The misty chill lunged at me as I stepped into the clearing near the house. On the dew-covered land, the scent of wet earth mingling with the crisp bite of the air hung heavy. The world felt almost still, save for the faint creak of wood as Alvin adjusted the training puppet in the center of the clearing.
"You're late." He said in his usual flat voice, but now with an unmistakable hint of disapproval.
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Still not used to the early routine," I said apologetically, offering a half-hearted smile.
A nod was all I got in response before he gestured for me to warm up.
I went through the motions, stretching against the cold air, my breath forming faint clouds. My tense muscles soon relaxed, and when I felt sufficiently limber, I walked over to Alvin.
"Pick a training weapon," he said.
"Actually…," I hesitated, "I want to improve my hand-to-hand combat. Yesterday, you barely moved and still countered everything I threw at you. Can we review that?"
Alvin paused momentarily, considering how to structure the lesson. Then he nodded in agreement.
"I assume you want to learn defensive maneuvers, right?" he asked as he cracked his neck and relaxed his shoulders.
I nodded, settling into my stance.
"Alright," he said, rolling his wrists. "We'll start with reading an opponent's movements."
He circled me slowly and continued, his footsteps soundless on the damp grass. "Tell me, what happens before someone throws a punch?"
I frowned, thinking back to yesterday's sparring session. "They shift their weight?"
"Good," he said. "Every attack starts before it's thrown. How a person distributes their weight, the movement of eyes, muscle tension, and the angle of their feet all betray their next move. If you learn to read these cues, you can act before they strike."
He raised a fist in a demonstration. "For example, if I throw a punch from my right, what happens first?"
I studied him closely. His weight dipped slightly to his left, his right shoulder tensed, coiling like a drawn bowstring. "You transfer your balance to the opposite side and tense your shoulder."
He subtly nodded, and then his right fist shot forward.
I twisted away, dodging cleanly. But the moment I did, Alvin's balance shifted, his left shoulder tensed and his other fist came surging toward my stomach. I barely managed to pull back, only for a low kick to sweep my leg. I stumbled toward the ground, but before I hit the dirt, his hand caught my wrist, steadying me.
Alvin exhaled, shaking his head. "Anticipation means nothing if you overcommit to a single read. Good fighters expect to be read. They'll feint, bait, and break rhythm to throw you off. That's why the first step is to look for the intention of your opponent before engaging them."
I scoffed, still catching my breath. "Like… whether they're trying to kill me?"
Alvin didn't even blink and nodded solemnly before continuing, "Yes, that's a good observation. Someone aiming to kill you will be drastically different from an opponent that is trying to capture you alive. The latter will focus on exhaustion tactics, restrain, or knocking you out without lasting damage. Recognizing the simple information that an opponent avoids vital spots will greatly help you in battle. So understanding the intentions of your enemies will become invaluable as your prediction of their movement becomes easier and you can use it against them."
I coughed, trying to smother a laugh. I had meant it as a joke but it went over his head.
"So… you're saying I have to figure out every enemy's intent before I even engage?"
"Yes." He said, meeting my gaze. "In any fight that's the first step."
Planting his feet firmly he gestured me to attack.
I hesitated for only a second before lunging forward.
I threw a feint, a half-hearted right hook, aiming to mislead before twisting into a sharp left jab toward his face.
Alvin didn't fall for it.
He sidestepped cleanly, his arm moving like a blur to catch my wrist. Before I could react, he yanked me forward, using my momentum against me.
When I processed what happened, I was on my knees, and my balance shattered.
I immediately tried to stand up, but suddenly I felt a sharp gust of cold air grazing the back of my neck.
I froze.
Fuck, if that had been a real strike I would be dead.
Alvin withdrew his hand and stepped back.
"All fights are merely an exchange of intentions, nothing but a clash of wills, each trying to impose its intent upon the other. Think of them as conversations, but often spoken in the language of violence."
I frowned, getting to my feet. "Meaning?"
"For example, a punch thrown might mean 'move', and a block replies, 'no'. A feint is a lie, 'look here,' while the strike shouts, 'too late'."
"That's incredibly vague. How do I know I'm reading it correctly? I could assume and mistakenly assign meaning to someone's action different from what they had in mind since everything is up for me to interpret." I said.
"You're overcomplicating it," Alvin said, "In a conversation, words can deceive, but intent leaks through tone, expression, and body language. Combat is the same. Look for what they are prioritizing and what they are avoiding. Track consistency, what they are trying to achieve throughout the fight." Alvin explained patiently in his dull, monotonous voice.
