Ares Combat Simulator

Orion exhaled slowly, closing the restricted archive files on his console. House Valken. The Genesis Strain. The erased history. Every piece of information he uncovered only raised more questions—questions that led to dead ends, redacted records, and a creeping sense that someone was watching.

He needed to sharpen his mind. To ease the pressure, he would train.

Not just for the sake of improvement, but to reclaim control—over his thoughts, over his focus.

Orion leaned back in the private observation booth, arms crossed, his eyes locked onto the live duel feed displayed across the panoramic screen. He had seen countless fighters in Ares Combat Simulator (ACS)— Aristocrats trained with polished forms, mercenaries with battlefield efficiency, even Dominion fighters wielding brutal, hyper-aggressive styles.

But this one was different.

The fighter, identified only as Kieran, his movements weren't beautiful, but they were deliberate. A quiet kind of control ran through everything he did.

Orion watched as Kieran faced an opponent wielding a hyper-edged saber, the blade cutting through the simulated air in vicious arcs. His opponent was fast—predictable to a trained eye, but still fast. Yet Kieran never reacted in haste.

Instead, he moved at a deliberately measured pace, controlling the space between them.

Orion's grip tightened on the armrest.

He's shaping the fight.

Not with overwhelming offense, not with flashy parries—but by making his opponent move where he wanted them to.

Kieran took a step forward. Then a half-step back. The opponent adjusted, thinking they saw an opening—they lunged.

The second they did, Kieran had already shifted angles, his sword slicing cleanly across their midsection.

Simulation registered hit.

[Match Over.]

Orion narrowed his eyes. That wasn't a counter. It was a setup.

Every movement before the attack had funneled his opponent into committing to a mistake.

And they never realized it until the fight was over.

A slow smirk tugged at Orion's lips.

That's it. That's the concept I've been searching for.

Orion immediately pulled up Kieran's combat history on the ACS interface.

No tournament records. No high-profile duels. No aristocratic affiliations. Just a consistent win rate of 46 percent against 253 opponents.

Most fighters relied on reaction speed. Some relied on overwhelming power. Kieran relied on forcing engagements on his terms.

Orion tapped the console, initiating a private session request.

[Orion Reyes has invited you for a private training contract.]

Kieran's acceptance came in less than a minute.

That's how Orion found himself standing in the simulation chamber later that evening, facing the man whose instinctive mastery of engagement control had just rewritten his understanding of combat.

And now, he would learn to perfect it.

The simulated training chamber was dimly lit, its walls lined with holographic projectors waiting to manifest a battlefield. Orion adjusted his grip on the Chokuto, its single-edged weight settling comfortably in his hands. The blade's balance was different from a saber or a katana, but that was exactly why he chose it.

Across from him, his hired tutor stood with arms crossed, a tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp features and a calm, unreadable expression. He went by Kieran in the ACS system, though Orion doubted that was his real name. Unlike most high-level fighters who trained for spectatorship and rankings, Kieran had no public record of major tournament wins or high-profile duels. Yet his combat recordings spoke volumes. He wasn't refined—he lacked the polish of aristocratic swordmasters or military academies—but his instinct for fight control was undeniable.

And Orion wanted to learn exactly that.

Kieran studied him for a moment, then spoke.

"I suppose you already know how to fight. You don't need me for that."

Orion nodded. He wasn't here to learn about form or technique from Kieran.

"You want to control engagements, not just react to them," Kieran continued. "That's different from just being fast or precise. It means shaping the fight from the first step, forcing your opponent into decisions before they realize they're making them."

He rolled his shoulders, then tapped a command into the ACS interface. A new simulation loaded—a vast stone courtyard, empty except for the two of them. No distractions, no obstacles. Just space, and the weight of presence.

"We'll start with the three phases my father developed," Kieran said. "First—Rhythm Establishment."

"Fighters don't think in words," Kieran explained as he took a casual stance. "They think in rhythm—footwork, positioning, a mental clock that tracks when it's safe and when it's not."

He stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. Orion immediately noted the delayed weight shift, the measured pace—he wasn't just walking; he was imposing a tempo on the fight.

