Getting better
One month
Ren moved through the predawn chill of the barracks, dressing in the familiar grey uniform. The ranks were thinner now, the faces harder, leaner. Liam fell into step beside him as they marched towards the Mess Hall.
The morning's conditioning under Grak was as punishing as ever, today it was carrying water barrels up a steep ramp, again and again, followed by the functional stew eaten under Vorl's watchful eye. Then, it was the paved courtyard and the lean instructor.
They started with footwork, the patterns more complex now, demanding faster shifts and more precise balance than weeks before. Then came blocks, drilled individually against the instructor's signals. Ren flowed through the movements, his body responding automatically.
Then, the instructor signaled a halt. He moved to the center, assuming the basic stance. Without preamble, he demonstrated, a low front kick, snapping out from the knee towards shin height, retracting instantly without disturbing his balance. A side kick, pivoting on his supporting leg, heel striking low and fast. An elbow, rotating his body sharply, the point of the elbow a blur aimed at close range. A knee, driving upwards powerfully from the hip. He performed each action twice, with stark precision, then looked at the cadets.
"Kick, front," his soft voice commanded.
They mirrored the movement. Stance, chamber the knee, snap the lower leg out, retract. Balance wobbled throughout the ranks. The instructor's cane was instantly active, taping ankles, correcting hip alignment, forcing repetition on those who stumbled.
"Kick, side." Pivot, chamber, strike low, retract. Harder to maintain balance on one leg. Ren found his footing, the endless stance drills providing a solid base.
"Elbow, right." Twist, strike, retract to guard.
"Knee, left." Drive up, return to stance.
They drilled each technique individually, over and over. Front kick, side kick, elbow, knee. Left side, right side. The instructor walked the lines, his eyes missing nothing. Ren focused on the mechanics, the shift of weight required for the kicks, the core rotation needed for the elbows and knees. He found the kicks came easier than the blocks initially had, his balance holding true. Liam, nearby, seemed steady enough but Ren noted the slight tension in his shoulders as he focused on not overbalancing during the kicks.
The session ground on, muscles now burning. Hours passed under the cold, clear sky, marked only by the instructor's commands and the scuff of boots on stone.
Finally, the instructor called, "Halt." Cadets froze, chests heaving slightly, sweat cooling on their skin. He surveyed them for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Dismissed."
------------------
Another month.
The training under Grak continued its brutal pace, but the sessions with the lean instructor now occupied a significant portion of their days, demanding a different kind of exertion.
Today, after an intense warm-up of footwork and combination striking/blocking drills, the instructor gathered them closer on the paved courtyard. "Striking creates openings. Blocking prevents defeat," he began, his quiet voice demanding attention. "But combat is often decided at close range.
Control. Leverage. Balance. Today, we begin grappling."
He scanned the ranks, his dark eyes settling on two cadets near the front, one of average height but wiry, the other taller, heavier set. "You two. Front."
The cadets stepped forward warily. The instructor addressed the formation again, using the two cadets to illustrate. "Every body has a center of gravity," he stated, placing a hand flat on the larger cadet's chest and giving a slight push. The cadet stumbled back a step. "Control the center, control the body. Disrupt the balance." He then demonstrated pulling the cadet forward slightly, breaking his posture. "Break the structure, break the stability."
He spent the next hour providing more verbal instruction than Ren had heard from him in all the previous weeks combined. He explained how controlling joints, wrists, elbows, shoulders, could dictate an opponent's movement far more effectively than trading punches. He demonstrated simple wrist grabs, showing how turning the joint against its natural range forced compliance or created an opening. He used the smaller cadet against the larger one, showing how precise leverage allowed the smaller cadet to manipulate the larger one's balance with minimal force.
Then came specific techniques. He showed a basic wrist lock, applying pressure slowly so the demonstration cadet grunted but wasn't injured, illustrating how it could be used to force an opponent down or turn them. He moved on to a simple takedown. He positioned the attacking cadet beside the larger defender. "Control the arm, break the posture forward." He guided the smaller cadet's movements. "Step past, deep. Your leg hooks their supporting leg." He tapped the back of the larger cadet's knee. "Drive their upper body down and back as you reap. Use their weight." He had the smaller cadet execute the move slowly, and the larger cadet, caught off balance, was forced into a controlled stumble backwards, caught by the instructor before he fell hard. "Leverage, not strength," the instructor emphasized, having them reset.
After the detailed demonstration, he ordered, "Pairs. Practice wrist control, slow. Then the takedown mechanics, no force."
Ren and Liam faced each other. They started with the wrist controls demonstrated. It felt awkward at first, getting the grip right, applying pressure to the correct angle. Ren found that focusing on the small details the instructor had pointed out, the angle of his own wrist, the position of his thumb, made a significant difference in controlling Liam's arm. Liam, in turn, experimented with the leverage, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Moving to the takedown felt even more complex. Breaking the balance forward, stepping past deep enough, coordinating the leg hook with the push and pull on the upper body. They moved through the steps with deliberate slowness, focusing on the footwork, the balance shift. He saw other pairs struggling, limbs tangling awkwardly, earning sharp corrections from the instructor who moved silently among them, observing every detail.
The session was focused, and mentally taxing. Understanding the principles was one thing but making their bodies replicate the precise mechanics was another entirely.
"Halt," the instructor called out finally, as the sun reached its zenith. The cadets froze, muscles aching with the unfamiliar strain of the grappling practice. "Dismissed."