"You're talking about reading patterns," I said, narrowing my eyes.
He nodded and continued, "Just like people express their intentions in a conversation habitually, they also act out their intentions in a fight in patterns accustomed to them. Even if there are endless ways to communicate, most people lean into a straightforward approach that is routine to them. Most believe they're unique and unpredictable, but when you look deep into it, you will see everyone is simply following a pattern, a structure, or a system exposed to them. Whether in a fight, a conversation, or in life."
I detected a subtle weight in his otherwise monotonous voice at the end.
"So everyone is following a pattern, making them and their intentions predictable? Doesn't that make everyone weak?" I asked skeptically.
"Not weak, just known," Alvin corrected. "Recognizing an overwhelming opponent intends to kill you doesn't change the fact they're stronger. It just means you can react better. You are looking at patterns as limitations, but they are mere tools. A skilled speaker moves hearts because they understand how words flow. A Seasoned fighter controls a battle because they understand rhythm. The patterned structure has power if wielded correctly. For instance, combat techniques and styles are structured and repetitive, yet people stick with them because of their proven track record of success."
I absorbed his words in silence as Alvin continued.
"Most assume strength is about overpowering an opponent. But real strength isn't about brute force, it's about control. A strong fighter dictates the pace of battle, deciding the terms of engagement. Patterns are useful tools, whether to impose your control or to dismantle the enemy's."
I absorbed his words in silence, processing each one.
Then he straightened. "Now, let's test your defense. Show me your block."
I raised my arms into a tight guard, bracing myself.
Alvin didn't hesitate. His palm struck forward in a direct thrust.
The impact slammed into my forearms, sending a sharp jolt of pain rippling through them. The sheer force drove me back several steps. I could barely hold my stance.
"Blocking is about stopping an attack head-on," Alvin said, watching me recover. "It's effective, but inefficient. You absorbed the full impact, but now the counter is delayed and you're open for follow-up attacks. It's easier because of the lack of precise timing or finesse requirements, but it drains you fast. If my attack had been stronger, I would've broken straight through your guard."
I nodded, shaking out the numbness in my arms. "Alright, so I shouldn't rely on blocking unless I have no other option. What else is there?"
Alvin replied in a remained calm but firm voice. "Redirecting an attack is about guiding an opponent's force to your advantage. It's more efficient than blocking but riskier. If you miscalculate, you'll take the hit. But done right, a well-executed redirection not only thwarts the enemy attack but also opens a window for an immediate counterattack, seamlessly turning the opponent's move against them. The key is precise anticipation and executing the deflection at the right moment."
He shifted into a fighting stance and gave me a slight nod.
I took the cue, locking my gaze into his movements. The moment his fist shot forward, I moved.
Sidestepping slightly, I angled my right forearm to catch his wrist. As soon as I made contact, I pushed his strike away from my centerline and snapped my left hand toward his face in retaliation.
But before I could land the counter, his other hand shot forward like a viper, snatching my wrist mid-motion.
I barely registered his movement before he used my trapped arm and a shift in his weight to pull me forward. The deflected arm came right back, stopping just an inch from my ribs.
I swallowed hard.
Alvin released me and stepped back.
"Facing someone stronger, never meet them head-on. Meeting force with force against them is a losing battle," he said. "You redirect when you're forced into their range or when they charge, using their weight and force against them. Your priority should be maintaining distance. Weave in and out of their range, never letting them overwhelm you."
Rubbing my arm, I straightened. "Okay, but what if my opponent has a long-range ability? Like a stun attack? Wouldn't all this become useless?"
Alvin's expression remained impassive. "That depends. Are you both unarmed? What's the terrain? How far is their stun range? Can you evade it with movement?"
I paused, hearing his questions.
My silly hypothetical question wasn't to discredit all that he taught. Rather, I was trying to work out a sound strategy for facing the beast in the future using his expertise.
I sifted through my memory of the fight with the stupid mutt, piecing together every relevant detail before answering him.
"No, the stun can't be avoided. It has a long range. The fight takes place in a narrow corridor. Both fighters are unarmed, but there's broken junk scattered around."
Alvin nodded, his expression unreadable as he considered my words.