"The moment an opponent acknowledges your movement, they've already started syncing to your rhythm."

Kieran stepped back, then forward again, this time slightly faster. Orion felt it—a cadence forming. His own body wanted to respond, even if just by adjusting his stance.

"You don't rush. You don't hesitate. You establish. Make them react before they even throw a strike."

Orion narrowed his eyes, mimicking the motion. He stepped in, then back, letting his weight linger slightly before resetting. It felt unnatural at first, but then—there. He saw it.

Kieran's shoulders adjusted, his grip flexed. Micro-reactions. He wasn't attacking, but his body was preparing, syncing unconsciously to Orion's established pace.

That was the first step.

"Once they're in your rhythm, they stop making choices. They start following."

Orion exhaled slowly. It wasn't about rushing an attack—it was about setting a subconscious beat.

Kieran gave a small nod of approval before shifting to the next phase.

"Now, you disrupt that rhythm—just enough to give them a small opening."

He moved in again, the same way as before, but this time—he hesitated.

It was imperceptible to an untrained eye. A slight imbalance in his footwork, a flicker of hesitation. It looked like a mistake, like a gap.

Orion's muscles almost tensed to exploit it—until he realized what had happened.

It wasn't a real opening.

Kieran's stance was still solid, his weight perfectly controlled.

"See that?" he said. "You wanted to move. That's because I gave you a window that doesn't exist."

He repeated the motion again, adjusting just enough to look vulnerable but never actually compromising his defense.

"Most fighters don't think critically when they see an opening. They feel it. You feed them those feelings—but on your terms."

Orion frowned, processing it. This wasn't just feinting. It was like what he called conditioning.

He copied the motion, stepping forward as before—but this time, he added a false imbalance in his weight distribution.

"Good," Kieran said. "Once they start wanting to hit you, they stop thinking about whether it's smart to."

Orion's mind raced. This was the real trick—not dodging, not parrying, but making the opponent anticipate on false premises.

And once they were primed to attack…

"Now, we make them commit," Kieran said, raising his blade.

"How?" Orion asked.

Kieran's stance shifted—this time, his balance actually wavered, his footing slightly off. But unlike before, he let it remain unstable for just a second too long.

Orion felt the urge to strike surge through him. It wasn't just tempting—it was blatantly correct.

Then Kieran moved.

A sudden weight shift, a flicker of adjustment—Orion's anticipated attack was already countered before it had begun.

"Once they're conditioned to act on rhythm and false openings, you give them what they want—too much of it."

Kieran reset.

"You let them see the mistake. Let them lunge, let them reach—then punish them for believing it was real."

Orion clenched his jaw, then tried it himself.

He set the pace. Established rhythm.

He inserted the misalignment, forcing Kieran to want the attack.

Then he gave the opening.

Kieran lunged.

Orion was already moving.

A clean sidestep, a precise angle shift. The flat of his Chokuto struck Kieran's exposed flank, a controlled but decisive hit.

The ACS system registered the impact.

[Direct Hit.]

Kieran exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Then, for the first time, he grinned.

"That's it."

Orion lowered his blade, sweat trailing down his temple. It worked.

And more than that—he could refine it.

They ran it again. Over and over.

Each time, Orion compressed the phases, reducing the time it took to establish rhythm, condition false openings, and pull the trigger.

By the seventh bout, he wasn't just applying the method—he was adapting it.

By the tenth, he was making Kieran work to keep up.

And by the fifteenth, Orion knew one thing for certain.

This wasn't just an instinctive technique anymore.

It was a system.

A structured, controllable method of forcing opponents to react, doubt, and fall apart.

His own personal combat doctrine.

Orion exhaled deeply, sheathing the Chokuto as the simulation wound down. Kieran studied him, then nodded.

"You pick up fast," he said.

Orion rolled his shoulders. "And you have good instincts. You just never structured them."

Kieran smirked. "Maybe. But you? You're about to take this a lot further than I ever did."

Orion didn't argue. Because he knew Kieran was right.

And this was just the beginning.