force. His blows were heavy, direct, loaded with enough impact to break the defense of someone less experienced. When he landed, the air around him reacted, vibrating with the pressure. He wasn’t fighting badly. On the contrary, any other opponent would have already been crushed.

But Scarlet wasn’t "just anyone."

She dodged a horizontal slash by centimeters, spinning her body on its axis and immediately counter-attacking with a short movement, aiming directly at his neck. Victor recoiled at the last instant, the blade grazing him, but without room to breathe before the next attack came.

"You’re still trying to settle this with brute force," she said, mid-fight, her voice firm even with the absurd speed of the combat. "That doesn’t work on me."

Victor locked his blade against hers, forcing contact with enough pressure to push her body back a few centimeters, taking advantage of the opening to try and reverse the rhythm.

"It works when it hits," he replied, without stopping his movement.

Scarlet let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Then hit me."

She didn’t wait for a response. The intensity increased.

The attacks came faster, closer, harder to follow. There was no longer any space between one blow and another. Victor began to truly retreat now, not by choice, but because he had no other option. Each step back was forced by a sequence that left no room for error.

"Do you think having a strong sword solves anything?" Scarlet continued, dodging another of his attacks and twisting her wrist to attack from below. "It’s useless if you don’t understand it."

Victor blocked reflexively, but the impact made his arm drop further than it should have.

"Every inch of the blade matters," she continued, advancing relentlessly. "Weight, reach, reaction time. If you don’t know exactly what your weapon does, you’re just swinging iron."

She increased the pressure even more, now not only attacking, but forcing Victor to react in continuous sequence. He began to block blows instinctively, unable to structure consistent counterattacks. Outside the exchange, Carmilla watched.

Sitting calmly, completely relaxed, as if it weren’t a fight at absurd speed happening just a few meters ahead. Her gaze followed Victor’s movements with critical attention, completely ignoring the chaos of the scene.

"...You’re forgetting about your feet," she said casually, as if commenting on something obvious.

Victor narrowly dodged another attack, twisting his body to avoid a direct cut and responding with a heavy blow that Scarlet blocked without difficulty.

"I know," he replied, breathing more heavily now.

"No, you don’t," Carmilla corrected, without changing her tone. "You’re only focusing on not letting her get to your neck. Your positioning is bad."

Victor took another step back, almost slipping because of the pressure accumulated on the ground.

"It’s kind of hard to focus on that with her trying to kill me," he replied.

Carmilla tilted her head slightly.

"She’s not trying to kill you."

Scarlet, in the middle of the attack, replied without looking.

"Yet."

Victor let out a small sound through his nose, almost a humorless laugh.

"Great to know."

He tried to adjust his stance, remembering what Carmilla said, distributing his weight better on his feet while blocking another blow. It worked for a moment. The next attack came, and he managed to respond better.

But his concentration wasn’t solely on the fight.

He looked.

It was quick.

But it was enough.

"...It doesn’t help that you’re naked either," he said bluntly, still in the middle of the fight.

Carmilla’s expression didn’t change.

Not one bit.

"That’s your problem," she replied simply.

Scarlet almost hit him at that moment.

Victor dodged reflexively, the movement coming out more brutal than technical, breaking the rhythm for a second.

Carmilla shrugged.

"If you can’t control yourself, it’s not my fault."

Victor blocked another blow, forcing distance for a moment.

"Is this part of the training now?" he asked, somewhat irritated.

"It is," she replied. "Control."

Scarlet didn’t give him room for further conversation. She advanced again, taking advantage of the exact moment his attention had shifted. The blade came straight, fast, clean.

Victor blocked at the last minute.

The impact was heavier this time.

He felt it.

Scarlet didn’t stop.

"If your head leaves the fight because of this," she said, maintaining constant pressure, "then you’ve already lost."

Victor gritted his teeth, now forcing his mind back to the fight, visibly ignoring everything else.

"Then stop talking too," he retorted.

"No," Carmilla replied calmly. "If you need silence to function, you don’t function."

Scarlet agreed without saying anything, continuing to attack with the same absurd intensity, as if validating it in practice.

Victor began to adjust again. His stance improved slightly. His feet began to respond better. He stopped retreating so much and began to hold his position for longer. He was still being pressured, still losing the direct exchange, but he was no longer completely at their mercy.

Scarlet noticed.

Of course she noticed.

"It improved," she said simply.

And then it increased again.

The speed increased another level. The attacks became even shorter, harder to predict. Victor was forced to adapt by force, completely abandoning the idea of ​​fighting "beautifully" and focusing only on surviving within that rhythm. The difference in experience remained absurd.

But now—

He wasn’t just reacting.

He was starting to catch up.

Even if only slightly.

Even if only for moments.

Carmilla watched this silently now, her gaze more focused, evaluating each small adjustment he made, each correction that didn’t come from direct instruction, but from trial and error under real pressure.

Scarlet took a half-step back after a long sequence, taking a minimal breath, more to assess than out of necessity.

Victor stood still for a second, breathing heavily, his whole body tense but firm.

"Again," she said.