Chapter 3: Fists and Magic
After Taron's final kick struck Zerik squarely in the stomach, Zerik's body was blown out of the arena, crashing to the ground as dust billowed into the air.
Armand, Lyanna, and the guards burst into applause. Admiration was clear on their faces.
"Amazing… truly a spectacular fight," Armand said with an impressed smile.
Taron looked at the fallen Zerik, then walked over to him. He bowed respectfully before swiftly offering a hand to help Zerik back to his feet. Zerik clutched his stomach, breathing heavily, yet his eyes now held a newfound respect as he looked at Taron.
Armand turned to Lyanna and gently patted her shoulder.
"Lyanna, go help them. Heal Taron and Zerik's injuries," he instructed firmly.
Lyanna immediately stepped forward, her movements light yet focused. With gentle gestures, she channeled her healing magic, mending the minor injuries on both Taron and Zerik. The air around them grew warm and soothing, and the tension lingering in the arena slowly faded away.
Taron gave Lyanna a small smile.
"Thank you, Lyanna. You're amazing," he said politely.
Lyanna returned a faint smile.
"Yes… this is my duty as a mage," she murmured softly.
After their wounds were healed, Taron and Zerik bowed deeply to each other in mutual respect.
"You're impressive, kid," Zerik said with a small grin. "I thought I was the stronger one between us, but I was wrong."
"I'll train even harder from now on. And… I'm sorry for underestimating you before, Taron," Zerik continued, patting Taron's shoulder sincerely.
Armand stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Taron with confidence.
"Alright, now it's my turn. Prepare yourself, boy… I hope I'm faster than my guard just now," he said with a thin smile.
Taron responded with a small grin of his own.
"Very well, Uncle. Whenever you're ready, I'm ready too."
Taron and Armand took their positions in the training arena. Grandpa Vale stood at the edge, his voice clear and firm.
"The fight follows the same rules. Understand them, and respect your opponent."
Both of them nodded, signaling their understanding and readiness. The morning breeze blew gently, rustling the leaves around the arena, as if announcing the start of a new battle.
The two fighters assumed their stances, eyes locked with intense focus. Grandpa Vale raised his hand and gave the signal.
"Begin!"
Taron burst forward at high speed toward Armand—but this time, Armand advanced toward Taron instead.
Their punches collided midair, producing a loud impact as a powerful gust of wind swirled through the arena from the released energy. Taron slid back a few steps, his sharp gaze never leaving Armand, while Armand wore a thin, excited smile.
Taron pressed the attack, swinging a kick with his right leg—but Armand swiftly blocked it.
Armand countered with a punch, this time wrapped in a faint blue aura. Taron reflexively raised both arms to block, but the impact was overwhelming. His body was sent flying, crashing near the edge of the arena.
Armand stared at him seriously, then raised a finger, beckoning him forward.
"Come on," he said with a thin, provoking smile. "Show me what you've got, kid."
Taron gave a small grin and advanced again, fighting with his usual strategy. However, every punch he threw was easily deflected by Armand, forcing Taron to constantly adjust his movements.
Armand retaliated with the same attack, faster and stronger than before. This time, Taron failed to evade it and was blown backward. Just as he was about to be thrown out of the arena, Taron grabbed the edge of the floor and used the momentum to spring back onto his feet.
"Damn… that punch hurts… what was that?" Taron muttered inwardly, his eyes still locked onto Armand.
Lyanna sensed something was wrong. She stepped forward and spoke up.
"Father… that's not fair. You're using wind magic to compress your punches."
Armand burst into laughter.
"Hahaha… I didn't expect you to notice that too, my dear."
He then turned toward Grandpa Vale.
"Well, Old Man? Is that acceptable?"
Grandpa Vale replied calmly, his tone slightly annoyed but relaxed.
"As long as it doesn't cause serious injury, I'll allow it. Just make sure you control it."
Armand looked back at Taron.
"Out there, boy, fights aren't just about fists and kicks," he said calmly.
"There are swords, arrows, spears, magic… and countless other ways to kill."
Suddenly, Taron straightened his posture and stared sharply at Armand. Then he turned to Grandpa Vale.
"Grandpa… may I remove the weights on my body?"
Armand froze, confusion written all over his face.
"Weights? What weights are you talking about?"
Grandpa Vale looked at Taron for a moment, then nodded slowly.
"Go ahead."
Taron began unfastening his training gi. Beneath it was a plain black shirt. Holding his breath, he struggled to pull it off—his movements heavy, as if resisting an enormous burden. After a brief effort, the black shirt finally came off his body.
