Bond Master

Unarmed Combat Training

Sergeant Rita Corvina led Ren Barrett across the sweeping western grounds of the academy, where the manicured grasslands transitioned into a wide, hard-packed earth arena ringed by massive ironwood weapon racks. In the center of this martial square, several raised stone rings were laid out, though most were currently empty during the midday rotation. Standing near the edge of the primary ring was a small but exceptionally thickset man in his late 40s, dressed in a simple, faded gray training uniform. His hair was cropped short and heavily peppered with gray, and his exposed forearms were a patchwork of thick, dense muscle and old white scars.

"Ah, Corvina, welcome back," the instructor said, his voice deep and gravelly as he watched them approach. He wiped his brow with a rough towel and gave Ren a long, evaluating look. "It is wonderful to see you returning to these fields as a certified teaching proctor instead of a green student scrambling through my drills. Who is this rookie you’ve dragged along with you today?"

Based on the man's apparent age, Ren quickly deduced that the instructor was highly unlikely to be an official member of the injected elite. The Divine Serum recruitment drives had only begun a decade ago, meaning this veteran would have already been well past the eligibility age threshold when the government first discovered the ancient stone formulas. However, if this man was a natural master of close-quarters martial arts, he was the absolute perfect candidate to be training the academy's new recruits. The first-year students might possess magical powers, but their untrained human bodies knew basically nothing about real combat mechanics. Unless a student happened to receive specialized martial training from a private tutor at home in the hopes of beating the five-percent lottery, they arrived at the academy completely defenseless.

"Instructor Tyson, this is Ren Barrett," Sergeant Corvina explained, stepping forward and offering a respectful nod to her former teacher. "He is an exceptional rookie, classified under a nonstandard track. He commands a ranged magic attack that utilizes heavy iron-studded gauntlets. The skill has already proven to be remarkably versatile in our morning drills. Since his preferred weapons are gauntlets, I concluded that he would fit in perfectly with your afternoon unarmed combat classes to build up his physical fundamentals."

"A gauntlet specialist with a ranged strike, eh?" Instructor Tyson muttered, his weathered face breaking into a wide, intrigued grin as he stepped down from the stone platform. "Well, that sounds like a properly versatile skill set for a frontline fighter. Alright, let’s see what you can already do with your bare hands, and what you still desperately need to learn."

Ren let out a nervous, self-deprecating laugh, while Corvina merely smirked from the sidelines. They both knew perfectly well that Ren had absolutely zero historical training in formal martial arts; his entire combat experience consisted of frantic street scuffles in the foundries and the handful of defensive drills he had completed over the last two days. But with the massive physical enhancements his body had been receiving from his soul-bond link with Grim, he hoped he wouldn't completely embarrass himself in front of a natural master.

Instructor Tyson noticed Ren's uneasy expression and offered a reassuring, good-natured smile. "Don't worry yourself too much, kid. This is just basic unarmed combat. Go ahead and set your gauntlets and scabbard over there by the racks, and we can engage in a light spar. If you're a complete newbie to the martial arts, just do whatever feels completely natural to your body. That will tell me exactly what way is best to help you develop your personal style."

The moment Ren stepped toward the weapon rack to unbuckle his heavy gear, a loud, eager screech echoed along the thought link from the deep, iron-pillared chambers of his Containment Vault. Grim had suddenly awakened from his food coma, his hyper-acute senses instantly tracking the old instructor’s movements through Ren’s eyes.

[Ren! Let me out! We should swoop down from above, wrap the iron tethers around his limbs, and break his neck immediately!] Grim demanded, his mental voice full of chaotic, youthful aggression.

That is entirely unhelpful, Grim, and we are absolutely not breaking the instructor’s neck, Ren countered in his thoughts, sending a wave of calming discipline down the link. This is a training circle. Besides, you are a ground hound, and I am a human; neither of us can fly.

[Then you should jump very high or something! I don't know, just crush him!] Grim pouted telepathically, settling back down onto the stone dais within the vault but keeping his senses tightly synchronized with Ren’s vision.

Ren set his iron-studded gauntlets and short blade carefully onto the wooden rack, turning back to face the instructor with nothing but his bare fists. He took a wide, centered combat stance—the basic defensive posture Corvina had taught him in his room on the very first day. At the very least, he now understood the proper way to align his knuckles and hips so he could throw a punch without fracturing his own wrist, but they would have to see how an actual live match played out.

Instructor Tyson slid into an incredibly relaxed, fluid stance, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. Without a single word of warning, the veteran stepped forward and threw a sudden, blindingly fast punch straight toward Ren's jaw.

Ren's enhanced reflexes flared. He raised his bare forearm, swatting the incoming fist aside using the exact rhythmic deflection technique Corvina had drilled into him inside the bunker. The block was successful, and Ren instantly launched a counterattack, driving a powerful right hook toward Tyson's exposed ribs.

To Ren's utter shock, the instructor didn't even bother to block the strike. With a minimal, micro-adjustment of his heels, Tyson simply sidestepped the incoming punch, allowing Ren’s fist to sail harmlessly through the empty air. Ren spun slightly from the momentum, quickly recovering his balance to throw a follow-up jab, but the old man smoothly tilted his head back, causing the strike to miss by a fraction of an inch. For a human who didn't possess a single drop of elite Mana, Tyson was insanely agile. The realization slammed into Ren's mind that Sergeant Corvina must have been making it even easier on him during their first day than he had originally suspected.

Before Ren could reset his guard, Tyson slid inside his reach. The instructor’s knee snapped upward, catching Ren squarely in the midsection. The blunt force of the strike was immense, driving the wind from Ren’s lungs and forcing him back on three staggered steps across the dirt.

Gasping for air, Ren refused to let the match end so quickly. Instead of backing away entirely, he dropped his weight low to the earth and swung his leg out in a wide, sweeping kick, aiming directly for Tyson’s ankles to knock the veteran off balance. It was a messy, unrefined street movement he had picked up in the Soot stone alleys. Because he misjudged the veteran's exact spacing, the sweep failed to connect cleanly, but dropping low allowed Ren to duck beneath a dangerous follow-up knee strike. Seizing the sudden opening, Ren lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Tyson’s torso in a desperate, heavy tackle.

Tyson was only a few inches taller than Ren, and the sheer physical power Ren inherited from Grim's Awakened-tier bond should have been enough to drive the smaller man into the dirt. However, Ren quickly discovered that raw elite strength meant very little against a master of leverage. The moment Ren's arms locked around his waist, Tyson didn't resist the forward momentum. Instead, the veteran grabbed Ren’s shoulders, shifted his hips back, and used Ren’s own rushing speed against him.

In a split second, the world flipped upside down. Ren felt himself spinning helplessly through the air before slamming flat onto his back with a heavy, resonating thud.