The training room faintly hummed with the low whine of the energy barriers that lined its walls. Rows of flooring and reinforced alloy plating gleamed under the pale strip-lights above, a place designed for impact collisions and for the steady drumbeat of progress. The smell of the air was metallic and coppery, a mix of disinfectant and the ozone tang left behind by the room's LUCID-tech generators.
Jaune flexed his grip on the hilt of his training blade. The sword was a composite replica, blunt enough not to cut yet weighted well enough to mimic sharp steel. His bodysuit was a sleek, black weave lace. It moved like a second skin, snug enough to be flexible yet durable due the special fibers embedded within. Across from him, Oscar stood poised, dual short swords gleaming in his hands and clad in his own bodysuit.
Oscar's stance was steady and calm, but there was an invisible electricity in the air around him—an energy of anticipation that hung sharp and tense. Jaune watched carefully, eyes narrowing. He was wary of the boy's rune.
Force.
Yang had been impressed with what she'd seen Oscar do with it, calling it a "flash-step." A basic application of enhancement type runes, she'd said, but devastating if mastered. And Jaune was about to see why.
Oscar moved.
One moment he was standing still, with weight coiled on the balls of his feet, and the next he blurred, a ripple through the air as if space itself recoiled from his acceleration. The Force rune layered an invisible energy over his muscles and boots, which turned a simple push forward into an explosive burst. Jaune had only a fraction of a second to register the arc of Oscar's leg cutting through the air, aimed straight at his head.
Jaune bent backward, spine bowing almost unnaturally with the new flexibility his body allowed. The kick scythed overhead, missing him by a hair's breadth. Air rushed past his nose, sharp enough to sting.
Oscar sailed by, but he wasn't done. Mid-air, the younger boy twisted, thrusting one foot down. His rune flared again—Jaune saw the faint shimmer of displaced energy as Oscar layered Force into an opposing push beneath him. It was like he'd kicked off an invisible platform. His momentum inverted instantly, carrying him downward in a brutal slash.
Both blades cut down in a crisscross arc. The alloy edges screamed against Jaune's training sword as he deflected them, sparks of pale light flickering from the impact. The power behind Oscar's strike was impressive, more than his stats should've allowed due to the application of his rune, but Jaune was still able to turn it aside, rolling his wrist and hopping back to widen the gap.
Oscar landed in a crouch, didn't waste a second. The glow of his rune burned faint around his boots. Again, Force coiled, layered in the opposite direction, and in another instant he blurred forward—straight into Jaune's guard.
Jaune met him this time, sword braced in both hands. The impact rattled through his arms. He felt his stance shift, boots squealing faintly against the alloy floor as Oscar forced his blade off-line. The opening was there, and Oscar pressed into it without hesitation, slashing high toward Jaune's face.
In Oscar's perception, the world slowed. That strange sensation of overclocked movement that came with channeling Force flooded his veins. Every beat of his heart echoed loud. Every breath stretched long. He could taste it—the advantage, the sliver of victory.
But then Jaune smiled. Just a small curl of his lips, almost lazy.
Oscar's gut tightened. Something about that smile felt wrong.
'No—he's up to something—'
Oscar tried to adjust, tried to layer Force again into his feet mid-dash, to veer past Jaune with another sudden shift. His intent was to 'flash-step' to the flank, cut past Jaune and counter whatever he had planned before it could come. He poured his focus into the rune—
—and it collapsed.
His body stuttered. The energy he'd been feeding into the Force rune flickered, guttering out like a flame in the wind. A hollowness struck him, sharp and unnatural, as if an entire chunk of his strength, momentum and power had simply been shaved off in an instant.
Jaune's rune. Weakness.
The sudden drop ripped Oscar's balance apart. His acceleration warped into deceleration mid-air, leaving him stumbling, limbs tangling as his body lagged behind the intent of his movements. His foot caught, his angle skewed. For the briefest moment he was weightless and helpless, all his momentum betraying him.
