Chapter 52: Improvement.
(A/N Big thanks to everyone for the Power stones and Golden tickets, they mean a lot. As usual, please don’t hesitate to comment or drop a review. ENJOY)
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Orion had decided to test his swordmanship without any skill or magic before applying Protocol; his new transition had to have an improvement on his physique, no matter how minimal.
The courtyard of the Chronos estate echoed with the sharp crack of wooden blades colliding. The sun hung high, its light spilling across the stone tiles, where Orion and Iris circled one another.
Both wielded wooden swords, stripped of any ornament or magic. Pure technique, pure grit.
Iris’ grip was relaxed, almost casual, the tip of her blade dipping slightly as though it weighed nothing. Her posture carried the quiet confidence of a predator who had hunted the same prey countless times.
Across from her, Orion stood steady, sweat already dotting his brow. His stance was firm, tighter than it had been even a year ago. His body was lean but packed with wiry strength, and though his chest rose and fell with anticipation, his hands did not tremble.
Four years of training under her hand had carved the boy from stubborn marble into something resembling a swordsman.
But today, Iris planned to push him harder, most likely out of spite for her loss.
Without warning, she lunged.
The whistle of wood cleaving air snapped Orion’s instincts awake. His sword came up, barely intercepting her first diagonal cut. The force reverberated down his arms; the sheer pressure of her strike nearly jarred the blade loose.
He exhaled sharply, twisting his wrists and shoving her sword off-line, then stepping into the gap with a sudden thrust aimed for her ribs.
Fast. Too fast for a child.
Iris’ lips quirked faintly. She pivoted, letting the thrust skim past her waist, and with the same motion, her sword whipped upward in a rising arc.
Orion ducked, the wooden edge grazing the air above his head. His knees coiled, then he sprang backward, widening the distance again.
The clash had lasted barely five seconds, and already his muscles hummed with strain.
"You’re hesitating less," Iris remarked, her tone clipped, no room for praise. "But your wrists are too stiff as usual."
Orion gritted his teeth, shifting his grip. He wasn’t here for kind words.
They closed again.
Her blade snapped forward in a feint. Orion’s senses screamed, his body reacting before his mind caught up. He jerked to the side—just in time for her real strike to crash into his guard. The blow thundered through his arms, pushing him two steps back across the courtyard tiles.
Wood cracked against wood, again and again, each impact a jolt. His breathing quickened, but so did his footwork. He circled, redirected, struck low, then high, every motion sharpened by years of Iris’ merciless drills.
He slashed horizontally. She leaned back, blade barely lifting to parry. The movement was so smooth, so precise, it almost mocked him.
His jaw clenched. His sword snapped upward in a tight vertical cut. Blocked. He twisted mid-motion, flipping into a reverse slash. Sparks of friction flew where the wooden blades screeched together.
"Better," Iris said simply, her eyes glinting with faint approval.
Orion didn’t answer. His arms were already burning, but the fire in his chest drowned it out.
He advanced.
The tempo shifted. Orion’s strikes grew faster, heavier, his wooden sword whistling with each motion. He forced Iris into three quick parries, then a sidestep, his blade nearly grazing her hip.
His heart hammered.
’Close. Closer than before.’ He thought.
But Iris’ counters came like lightning. A low sweep nearly knocked his legs from under him—he leapt. Before his feet touched ground, she twisted and jabbed upward, the wooden tip racing toward his sternum.
Orion tilted his sword flat, angling it just enough to deflect. He landed in a crouch, chest heaving, his arms vibrating with shock.
"Not bad," Iris said, no mockery in her voice. Only measured observation.
Orion’s teeth flashed in a brief grin. He was lasting longer.
Minutes bled into each other. The sound of wood echoed across the courtyard in steady, rhythmic bursts, like a drumbeat of battle. Iris never slowed, never relented, her strikes precise and punishing. Yet Orion endured, even pushing back, his blade weaving through angles he had drilled into his bones.
Sweat poured down his face. His lungs screamed. His palms burned where the wood bit against his skin.
But his eyes, sharp, bright, hungry, never wavered.
He ducked another slash, the blade grazing his shoulder. Pain flared, but he ignored it, his counter a desperate jab aimed at her thigh. She sidestepped smoothly, her own strike cutting down toward his collarbone.
At the last instant, he twisted, his blade shooting upward to intercept. The wood cracked, the shockwave rattling both their arms.
He had stopped her cleanly.
For the first time, Iris’ brows lifted slightly.
Orion surged forward, heart hammering. He slashed again, a wild storm of blows left, right, overhead. Each one faster than the last, reckless but unyielding.
She blocked them all. Effortlessly.
Still, he didn’t stop.
Her sword flicked sideways, a sharp riposte. It smashed against his ribs, the wooden blade thudding into his side. Pain lanced through him, almost dropping him.
He stumbled, his breath breaking.
But instead of retreating, he lunged back in, a hoarse cry tearing from his throat as his sword came down in a desperate overhead strike.
The blow had weight. Not clean, not perfect, but raw, brutal weight.
Iris braced her sword horizontally. The clash rang out like a bell, the shock shaking the courtyard stones.
Both of them froze for a fraction of a second, locked in the bind.
Sweat dripped into Orion’s eyes. His arms trembled. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to let go.
But he didn’t. He pushed harder.
Iris looked down at him, eyes narrowing slightly. His feet dug into the tiles, refusing to yield.
For the first time, his pressure wasn’t childlike. It was real. A strike she had to answer.
The silence between them stretched.
Orion’s eyes flickered, his body moving almost on instinct. He twisted his wrists, angling his blade in a sudden attempt to slip off her guard and drive straight for her shoulder.
The motion was sharp. Sudden. Unpredictable.
Her eyes widened just a fraction.
And in that moment, for the first time in years of sparring, Orion’s wooden sword slipped past her defence.