Kieran's training

The ACS chamber pulsed to life, the soft hum of its kinetic field stabilizing around Orion. He stood at the center of the arena-like space, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake off the mental fatigue that clung to him.

Kieran was already waiting for him, standing with arms crossed, his sharp eyes watching every motion Orion made before the fight had even begun. The chamber's interface flickered as it generated a new opponent—a Ranker-Class Duelist, specialized in counterplay. The figure materialized before him, humanoid but devoid of identity.

Becoming Ranker-Class was no small feat, especially for someone like Kieran, who had come from a commoner family. The Confederacy's aristocracy dominated the upper echelons of combat rankings, their bloodlines cultivated for generations to refine talent. Yet Kieran had climbed the ranks through sheer ingenuity and adaptability, proving that blood alone wasn't the only factor that determined greatness.

For Kieran, the journey had been twice as grueling. Born without the inherited advantages of an aristocratic lineage, he had to learn, innovate, and push beyond what was expected. His victories weren't merely the result of talent but an accumulation of experience, failures, and raw determination. It was why he always viewed noble-born warriors with a degree of skepticism—too many relied on their gifts without ever truly honing them.

That was why Orion fascinated him. He knew that Orion had yet to pass the First Trial, yet there was something different about him. Something that didn't align with Kieran's expectations of an aristocrat. Kieran had fought and trained alongside countless noble-born warriors, and he could always tell when someone had been conditioned from childhood to wield a blade. Orion lacked that ingrained discipline, that telltale refinement in his movements—but what he did have was something else entirely. There was an edge to him, a deliberate sharpness in his approach, as if he were consciously building himself from the ground up rather than simply following a path laid out for him. And that made Kieran all the more curious.

Orion tightened his grip on his weapon. The weight of it felt real, but the fight ahead was something far beyond mere physicality.

Kieran ran a hand through his hair before crossing his arms and then he let out a quiet, knowing sigh.

"You're still approaching this the wrong way."

Orion glanced at him. "How so?"

"You treat combat like a sequence," Kieran remarked, his tone clipped. "Like it's a path with fixed steps, each one leading predictably to the next. But it's not." He shifted his weight slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Combat is ever-flowing, adapting."

Kieran paced around him. "A fight doesn't follow A to B to C. You don't just 'set a rhythm' and then 'mislead' and then 'trigger a reaction' in a neat little order. No. Sometimes you disrupt before you control. Sometimes you trigger a response and then bait them into a rhythm of your choosing. Sometimes you improvise—because the moment you decide you've 'executed' a phase, you've stopped adapting."

Orion nodded slowly, absorbing the words.

"Ever-flowing," he murmured.

"Exactly." Kieran gestured to the simulation. "Now stop treating it like a checklist and start treating it like a conversation."

The fight began.

The simulation launched forward—not aggressively, but testing. A careful, precise movement, like a fencer gauging range. Orion mirrored it, but not in a direct response. Instead, he adjusted the pressure, stepping forward just enough to suggest an attack.

The duelist's weight shifted ever so slightly.

There.

Orion disrupted—a sharp, controlled movement that forced the duelist to react defensively. No actual attack. Just pressure. A demand for action.

The moment the simulation adjusted, Orion reversed. Pulled away. Reset.

He felt it. The first break in its internal calculations. The opponent was now engaged in a rhythm—not Orion's yet, but no longer fully its own.

Kieran's voice cut through. "Good. Now don't fall into a pattern yourself."

Orion didn't step in the same way again. This time, he altered his approach angle, slanting his posture slightly to suggest an overextended reach. The simulation took the bait—stepping forward, trying to punish the mistake.

That's when Orion cut its momentum off mid-step—a feint, a slight sidestep, a minor weight shift that made the opponent hesitate for a fraction too long.

That's it. Get them acting. Make them uncertain.

The moment the duelist faltered, Orion initiated an actual attack—not because it was part of a planned sequence, but because the fight had naturally led to it. A sharp, controlled cut, forcing the simulation into a committed parry.

The clash sent a ripple through the ACS chamber's sensory system. Orion could feel the feedback through the weapon, the simulated resistance of steel against steel.

Kieran's voice was calm. "Now—don't just follow up. Make them follow you."

Orion didn't simply press forward with a second strike. Instead, he broke structure entirely—an unpredictable step to the side, shifting his balance in a way that forced the duelist to adjust reflexively.

That was the moment Orion needed.

A sharp pivot. Trigger the reaction. Redirect their flow. Punish the imbalance.

Strike.

The Chokuto's edge slammed into the duelist's side, bypassing its failing guard. A perfect counter, one that never would have worked if he had followed a predictable rhythm.

The opponent flickered and deactivated.

Kieran exhaled, a short, approving breath escaping his lips. "Better," he said, his voice curt but tinged with fascination.

His eyes lingered on Orion—not in the way one looked at a student, but as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. For an untrained child to grasp the nuances of space and control like this was unheard of. Kieran had sparred with prodigies before, but they all had one thing in common—years of conditioning, drilled patterns from the moment they could hold a blade. Orion had none of that. Yet here he was, adapting, shifting, thinking. Kieran's fingers tapped idly against his forearm, a flicker of intrigue crossing his features before he reigned it back in. "Again."

Orion rolled his shoulders, his muscles burning from the exertion. But more than that, his mind was on fire. He could feel it now—not just a technique, not just a set of phases, but a system that never stopped evolving.

If he stopped moving, he lost. If he became predictable, he lost. If he let himself think in terms of steps rather than momentum, he lost.

Kieran gave him a small nod. "You're starting to get it." His gaze sharpened slightly, and after a moment's pause, he added, "But you're still leaking intent between transitions."

He stepped forward, crossing his arms as he gave Orion a critical once-over. "Your last engagement—your feint into the pivot—it worked, but not because you executed it perfectly. It worked because the simulation wasn't smart enough to punish the delay in your weight shift. A live opponent? They'd recognize that hesitation and collapse your space before you could reset."

Kieran lifted a hand, tracing the sequence in the air. "You disrupted well, forced a reaction, but when you reversed, your stance betrayed that you weren't fully committed. That's why your cut wasn't as deep as it should've been. It's not just about breaking rhythm—always make sure your opponent never realizes you had one in the first place. It should be subtle."

His lips quirked in something that wasn't quite a smile. "You're getting there. But getting there isn't good enough. Again."

Orion took a breath, resetting his stance. "Again."

The next opponent loaded in.

This one would be harder. Unorthodox. Aggressive. More human.

Orion welcomed it.

Because now, he wasn't just reacting.

Now, he was leading the fight from the very first move.

Just as the next simulation prepared to engage, Orion's wrist communicator buzzed sharply. A priority notification.

He flicked his eyes toward it.

[Intelligence Report] Subject: House Valken - New Developments

Orion read the first line.

And froze.