Jaune flowed past his guard like water. His training blade rose, not in a heavy swing but in a calm interception, perfectly placed in the line of Oscar's misstep.
Oscar collided with it. From the outside it looked almost comical, as if he'd dashed straight into Jaune's sword himself. The blunt alloy pressed into his chest with a dull thunk, and then his body flipped.
He hit the ground hard. The impact rolled him across the metal plating, tumbling end over end until friction dragged him to a stop. His swords clattered away from his hands, bouncing noisily against the floor. Breath left his lungs in a rough huff, and for a moment he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, chest heaving.
Jaune's footsteps approached, unhurried. He didn't gloat or raise his sword in victory. Instead, he simply crouched beside Oscar, resting the practice blade across his lap. His expression was calm, though his eyes were sharp.
"You're getting a lot faster," Jaune said. His voice wasn't mocking—if anything, it was approving. "That layering you're doing with Force? It's clever. Dangerous, too. "I'd hate to be on the receiving end of it once you reach comprehension."
Oscar grimaced, sucking in air. "But… not good enough."
"Not yet." Jaune tilted his head, studying him. "But you'll get there. The trick is, you're not used to someone cutting your momentum off. You rely too much on Force carrying you through. Weakness doesn't drain all of it, you know, just enough to mess with your rhythm. That's all I needed."
Oscar groaned, rolling to his side. His chest still ached faintly from where the dull blade had struck. He reached for one of his short swords, pulling it back with a weary grunt.
Jaune stood, offering him a hand. Oscar hesitated, then took it, letting Jaune haul him back onto his feet. The energy between them wasn't hostile—if anything, it was the hum of mutual respect, of two fighters testing each other and pushing at their limits.
The room was quiet again except for the faint hum of the LUCID barriers and the sound of their breathing.
"Again?" Oscar asked, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.
Jaune nodded with a small smirk, though it didn't really reach his eyes. "Of course. You think I'm gonna let you quit after one fall?"
Oscar grinned faintly despite himself, resetting his stance. His rune pulsed faintly at his boots again, Force itching to be unleashed. Jaune lifted his training sword in answer, eyes gleaming with focus.
The training room came alive once more.
Jaune rested his sword across his shoulder for a moment, watching Oscar's stance reset. A thin sheen of sweat already beaded along the boy's forehead, but his eyes stayed sharp, determined.
"I should warn you," Jaune said quietly, his voice carrying just enough to reach him over the faint hum of the barriers. "From here on, I'll be using Weaknessthe entire time. Not just bursts. Constantly."
Oscar blinked, narrowing his eyes. "Constantly huh, doesn't it eat through your Aura reserves if you use it for too long?"
Jaune nodded. "It does, which is why this is good training for me too. It will help me to regulate my reserves when I use it. Path to comprehension, after all. Same goes for you, if you can push through my suppression, then you'll know you're growing."
Oscar's grip tightened on his blades. He didn't argue. He just set his stance, boots glowing faintly with the buildup of Force.
Jaune exhaled, and his rune pulsed.
It was never dramatic—no grand flash of light or visible ripple. Weakness didn't need spectacle. It was subtle, a pressure that seeped into the bones, a dragging weight that wasn't physical but absolute all the same. Oscar hunched almost instantly, knees bending as if a weight had settled onto his back. The Force layered around his body sputtered for half a heartbeat before stabilizing, only weaker.
Oscar's brows furrowed. "Damn…"
Weakness.
It was a meta-type rune—conceptual and abstract. Not a thing that added, but one that took away. Jaune had discovered that with focus, he could shear away a whole 20% of an opponent's stats: Body, Will and even Aura. It wasn't flashy, but it was devastating. Aura resisted the effects, yes—but even that had its limits.
