Chapter 5: Hand Combat
Chapter 5: Hand Combat
Hand-to-hand combat proved to be a different discipline entirely. Where sword work was about strength and technique, unarmed fighting required balance, timing, and an understanding of leverage that came only with practice.
Ramon's partner this time was Jera, and the difference was immediately apparent. Where Marte had relied on brute force, Jera moved like water—fluid, adaptable, finding the spaces between his opponent's defenses.
"Your stance is too wide," he said quietly as they circled each other. "It makes you stable, but slow to react. Try this." He demonstrated a narrower stance, weight balanced on the balls of his feet.
Ramon adjusted his position and immediately felt the difference. He was less stable, but more mobile.
"Better. Now, when I come at you, don't try to match strength with strength. Use my momentum against me."
He moved toward him in a controlled attack, and Ramon tried to follow his advice. Instead of meeting his charge head-on, he stepped to the side and tried to redirect his motion. He failed—badly—and ended up on his back with Jera's knee pressed lightly against his chest.
"Close," he said, offering him a hand up. "But you're still thinking like you're trying to stop me instead of guide me. Watch."
He had him attack him slowly, his hands guiding his movements as he demonstrated the subtle art of redirection.
"Feel this," he said, placing his hand on his shoulder as he shifted his weight. "When someone pushes against you, don't resist—accept their force and guide it where you want it to go. Like water flowing around a stone."
He had him grab his wrist in a simple hold, then showed him how a slight rotation of his arm and a step to the side could break his grip while simultaneously putting him in position for a counter-attack.
"Now you try," he instructed, allowing him to attempt the same technique on him.
Ramon's first efforts were clumsy, his movements telegraphed and poorly timed. But Jera was patient, adjusting his stance, correcting his grip, showing him how to use his opponent's own momentum as a weapon.
"Think of it like a conversation," he explained as they moved through the basic forms. "In sword fighting, you're trying to impose your will through strength. In hand-to-hand combat, you're listening to what your opponent's body is telling you, then giving them an answer they don't expect."
He demonstrated by having him grab him from behind—a common street fighting scenario. Instead of struggling against his hold, he relaxed into it for just a moment, letting him think he had control. Then he dropped his weight, drove his elbow back into his ribs (gently, for practice), and twisted out of his grip while simultaneously sweeping his feet.
Ramon found himself on the ground for the third time, but now he was beginning to understand.
"Your turn," Jera said, offering him his hand up. "But remember—technique over strength. Timing over speed."
This time, when he grabbed him, Ramon tried to feel the direction of his force instead of simply fighting against it. When he pulled, he moved with his motion but at an angle, stepping offline while bringing his arm up to break his grip. It wasn't perfect, but it worked.
"Better!" Jera's smile was genuine. "You're starting to listen. Most people spend their first month just trying to muscle through everything."
They practiced several more techniques—basic throws, joint locks, and counter-attacks. Ramon discovered that his smaller size, which had always been a disadvantage in direct confrontations, could actually be an asset when properly leveraged. He was quicker than larger opponents, able to change direction faster, and his lower center of gravity made him harder to unbalance.
"You have good instincts," Jera observed as they worked through a complex sequence where an attacker's overhead strike was redirected into a throw. "There's something natural about the way you move when you stop overthinking it. Have you had any formal training?"
Ramon shook his head. "Just whatever I picked up on the streets. But that was mostly about running away or ending fights as quickly as possible."
"Smart approach," he nodded approvingly. "The best fight is the one you don't have. But when you can't avoid conflict..." He demonstrated a particularly elegant technique where he used Ramon's own forward momentum to send him tumbling past him. "Make sure you're the one who controls how it ends."
By the time training ended, Ramon's ribs still ached from sparring, but his exhaustion came laced with something unfamiliar: hope.
For the first time since arriving at the training complex, he felt like he was learning something that might actually keep him alive. More importantly, he was beginning to understand that survival wasn't just about being tougher than the other person—it was about being smarter.
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Lunch was a welcome respite, though the food was the same bland stew and hard bread they'd been served since arriving. Ramon sat with his growing circle of friends—Kael, Jera, and surprisingly, Dane, who had barely spoken two words together since the first day but seemed to appreciate their acceptance of his silence.
"That was quite a display during sparring," Jera said, his tone carefully neutral. "I've never seen someone go from defensive to offensive so quickly."
Kael nodded enthusiastically. "The way you took down Marte—it was like watching a cornered wolf turn on its hunters. Where did you learn to fight like that?"
"I didn't learn," Ramon said quietly. "I just... got angry."
"Well, it worked," Kael grinned. "Though you might want to work on controlling it. Captain Voren looked like he was deciding whether to commend you or throw you in the stocks."
The conversation was interrupted by the bell signaling the end of lunch. Time for bloodline meditation and channeling practice.
As they filed toward the meditation hall, Ramon couldn't shake the feeling that whatever came next would change everything. The red haze he'd experienced during his fight with Marte hadn't felt entirely natural. There had been something else there, something deeper.