Thud!
The shirt hit the ground with a metallic sound.
Armand's eyes widened.
Before anyone could fully react, Taron continued. He removed his shoes—once again, a metallic clang echoed as they struck the ground. Then, slowly, he began unfastening the weights around his wrists.
Lyanna, Zerik, and the guards stood frozen, shock written across their faces.
"What is that…?" one of the guards murmured.
"Training weights…?" Armand whispered in disbelief.
Armand stepped forward and picked up Taron's black shirt. The moment he felt it, his expression turned serious.
"This is incredibly heavy…" he muttered.
"This is one of my training methods with Grandpa Vale," Taron said calmly as he put his gi back on.
Armand stared at the weights with a grim expression.
"Since when have you been wearing things like this?"
"Since I was seven years old," Taron replied evenly.
He continued, "Grandpa increases the weight every time I get older."
"How heavy are they in total?" Armand asked, cold sweat forming at his temples.
"Eighty kilograms," Taron answered simply.
"What!? Eighty kilograms!?" Armand's eyes widened.
"That's almost the weight of a fully grown adult!"
Armand wasn't the only one shocked. Lyanna, Zerik, and the other guards fell silent as well.
Only now did they realize the truth—
All this time, Taron had been fighting while carrying a burden equal to an adult human on his body.
Taron moved all of his training weights outside the arena. Armand helped him, picking up Taron's black shirt and placing it at the edge of the training ring.
"Before we continue… may I redo my warm-up?" Taron asked calmly.
Armand studied him for a moment, then nodded.
"Go ahead."
He stepped to the side of the arena, giving Taron full space.
Taron began warming up again—but this time, it was clearly different.
He unleashed a rapid combination of punches and kicks, his movements so fast that the eyes could barely follow them.
In an instant, Taron surged forward. The ground beneath his feet compressed, then—
He leapt into the air.
The jump was incredibly high.
From above, Taron could see the entire training field, the forest surrounding the village, even the distant settlement—places he had never realized were so close.
Taron landed back in the sparring arena.
"All right, Uncle. I'm done warming up," he said calmly.
Armand and Taron both took firm stances once more.
The air around the arena grew tense.
In the blink of an eye, Taron burst forward with astonishing speed.
"What—!?" Armand gasped.
Taron threw a punch.
It nearly struck Armand's face.
A shockwave of compressed air slammed into Armand's features, stealing his breath for a brief moment.
Only then did he realize—
This was no longer the same speed as before.
Taron stepped back half a pace, took a breath, and prepared himself again.
Once more, he dashed forward at full speed.
This time, Armand was ready.
With precise timing, Armand launched a straight punch—sharp and powerful.
The punch landed.
…And yet, the figure it struck faded away.
"What—!?"
What Armand had hit was not Taron, but an afterimage left behind by his overwhelming speed.
Armand felt pressure behind him.
He turned instantly.
Taron was already there, striking toward Armand's back with a swift punch.
However, luck was still on Armand's side.
A protective layer of magic activated once more, stopping the blow just before it landed.
Taron immediately withdrew, retreating lightly before settling back into his stance, ready for another attack.
Armand was genuinely shaken by the unexpected speed.
Meanwhile, Taron thought intensely—searching for a way to truly break through Armand's defense.
Silence fell over the arena.
The pressure in the air grew suffocating.
Lyanna, Zerik, and the guards stared in disbelief, barely blinking as they tried to process what they had just witnessed.
"What kind of speed is that…?" Lyanna murmured, cold sweat forming.
"He moved so fast he left afterimages… and appeared behind Father…"
In the midst of the silence, Taron took a deep breath.
"Maybe… I'll try that," he thought.
Armand began to feel confused. So did Lyanna and the others.
Only Grandpa Vale continued watching Taron closely, as if he already understood something.
Taron moved again.
Just like before, he charged toward Armand at full speed.
Armand stepped forward as well.
Both threw straight punches at the same moment.
Once again, Armand's fist struck nothing but an afterimage.
"What—!?"
Armand turned around instantly.
Empty.
Suddenly, Taron appeared on Armand's right.
Armand reacted instinctively—
but the figure vanished again.
Left side.
Another afterimage.
One by one, Taron's afterimages filled the arena.
This wasn't an illusion created by magic—
but the residual traces of movement born from speed beyond normal limits.
Armand finally realized it.
The number of afterimages was increasing.
Armand stood at the center of the arena, surrounded by Taron's countless afterimages.
For the first time since the battle began—
He did not move.