"In any fight, positioning is a key factor that determines the outcome," he said. "Especially in a defending fight. You need to find and maintain a favorable position throughout the fight to not get dragged into the enemy's rhythm. Never let an opponent with a tactical advantage like this dictate the pace, or you'll be stuck reacting to their strategy instead of executing your own."
He paused before offering instructions for the problem. "First, angle yourself and pace around side to side, away from their dominant side. Force them to adjust constantly to keep you in their line of attack while trying to stay in a more comfortable position to strike yourself. For an ability like this, you have two options: distance control and disruption."
"Distance control means strategically positioning yourself to leverage your strengths to the maximum while cutting down enemies," Alvin continued. "Stay far enough that they can't close in on you immediately after using the stun, but close enough that they can't fire it off comfortably, either."
I frowned. "But I still can't dodge the stun, right?"
Alvin's eyes sharpened. "That's why you disrupt. When you see them preparing the stun, act before they can finish. Throw the scattered debris to break their concentration. If that's not an option, then charge. A sudden, controlled assault forces them to react instead of preparing their attack. Your job is never to let them use their ability freely."
I nodded slowly, absorbing the advice. "And if I get pulled into close combat?"
"Then dexterity is your weapon," Alvin said smoothly. "Don't fight them head-on. Use quick, lateral movements to stay unpredictable. Make them chase you into bad positions instead of trying to overpower them. Redirect their strikes, guide their momentum, and set up opportunities to counter."
His voice took on a sharp edge. "And when you do strike, make it count. Eyes. Temples. Neck. Ribs. Solar plexus. Groin. Every attack should target a critical point. Don't waste energy throwing meaningless strikes. Make sure every hit is fatal."
Alvin paused, letting the lesson settle before adding, "Every fight is determined by multiple factors. Experience, abilities, techniques, mental state, terrain, equipment, and even the occurrence of sheer luck. What I shared with you is not some surefire formula to win, but merely a strategy to tackle the problem using your pattern."
I frowned. "My pattern?"
Alvin's gaze didn't waver. "You overthink enough to paralyze yourself. And when you do finally act, you're impulsive. Recklessly plunging in without thinking of the consequences, always aiming for the quickest way to inflict damage.That's why I broke the strategy into clear objectives, to keep you focused rather than getting drowned in unnecessary details."
Before giving me room to explain, he continued his neutral tone. "That's why I have no trouble predicting your moves or seeing through your feints. You hesitate, hesitate, then suddenly commit all-in without adjusting."
His words caught me off guard. Was that true?
Sure, I tended to think things through before acting. But wasn't that being cautious? And yeah, sometimes I charged in, but that didn't mean I was reckless. Right?
I cleared my throat, trying to explain myself. "I don't know what made you come to that conclusion, but-"
But Alvin cut me off, his voice emotionless. "I already told you. Words can deceive, but a person's intention leaks through their actions. My judgment wasn't formed overnight. It's based on years of watching your habits. If you disagree, ask others for a different perspective."
"Okay, first of all-" I started, but he interrupted again, shutting down the argument before it started.
"We're not debating this," he said firmly. "You're narrow-minded and rigidly cling to your worldview. I'm not interested in arguing."
I blinked. Excuse me? What the fuck did he say?
"Me? Narrow-minded?" I scoffed. "Are you being serious? Hold on, is this your attempt at making a joke like a normal person? If it is, then you're doing a poor job." I said in a mix of disbelief and mockery.
Alvin ignored me entirely and moved on. "Blocking, redirection, evasion, distance control, and countering. These are the core defensive maneuvers."
I scowled but let it go, deciding not to push the issue further. There was no point in holding anything against an unfeeling stone statue.
"They are not better than one another. A patient fighter who can take heavy hits might rely on blocking until they wear down their opponent. A fast, agile fighter will focus on evasion and redirection to avoid damage. Every combatant leans into a mix of these techniques depending on their strengths."
He paused and met my gaze. "For you, a combination of distance control and countering works best."
"Why?" I asked, my frustration dimming as curiosity took over.
"Because you overthink and hesitate before engaging. Distance control buys you time to think without becoming a stationary target. It forces opponents to act first, letting you analyze them without being under direct threat."
I nodded slowly as his reasoning made sense.
"You also have no remorse or hesitation when attacking. That impulsive, brutal intent needs to be refined into calculated, merciless strikes. Rather than forcing an opening, you need to create one by controlling the pace of the fight. Let the opponent make a mistake and punish them for it. If they don't, rely on pattern analysis to dominate the fight."
