SSS Rank: Spellcraft Sovereign-Chapter 147: Sword Training (3)

Next drill: disarm mechanics.

Varik showed the sequence first.

Simple. Three steps.

Block.

Slide to grip.

Twist at the wrist.

Lucen tried.

Failed.

Varik yanked his blade out of Lucen’s hands twice in under ten seconds.

Lucen glared.

"You’re twisting before the slide," Varik said.

"Because I think I’m doing it right."

"You’re thinking. That’s the problem."

Lucen reset. Tried again.

This time, he blocked.

Slid.

Twisted.

The sword slipped once, but stayed in Lucen’s grip.

Varik nodded.

Lucen smiled slightly. "Next time I’ll just steal it."

"Try."

—

Varik struck. A flurry of quick cuts, not deep, just enough to test Lucen’s reaction timing.

Lucen blocked two.

Caught the third.

Twisted hard.

For a second, their grips locked.

Then Varik let go.

Lucen stepped back, holding both blades.

Varik raised an eyebrow.

"You’re learning."

Lucen handed his sword back.

"Yeah," he said. "Because you keep beating the stupid out of me."

—

Final exercise for the morning: sparring with constraint.

"No footwork," Varik said.

Lucen blinked. "You mean just—stand still?"

"Feet planted. Torso only."

Lucen stepped into position. Planted his boots.

Varik circled.

Their blades touched once.

Lucen ducked. Twisted. Deflected twice with nothing but shoulder torque and arm angles.

He missed a block and caught the flat of Varik’s blade on his ribs.

"Again," Varik said.

Lucen reset.

By the third exchange, he was blocking with forearms. Not technique, just survival.

Varik didn’t ease up.

"Control," he said. "Not flailing."

Lucen grunted. "That was control."

"You’re yelling."

"I’m whispering through the pain."

—

The sun was higher now.

Lucen dropped onto the rooftop ledge, out of breath, clothes soaked through.

His grip ached. Wrists sore. Shoulders felt like steel cables pulled too tight.

Varik sat nearby. Cross-legged.

"You’ll hate the next stage," he said.

Lucen didn’t even look at him.

"I already hate this one."

"You’ll appreciate it when it saves your ass."

Lucen leaned back. Head tipped to the sky.

’Maybe. But not right now.’

—

Dawn broke gray across the rooftop. Lucen’s shirt was already soaked with sweat, and he hadn’t even moved yet. The air smelled faintly of rain and burned concrete. City hum below felt farther than usual.

Varik stood across from him, cloak tossed over one shoulder, sword unsheathed. In those early rays, the steel glinted pale, like shattered moonlight.

"You ready?" Varik asked softly. No judgment. Just fact.

Lucen sighed. Fingers curled around his own blade. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

Varik nodded, gave a small flourish of his blade. Then he didn’t move. He just waited.

Lucen exhaled. He raised his sword. Not tense. Just alert. Muscles steady. Mind sharper.

—

Drill One was Rhythm Disruption

Varik struck first, single slash low, silent curve. Blade cut the air with blurred speed. Lucen parried instinctively. Reversed. Varik stepped back.

Then he attacked again, same motion.

Lucen blocked again.

Then he attacked from the opposite side, mirror of the first.

Lucen read it.

Blocked.

Varik paused.

"You set the rhythm," Varik said. "Now break your own."

Lucen frowned. And attacked, twice, hard, left then right, same arc.

Varik sidestepped fluidly and countered. Lucen backed off.

"Less motion. More intent."

Lucen tilted his head. "You just told me to break rhythm."

"Break your own. Not mine." Varik said.

Lucen nodded, wiped sweat from his brow, reset stance.

When the next exchange began, both were shifting unpredictably. Not fast, but fragmented. Feints mixed with shifts. Lucen blocked one sweep, then twisted inside and grazed Varik’s side.

Varik glanced. "Better."

—

Drill Two was Feint Framing

Varik drew a light glyph in the dust with his boot. Circle. Square. Then Marched within it. Controlled blade slicing arcs.

Lucen watched.

Then Varik lunged at the circle’s edge.

Lucen blocked, but stumbled backward, outside his line. Varik adjusted distance, pressed in with feigned strikes.

Lucen repositioned inside the circle.

"Good," Varik said.

"Why the circle?" Lucen asked quietly.

"Limits," Varik replied. "Makes you aware of boundaries. You force control when there’s no space."

Lucen exhaled. Spider webs of sweat forming on his temples.

Feint drill began. Lucen mimicked Varik’s arc, but feinted right, then turned low, then backward. Varik pressed. Lucen danced.

Eventually he slid outside the circle, breathing heavy, shoulder shaking.

Varik flicked his blade lightly against Lucen’s torso.

"You broke the framing. Learned it."

— 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

Break

Lucen leaned against the ledge, panting, forearms heavy. City air washed cool against his overheated skin. A drone whirred overhead. He let his gaze soften until he saw Varik’s silhouette beyond the rail, still, quiet.

Varik poured two small bottles of water from a satchel. Handed one over.

Lucen’s fingers trembled as he drank.

Varik watched without comment.

Lucen nodded finally. "Alright."

—

Drill Three was Displacement Counterplay

This one involved two swords. Varik attacked. Lucen mirrored. No blocks. Instead, each parried momentarily then slid around the blade, landing off-angle slashes.

Varik backed up but kept pressure constant.

Lucen stumbled once. Varik pressed again. Lucen blocked with forearm. Then flicked his wrist to angle the blade backward, but forgot the follow-through, and his stance collapsed.

Varik paused, breathing evenly. "Counterattack isn’t just riposte. It’s displacement. You need to finish motion."

Lucen nodded slowly. Got up. Reset.

When the drill resumed, Lucen advanced into Varik’s guard, slid to the side under the next strike, and ended with a short slash. Varik blocked, barely, but the contact force pulled him slightly.

That was the test.

Lucen’s heart thumped.

Varik didn’t smile. "You’re starting to read lines, not wait for them."

—

Drill Four was Blind Precision

Varik handed Lucen a blindfold. Thick cloth. Lucen pulled it over his eyes. The rooftop turned silent. Air still warmer. Sounds muted. He could hear only his breath, distant traffic, his heartbeat.

Varik circled. Not fast. Not slow. Controlled pace. Every step measured.

Lucen moved, slower, but deliberate. Turning his head to track faint air shifts, toe-catches, blade vibrations.

Varik struck.

Metal met air.

Lucen raised a guard off memory. Blade snapped against force. Parried. Pivoted. Slashed.

—

Varik paused. "Your foot pivot was too wide."

Lucen nodded. Without sight, he could feel where he erred.

They repeated the blind drill. This time Lucen danced inside the circle of Varik’s blade-swing radius with tighter steps, better breath, smoother flow. Again and again until he could sense the strike before hearing it and block fluidly.

Varik nodded sharply.

—

Break Two

Sweat dripped off Lucen’s chin. Gloves ripped at his palms. Shirt stuck tight. He leaned back, spine against the wall. His eyes were closed behind the cloth, but he left the blindfold on.

Varik sat beside the low ledge.

"You keep surprising," Varik finally said. "Inconsistent. But better."

Lucen exhaled. "That’s diplomacy."

"No," Varik said. "It’s progress."