Chapter 7 – The Art of Combat

Two weeks had passed since Ariel first felt the pulse of mana within him. What had once seemed an impossible task—grasping the intangible force flowing through his body—had now become second nature. He could feel mana moving beneath his skin, circulating through his limbs with a quiet hum, responding to his intent rather than resisting him. Each morning, he refined this control, guided by Selene's patient yet unwavering instruction. Each evening, he found himself reflecting on his progress, growing more certain that the Lightbound Order was where he belonged.

He had been given time to adjust, to internalize what he had learned. But now, his training was about to shift. Control was only the beginning. Mastery required application.

Selene stood before him in the training courtyard, her posture straight yet relaxed, her hands folded neatly behind her back. Unlike the grandeur of the Order's halls, this space was simple—wide, open stone ground, flanked by wooden dummies and weapon racks, bordered by towering walls that kept the outside world at bay.

"You have learned to move mana through your body," Selene said. "Now, it is time to learn what that means in battle."

Ariel nodded, his focus unwavering. He was ready.

Selene gestured to the space between them. "Combat is not simply about striking an opponent. It is an interplay of mind and body, of will and instinct. Strength alone is meaningless without control. Speed is useless without purpose. Every movement must serve a function. Every step must carry intent."

She took a measured step forward, and though it seemed effortless, Ariel noticed something—the way her weight shifted smoothly, the way her balance remained absolute, the way her body seemed prepared to react to anything.

"There are four pillars of combat," Selene continued. "Balance, movement, positioning, and adaptability. These are the foundation of all warriors, regardless of their style."

She raised a single finger. "Balance is the core. A fighter who cannot control their own stance is already defeated. Without balance, there is no stability, no defense, no strength."

A second finger. "Movement dictates engagement. Speed alone is not enough—you must move with precision, with purpose. A wasted step is an opening for your opponent. A well-placed step is an opportunity."

A third. "Positioning determines control. You must always be aware of where you stand in relation to your enemy. Distance is a weapon. Footwork is a shield. A battle is won before the first strike is thrown if positioning is mastered."

A fourth. "Adaptability is survival. No technique, no strategy, no plan will remain unchanged once the battle begins. You must adjust, react, anticipate. Those who fight rigidly will fall."

Ariel absorbed her words, committing them to memory. They were simple concepts on the surface, but he understood that mastery lay not in understanding them but in embodying them.

Selene took a step back. "These principles guide all combat. But each faction refines them differently. The Lightbound Foundation Style is built upon a singular concept—equilibrium."

She spread her arms slightly, her stance widening ever so subtly. "We do not overextend, nor do we remain passive. We do not seek overwhelming force, nor do we rely on deception. The Lightbound way is about control—of oneself, of the battle, of the flow of combat. To wield this style is to become an unshakable force, an immovable presence, one who dictates the battle rather than being dictated by it."

Ariel watched closely as Selene shifted her stance. It was subtle—her body aligned perfectly, her weight evenly distributed, her center of gravity low yet fluid. There were no unnecessary movements, no tension in her form. She was ready to strike in any direction, to defend at a moment's notice, yet there was no aggression in her posture. She was poised, balanced, untouchable.

"The Lightbound Foundation Style is neither offense nor defense," Selene continued. "It is both. It is a dance between the two, a constant flow. We strike when necessary, we evade when required. But we never lose control."

She stepped forward, slow and deliberate. "To master this, you must first master stance. A proper stance is not merely a way to stand—it is a way to move, to react, to command the space around you. It is the link between your body and your will."

Ariel mimicked her posture, adjusting his footing as she instructed. It felt unnatural at first—too structured, too deliberate. But as he held the stance, he began to understand. It was not restricting him. It was grounding him.

Selene nodded in approval. "Good. Now, we begin."

Ariel felt his muscles tense in anticipation. "Begin what?"

Selene's lips curled slightly, the closest thing to amusement he had seen from her.

"Sparring."

Ariel barely had a moment to process before she continued. "You will attack me. I will only defend. Your goal is simple—land a single clean hit."

He nodded, shifting into the stance she had taught him. His weight was evenly distributed, his footing stable, but uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his focus. He had never fought before. Not truly.

Selene remained motionless, her arms relaxed at her sides. "Begin."

