'You have my attention'
"Today," Eoman addressed.
No one saw when it happened, spikes erupted from the ground, in rapid sections like it was a crawling beast.
It was so fast that the kids barely had time to register before it sharply came to a halt. The last of the spikes had its tip beneath Sapphire's chin, forcing his head backwards and onto his tiptoes.
Sapphire had not moved from the way even though he knew his death could be imminent but… Kira was behind him.
The rest of the children had stumbled back, some onto the ground from fright and the abruptness of the attack.
Eoman stood upright and trudged forward, dissolving the spikes that held Sapphire.
Then stopped before the children.
"Hmm?" Eoman said, as if confused by the scared reaction of the kids.
"Why are you all so frightened?" he asked, "Be like this brave one, he barely moved a muscle." Eoman's words held admiration yet his eyes held the sight of an amused mockery as he saw Sapphire trying to maintain his trembling.
"Still active as ever," Eoman said.
Then he looked past Sapphire's shoulder, staring directly at Kira.
There isn't any need to be scared. My lady.
Kira heard Eoman's voice in her head. Her shaky hand involuntarily gripped Sapphire's shirt while being unable to break the suffocating eye contact.
Sapphire felt her trembling. He shifted even more, causing Eoman's eyes to slowly yet creepily turn to him.
Eoman's smile dug deeper.
"Alright, enough playing. All on your feet," Eoman said as he walked back to stand before the raised platform.
"What are we doing today?" Eoman said, his index finger tapping his lips continuously while the children dusted themselves after getting up.
"Ah yes, I remember!"
"Yesterday, we dabbled in reflexes and a little bit of intuition. A lot of red and a lot of flesh."
"Today, we will dive into combat. Let's move on to a small explanation."
Eoman's smile didn't fade; it just stretched thinner, turning his face into a mask of sharp angles. He began to pace a slow, erratic circle around the children, his boots crunching rhythmically against the dirt.
"Reflex, instinct, intuition and sixth sense form the basic nerve of combat aside from its structure and backbone like what Ryven had you do during your physical training."
"Ugh, this is his main expertise, I don't do boring talk and he should have got my message, shouldn't he?" Eoman said, coming to a stop. The kid that stood right in front of him was shaken and didn't know how to respond.
"Should I send another?" Eoman asked.
"I will appreciate it if you don't," a voice echoed, followed by a descent that sent dust and tremors everywhere. The children had to shield their eyes and stabilize themselves.
"Nice entrance," Eoman said.
An infuriated Ryven walked out from the dust. In his hand was a black bird whose neck was being squeezed.
"Your animal," Ryven said, pushing his hand forward, only for the bird to melt into blood from an internal explosion.
"Tragic, but moving on," Eoman said excitedly, forgetting the expression of sadness.
"Why was I called here?" Ryven asked before looking at the children.
"To teach, of course," Eoman said bluntly.
"That's your task, not mine," Ryven replied.
"But it's your area of expertise. I border on those that involve the senses and techniques of spiritual powers," Eoman said,
'Besides didn't you want your eyes on them. Now you have the opportunity,' Eoman said in Ryven's mind.
Ryven squinted his eyes as he observed Eoman.
'What are you up to?' he asked in Eoman's mind.
Eoman just raised his shoulders before relaxing them, then flashed a smile. No response whatsoever.
Ryven sighed before looking at the children. Immediately they met his gaze. Their backs straightened.
"Let's begin," Ryven's voice boomed across the training ground.
"You look at your hands and you see fingers. You see skin. You see tools for eating porridge and holding pens," Ryven said,
Eoman picked it up, his voice dropping into a rhythmic, hypnotic whisper. "A tragic delusion. The body is not a tool. The body is a siege engine."
Ryven stopped dead in his tracks, turning his palms upward.
He snapped his fingers, and the sudden sound made a few of the children jump.
"The fist is a hammer," Ryven mused, curling his fingers tightly, tucking his thumb neatly over his knuckles. "But only if you align the wrist. Punch like a fool, and your wrist folds like wet parchment. The force bounces backward and breaks your own arm. You do not hit with the whole hand. You hit with the first two knuckles—the iron rivets of the fist. Alignment! From the knuckle, through the wrist, straight down the forearm to the elbow. One solid line of bone."
He took a sudden, lunging step toward a heavy, vertical wooden post embedded in the training yard. Without a hint of hesitation or warning, he threw a straight punch.
_Crack._
The wood groaned. Ryven didn't even wince. He kept his fist pressed against the wood, turning his head to look back at the children over his shoulder, his eyes wide and gleaming.
"That is the linear blow. Distance, speed, structural alignment. But what if the enemy is too close? What if he closes the gap to choke you?"
Ryven tore his hand away from the groaning post, leaving a shallow, fractured indentation in the wood. He spun back to face the children, his gaze cutting through them.
"When space disappears, your linear hammer becomes useless," Ryven growled, stepping into the center of the yard. "You do not punch a man who has his arms wrapped around your throat. You do not have the distance to build momentum. You look for closer levers."
He raised his arms, bending them sharply at the joints.
"The edge of the palm. The heel of the hand. The elbow," Ryven barked, slicing a short-range elbow strike into the open air with terrifying velocity. "The elbow is the short-sword of your own skeleton. It does not bruise; it shatters. When an opponent rushes you, you do not drop back. You drive the point of that bone upward, straight beneath their chin. You use their own forward momentum to break their jaw."
"Oh, the jaw is an absolute classic," Eoman chimed in, leaning against a weapon rack and idly picking at his fingernails. "But don't forget the soft bits, Ryven. Tell them about the soft bits. They have such lovely, fragile eyes."
Ryven ignored him completely, his eyes locked onto Sapphire.
"Weapons are secondary," Ryven continued, his voice booming over Eoman's erratic murmuring. "A sword is nothing but a crutch if you do not understand weight distribution. If I give you steel today, you will treat it like a shield to hide behind. You will swing it with your arms instead of your hips, and you will die tired."
He walked down the line of trembling children, his shadow looming large over them.
"The throat collapses with a simple thrust of the fingertips. The nose shatters and fills their vision with blood. A man holding a greatsword cannot swing it if he is choking on his own teeth. You must become a weapon before you are allowed to hold one."
Ryven stopped directly in front of Sapphire and Kira. He looked down at Sapphire's stance, then at the way Sapphire's body still shielded the girl. A cold, hard glint passed through the instructor's eyes.
"Pairs," Ryven commanded, the word cracking like a whip. "Find a partner. Now."
The children immediately scrambled, desperate to get away from both men.
"Not you," Ryven's hand shot out, his heavy palm slamming onto Sapphire's shoulder, anchoring the boy in place. "You stay right here."
Beside them, Eoman let out a sharp, delighted giggle. "Oh, wonderful. The brave saviour gets a private lesson."
Kira's fingers tightened around nothing — Sapphire's shirt was no longer in front of her.