SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 146: Sword Training (2)

Break.

Lucen sat on a ledge, chest heaving, looking out at lower streets. Fleet of drones buzzing past. HVAC hum from cooling units. Pigeon flutter in corners.

Varik joined him with two bottles.

"You sweat too much."

"You train too much."

Varik smirked. Popped open the cap and tossed the remains into a drain.

"Hydrate."

—

On the second shift, Lucen stood in stance. Sword pointed low.

Varik circled him, ankles clicking.

Without warning, Varik lunged.

Lucen tried to block with his blade. He misread the angle. Steel scraped. He pivoted, tripped, landed on one knee.

Varik hovered above.

"Again," he said.

Lucen stood. Dust on his knee. Tried again.

Lunge. Counter. Step aside.

His defense was cleaner. His movement curved.

Varik nodded. "Feel that?"

"I did worse."

"That was baseline. Practice it ten times."

—

They circled again.

Varik switched stances. Shorter, tighter grip. Slower breath.

Lucen mimicked.

Then Varik slipped inside Lucen’s guard and slashed across his thigh. It grazed the fabric, not deep, but enough to widen the cut on Lucen’s pant leg.

Lucen broke stance. Took a breath. Then reset.

Varik nodded. "Your eyes flickered. Don’t anticipate—sense."

Lucen closed his eyes for a second. Felt the wind shift. Blade’s position. Grip slack.

He reopened them and blocked again, mirrored trick, and pushed Varik back a step.

Both breathing heavy. No words.

Varik wiped sweat from his brow. "Better."

—

Session lengthened.

Broken posture drills. Turning without looking. Stepping blind. Sword swings without sight—just feel.

Lucen punched the air blindfolded twice.

First time he tripped.

Second time he caught Blade on instep.

Standing again. Sweat dripped. Pulse high.

"You see now," Varik said. "Intuition beats sight."

Lucen nodded. Muted. Focused.

—

They moved to partner drills.

Varik swiped low.

Lucen crouched, sliding leg across the ground, sword angled crosswise to intercept.

He managed to deflect.

Blocked.

Held.

Varik backed off.

"That’s your foundation."

Lucen exhaled hard. His lungs burned.

—

Break again.

Varik lit a small cigarette. Did it slowly. Rare indulgence.

Lucen watched. Didn’t speak.

Varik stubbed it out on the tile.

"Your attributes won’t change overnight," he said. "You just learn to move better."

Lucen took a drink. Water steamed.

—

Back at it. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

Lucen practiced two-weapon stance empty-handed.

He dropped the sword and used his hands.

Blocks.

Parries.

Feints.

Fake hits.

Varik hovered, directing.

Lucen clapped a block and turned it into a backward slash with air.

Varik nodded slowly. "You’re thinking in sequence."

Lucen wiped sweat from his forehead. Tired.

But he smiled quietly.

—

They ended on contact footwork.

Lucen advanced.

Varik retreated.

Then Varik advanced.

Lucen backed.

Each move measured.

Silent exchange.

Nine passes.

On the tenth they clashed.

Blades met with a harsh chime.

Lucen’s arms burned.

His legs pulsed.

But he followed through.

Varik pushed him back and disengaged.

Both breathing heavy again.

Varik spit on the tile, dry.

"Good."

Lucen nodded. "This is brutal."

Varik smirked faintly. "You’ll live."

—

They paused mid-lesson.

Lucen’s shirt soaked.

Tile dust on bare knees.

He flexed wrists.

Then asked quietly:

"When do we introduce speed?"

Varik glanced at the skyline. Then at Lucen.

"When you define the space before it happens."

Lucen frowned. "So now?"

Varik smiled slow. "Keep showing how you feel."

They didn’t speak again.

Training continued.

—

The rooftop was quieter than usual.

Just the faint churn of city noise far below, the buzz of a cleaning drone somewhere past the ledge, and the sharp, rhythmic sound of metal sliding against metal.

Lucen exhaled slowly.

His stance had changed.

More narrow. Right foot offset behind. Left heel raised slightly, not stiff, but preloaded.

Varik adjusted his own blade.

"Advanced doesn’t mean faster," he said. "It means you decide when something’s worth swinging for."

Lucen nodded once, short and silent.

Then moved.

—

The first few exchanges were fast. Not wild. Not flashy. But pointed. Controlled.

Lucen went low, feinted high, then turned his wrist for a tight arc aimed at Varik’s collarbone.

Parried. Deflected wide.

Lucen slid back, careful not to overextend.

He could feel it now, tiny things.

The way Varik’s wrist rotated a half-beat before he struck.

How his left heel always flinched when he planned to kick.

’Little tells,’ Lucen thought. ’Little lies.’

He went in again. Feinted right. Ducked. Swung left.

Varik stepped inside the arc.

Lucen pivoted.

Their blades kissed once, then broke apart.

No words. Just breathing.

"Better," Varik said. "But don’t fall in love with motion."

Lucen panted lightly. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you’re trying too hard to be smooth. Just hit me."

—

They reset.

This time, Varik advanced first.

Lucen braced, eyes tracking, not the blade, but Varik’s shoulders. His centerline.

The first strike came wide. A test.

Lucen didn’t flinch. Slid under it. Returned with a tight cross-blade slash.

Varik blocked.

Lucen stepped in, fast, two-foot pivot, and elbowed Varik’s side lightly with his off-hand.

A hit.

Not hard. But clean.

They stopped.

Varik didn’t smile, but his voice had a grain of approval in it.

"Now that," he said, "was ugly. Good. Make more of those."

Lucen caught his breath. Wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.

’He’s trying to break my rhythm on purpose.’

—

They moved on to pressure drills.

"Stay inside my range for a full minute," Varik said. "Without swinging."

Lucen blinked. "What?"

"No attacks. Just footwork. Get in. Stay there. Breathe."

Lucen stepped in.

Varik pressed forward immediately.

Not fast. But deliberate.

Lucen danced left. Shifted right. Almost tripped backward. Recovered.

Varik stepped into his blind zone.

Lucen ducked and rolled, keeping low.

Thirty seconds in, he was sweating bullets.

His calves burned. Breath sharp.

But he was still inside range.

He saw the move before it came, Varik’s boot swept low.

Lucen hopped it. Landed sloppy.

Varik caught his shoulder with a flat tap.

"Out."

Lucen stumbled back, panting hard.

"Thirty-nine seconds," Varik said.

Lucen collapsed onto the tile with a grunt.

"Not bad," Varik added. "I expected twenty."

"Cool," Lucen muttered, "I was aiming for four."

—

Break.

Lucen gulped water like he was dying.

Varik leaned against the stairwell wall, arms crossed, watching a crow hop between AC units nearby.

"You’re leaning too far forward when you step."

Lucen blinked. "Thanks for the encouragement."

Varik tilted his head. "That was encouragement."