Ariel hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, throwing a quick jab at her shoulder. The moment his fist moved, Selene shifted—an effortless tilt of her body, and his strike whiffed past empty air. He stumbled forward slightly, correcting himself, and immediately struck again.

Ariel attempted a low sweep, trying to force her to react, but Selene merely took a small step back, her posture unshaken. He pivoted, driving forward with a feigned jab, then twisting into a sharp elbow strike. It was sharper than before, faster. Yet she moved like water, each evasion barely perceptible, her balance never breaking.

He struck again—one, two, three rapid blows—each countered with nothing more than a shift of weight, a fluid redirection. She wasn't just dodging. She was leading him, controlling the tempo of the fight without lifting a single finger.

"You are thinking too much," she observed, her voice calm. "Your movements are hesitant. Combat is not a series of individual decisions—it is a flow. Every action must transition smoothly into the next."

Ariel gritted his teeth and adjusted. He stepped in, throwing a combination of strikes—punch, feint, sweep. His fists cut through the air with more control, his attacks following one another in a seamless rhythm. Yet it still wasn't enough.

Selene's footwork was flawless, each step perfectly placed, her balance never compromised. It was frustrating. No matter how much effort he put into his attacks, she remained untouchable.

"Again," she instructed, stepping lightly to the side, her posture never shifting. "This time, stop chasing me. Strike with the expectation that you will miss. Let your body move with the momentum of your own attacks."

Ariel adjusted, exhaling sharply. He lunged, but instead of pulling back after each attack, he let the force carry him forward, using his own missed momentum to fuel the next strike. A jab became a spinning kick, a step back turned into a counter-swipe. His movements became faster, smoother.

And yet—

She was still there, just beyond his reach, as if she knew every move before he made it.

Minutes turned into hours, sweat dripping from Ariel's brow, his limbs burning with exhaustion. His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as he pushed himself to keep moving, to keep attacking, even as his body screamed in protest. Every muscle ached, his strikes slowing, his balance faltering. And yet, Selene remained untouchable, gliding away from each attempt like a shadow in the wind.

His vision blurred slightly, his legs trembling beneath him. He threw one final punch, weak and sluggish, barely a fraction of the speed he had started with. Selene stepped aside with effortless grace, and before he could reset his stance, his knees buckled beneath him.

He collapsed, catching himself on shaking hands, his chest heaving. His body felt like lead, each breath a battle of its own. His fingers dug into the stone floor as frustration threatened to boil over, but he forced it down, gripping the sensation of fatigue instead—of pushing himself beyond what he thought possible. 

Ariel exhaled heavily, frustration flickering in his chest, but he pushed it down and decided to keep going, forcing himself to ignore the fatigue and the pain that plagued his body. With gritted teeth, he tightened his stance and threw another punch the moment his fist moved, she shifted—an effortless tilt of her body, and his strike whiffed past empty air. He stumbled forward slightly, correcting himself before attacking again.

Each time, Selene barely moved. A sidestep, a slight pivot, the smallest redirection of motion—her body flowed around his strikes as though he were swinging at mist.

"You are thinking too much," she observed, her voice calm. "Your movements are hesitant. Combat is not a series of individual decisions—it is a flow. Every action must transition smoothly into the next."

Ariel gritted his teeth and adjusted. He stepped in, throwing a combination of strikes—punch, feint, sweep. It was faster, more deliberate. Yet it still wasn't enough.

Selene's footwork was flawless, each step perfectly placed, her balance never compromised. She was guiding him, he realized, forcing him to adjust, to react, to learn with every missed strike. She was not blocking, not countering—just teaching through movement.

"Again," she instructed.

Ariel pushed forward. His strikes were growing sharper even as exhaustion gnawed at his muscles, his positioning more refined with each attempt. Yet, no matter how precise or swift his attacks became, he could not land a single blow. Selene remained just beyond his reach, her movements effortless, as though she was not evading his strikes but guiding him toward understanding.

Selene finally halted, raising a hand. "That is enough for today. You are improving. Your understanding of movement is taking shape, but instinct will only develop through experience."

Ariel let out a deep sigh, He had learned more in this one session than he had expected. This was only the beginning.

Selene gave him a final nod. "Rest. Tomorrow, we continue."