Against Pyrrha, with her Aura stat already maxed, he could only shave off about 10%. Aura naturally countered the intrusion of meta phenomena, blunting the edge of supernatural anomalies that acted upon the body. But if someone's Aura wasn't high enough to shield them, if it wasn't strong enough to counteract against Jaune's Will stat…
He remembered Mocha, in the Dream. She was now a Rank 0 who had her Aura stat at 10. And yet, when he'd let Weakness loose on her for testing purposes, she had practically collapsed under it. A whole ninety percent of her stats were cut away in an instant. From a peak fighter at the edge of ranking up to something almost civilian.
Powerless.
That memory lingered now as he watched Oscar shift uneasily under the debuff. Against him even, with his Will being only at 1, Jaune's suppression hit like a vice. The twenty percent wasn't theoretical—Oscar could feel it bleeding out of him.
Still, the boy set his jaw.
"Alright," Oscar muttered, forcing himself upright again. "Let's see if I can fight with this."
He launched forward with a flash-step already igniting under his boots.
Except it wasn't the same. The burst was weaker, slower. Jaune could track him much easier now, and react easier too. His sword rose to intercept, and Oscar's twin blades clanged off the guard. The strikes were still fast, still skilled, but dulled, the bite of Force was stripped away by Weakness's constant drag.
Jaune deflected smoothly, twisting his wrist and sliding Oscar's momentum aside. "See?" he said almost conversationally. "Not as sharp."
Oscar grit his teeth, spun, and tried to kick off the floor with another rune-burst. The glow flared—but Jaune's suppression bit again. The acceleration faltered, a stutter in the step. Jaune sidestepped, and Oscar's dash carried him into empty space.
"Damn it!" Oscar snarled, recovering mid-spin to slash backhand at Jaune.
Jaune blocked without strain, the impact ringing down his arm. Oscar pressed harder, his muscles straining, but Jaune only nudged his sword forward an inch. Weakness did the rest. The pressure broke Oscar's guard wide open, nearly throwing him off balance.
But Oscar didn't give up. Even while staggering, he lashed out with a low kick, forcing Jaune to hop back. The movement was slower, more telegraphed than before, but the intent was fierce.
"That's good, keep fighting. Don't let my power crush you."
Oscar didn't answer. He didn't have the breath for it. He came on again, boots flaring and blades weaving arcs of steel in rapid succession. Jaune parried and sidestepped, leting the boy swing himself ragged. Every strike had weight, but it was not enough. Each flash-step faltered, truncated by Weakness.
But still, Oscar kept going.
Jaune could see it in his eyes—the stubborn refusal to collapse. Even with his stats shaved down, he was clawing for ground. Every strike was an attempt to adapt and to learn to fight against Jaune's suppression, to fight through the fog Weakness imposed.
Jaune's smirk faded, replaced by quiet respect.
The boy wasn't winning. Not even close. But he was enduring.
Finally, Jaune knocked both swords aside with a sharp parry and drove the blunt edge of his practice blade into Oscar's chest. The impact carried him backward, tumbling until he slid to a stop on one knee, gasping for breath.
Weakness still clung to him, pressing on his body like unseen chains. But Oscar raised his head, sweat dripping into his eyes, and managed the faintest grin.
"I… lasted longer."
Jaune lowered his blade, exhaled slowly. "…You did."
He let the rune ease, pulling back the suppression. Immediately, Oscar's shoulders rose as if a weight had been peeled away. His breathing steadied, strength returning to his limbs.
"That," Jaune said, "is what it feels like to fight me for real. Remember the drag? Learn to push through it. You think you can do that Oscar?" He rested his practice sword against his shoulder again.
"Keep up? Im gonna defeat you!" Oscar declared leveling his blades at Jaune.
"Heh, we'll see about that. Because next time? I won't be holding back at all."
Oscar's grin widened, despite the ache in his chest. "Good. Wouldn't want it any other way."
The hum of the training room continued around them, steady and cold. But between the two, there was heat—the quiet bond forged in testing limits, in pushing against walls not yet broken.
.
.
AN: Volume 3 start
Advanced chapters available on patreon