I exhaled slowly, hearing him, and said, to reaffirm what he had already said: "So, to be more effective, I must master distance control to improve positioning, patiently wait for openings, and turn my attacks into calculated strikes."
"Yes," Alvin confirmed. "We'll drill this until it becomes second nature. I'll add the techniques to the wooden puppet. Your job is to practice relentlessly until this pattern becomes instinct."
I nodded, and Alvin began demonstrating the drills.
I followed his instructions, refining each movement under his impassive gaze. He was meticulous, adjusting my stance, correcting my footwork, and ensuring my execution was flawless before moving on. He also patiently explained the reasoning behind each movement, ensuring I understood its purpose.
We practiced until he was confident I could continue without supervision.
"Focus on lead hand control and push kicks. They're crucial for maintaining distance," he instructed. "Once you grasp each technique, start chaining them together. Every movement should flow into the next. And use timed rounds. They will help you overcome the tendency to overthink and condition you to make split-second decisions under pressure."
I nodded resolutely. "I will."
Alvin studied me for a moment before speaking again. "If you do, good. These drills aren't just to teach you techniques. They're meant to challenge your bad habits and break them apart. If you don't push yourself into stressful conditions, you won't improve. You'll just be memorizing moves without actually learning them."
He gestured to the wooden puppet. "That's all for today. I'll set up the drills. You can rest or continue practicing."
I chose the latter.
I was determined to ensure my posture, technique, and execution were perfect so that I didn't end up practicing bad techniques. Alvin checked my form one last time, confirming that I was perfect to practice with, even in his absence. Once he was done with the puppet, he rationed me enough Wood Dao Essence to sustain my training.
After everything was in place, we walked back together.
Alvin headed straight for the shed and brought out one of the Taurus. He turned to me, his voice as monotone as ever.
"Rafaella should be in the kitchen. There's still some time before Mrs. Lissy arrives. You can rest."
Without waiting for a response, he walked off.
I silently watched him leave with the massive, muscular beast in tow.
I didn't need to rest. Today's training had been more theoretical, and the drills weren't nearly as grueling as yesterday's mayhem.
What had me concerned, though, was facing Rafaella.
What should I do? Should I stay or leave?
Alvin's skills had already highlighted just how much I still had to learn, but more importantly, he was genuinely willing to teach. Staying in Crafts Wood meant refining my combat skills under his guidance, and growing into a stronger fighter.
Rafaella would also teach me her craft wholeheartedly if I stayed.
The only downside? It delayed my progression in the Charm Demon path.
Grinding for SP and advancing my bloodline would take a backseat. Maybe Lissy could help with that. Maybe not.
But was that a problem?
It wasn't like I'd be stagnating. I'd just be putting one area of progress on pause, and I could make up for it once I reach the city.
And Granny? She'd probably want me to stay. I couldn't imagine how she'd feel if I turned around and went back home, knowing Rafaella needed me here.
I stood there, lost in thought, before slowly shaking my head.
Does any of this even matter?
Am I supposed to grind endlessly like some inhuman machine?
Am I chasing power just for the sake of having it?
No.
I don't want power just to have it.
I want power so I can freely do what I desire.
To roam the world, exploring every city, every forgotten ruin, every untamed land. To indulge in the finest delicacies, to bed the most beautiful women, to dive into every adventure and thrill the world has to offer fearlessly.
To protect the people I care about and cherish what's dear to me.
I will become the strongest, strong enough that my name alone makes the world tremble.
Be it Gods, Nobes, Monsters, or Ascenders.
Everyone should dread to stand in my path.
And my power? It's just the key to all of that.
If I have to turn my back on the ones I care about in my pursuit of power, then what's the point of having it in the first place?
I'll stay.
I don't need to turn my back on anyone I care about.
If my mere presence can help ease her mind, then she is not asking too much.
But how the hell was I supposed to tell her I would stay?
I couldn't just say, "Hey, I'm staying because I saw you cry. Don't be sad, okay?" That would sound odd.
And I had already been rude enough to her yesterday.
Then again, to her, I'm probably still the brat who used to follow her around. Maybe she wouldn't think too much of it.
Still… apologizing feels awkward.
The unfeeling giant said intent would be revealed through action, even if words are unspoken.
Maybe he is right. I don't need to say anything at all.
I just had to show it.
My gaze landed on the spade leaning against the shed wall.
Without another thought, I grabbed it and walked inside.
#####
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