When Arthur was just learning to control prana, his mother had him sit outside their small house. The first thing he had to do was learn to call on the magical energy at will. The way his mother had him learn was by not allowing him inside the house until he could produce a prana signal she could notice from inside.
Embarrassingly enough, that took two whole days. He just sat there, trying to feel something within himself that resembled this magical energy his mother spoke of. And when he found it, he then had to learn to stop it.
Now here, in this waiting room in the castle, Arthur will try to do something similar. Most of the other participants are by the gates again, watching the next fight. And while Arthur would like to watch as well, considering the one to win this bout will be his next opponent, he stands little chance of winning if he doesn’t stay here.
In the room there’s one more guard watching over him. Marcus is still here, as well. Arthur can practically feel his eyes on him, but he brushes it aside. He needs to focus.
The problems with his use of Martial Arts lie not in his physical capabilities, but in his control of prana. But what is it that’s wrong? Arthur focuses and starts the flow of prana in his body. He can feel his blood flowing faster, his muscles strengthening and his senses sharpening. Like this, jumping three meters into the air is trivial.
So what is it that makes Martial Arts difficult? Is there anything he can use as reference? Sir Samuel did it in front of him, but it was so fast and seamless that it was difficult to understand much.
…
There’s another one. There’s another person that used Martial Arts in front of him. Marina did it too. She used them to lunge forward at incredible speeds and to fight two opponents at the same time.
Arthur searches his memories, and something clicks. He remembers having felt her prana signal interrupted. At times, that gentle flow of heat would be interrupted by a small… How would he describe it? Something like a short blast of energy coming from inside her.
‘I wish she was here so I could ask her.’
But she’s not, so he leaves those thoughts aside.
If it’s something like a blast, then how did she do it? The image of a spring comes back to his mind. When he uses an Arcane Art, he holds the prana like holding a spring and then releasing it, throwing the energy outwards. But as a rule, Martial Arts keep the energy inside the body to allow it to perform greater feats.
So what is the relation between the blast of energy and Martial Arts?
…
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Before he even noticed, an hour passed and he now has to fight his next match.
‘I feel like I’m getting closer, but… what am I missing?’
He still thinks as he stands in the arena. He mindlessly draws the longsword from its sheath at his waist, noticing how much lighter it is than his old sword. A second, shorter sword is also strapped with the first one as a backup, just in case.
“Let’s get it on!”
‘!!!’
Damn! He was so distracted he didn’t even hear the referee’s introductions and the fight already started.
Arthur hastily enters his stance just in time to parry the spear thrust coming to his chest. His opponent this time is a noble, and his prana signal is not very different from what he felt from the guy named Alan. Then what he heard about nobles keeping a lineage of strong souls seems to be true.
Arthur tunes out the cheers of the crowd and focuses on his opponent. He’s a young man using a spear to keep his distance and maintain pressure, so Arthur patiently stays just out of range, looking for his chance to dash forward.
But after a few moments of staring at each other, Arthur feels it again. That short, quick blast he remembers from back in the road is even clearer now that he feels it in front of him. A concentration of prana being set free in one go, flowing through the body almost violently.
And the stance of his opponent is familiar, as well. Left leg forward, right leg back, upper body turned towards him. The biggest difference is that instead of holding a sword in one hand, he’s holding a spear in two, but the weapon is still perfectly parallel to the ground.
[Stinger].
The Martial Art is set free, and the noble is shot forward, spearhead first.
But Arthur is already in the air. A short hop up with his knees close to his chest. He lands on the shaft of the spear, locking it in the ground as he thrusts with both hands holding the longsword. The tip of the blade finds the opening between the noble’s cuirass and his pauldrons and pierces his opponent’s right shoulder.
Taking advantage of the noble recoiling from the pain, Arthur kicks his chest, making him lose his balance. When the young man is laying on the ground, looking up to the ceiling, Arthur puts the blade of his sword against his neck.
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“The winner: Mister Arthuuuur!”
Arthur smiles. He’s getting closer to understanding Martial Arts.
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Once more, Arthur is back on the bench, meditating. There are two very important things he learned in that previous fight.
1) Just because Martial Arts are fast and strong, doesn’t mean you can just throw them out. Arthur was able to feel the shift in prana and, maybe more importantly, recognize the stance for [Stinger]. That allowed him to read what was about to happen, and react even before the Art was performed. Finding the right time to use a Martial Art is also a part of combat.
2) The concentration and sudden release of prana is key to quickly performing a Martial Art. That’s what he’s been doing wrong. Thanks to that previous fight, Sir Samuel’s words start to make more sense. Releasing the magical energy while keeping a clear image of his movements is what guides the Art.
He gathers prana at his chest. No, that’s not accurate. It would be best to say he’s gathering prana at the center of his soul, which he can best visualize by thinking it’s near his heart. The image of the Stinger is clear, but instead of releasing the Art, he lets the prana flow calmly back into his body. Then, he repeats it.
‘Calm, steady breathing. Focus on this part first. Get it right. Make it as natural as moving your body.’
When training him, his mother said several times that one should train every part of the body so that they’re always available to fight. So that when you want to move, your body reacts instantly. Being delayed just a fraction of a second because your arms don’t have the strength to carry your sword forward, because your feet can’t move that extra centimeter, that’s what leads to defeat.
Of course, Arthur is not there yet. He knows that. But that’s the philosophy behind his mother’s training. And he sees no reason why it wouldn’t apply to the soul as well.
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With the first two rounds of fights done, there will be an hour long break before the semifinals and the final fight.
Samuel nods in satisfaction. Not only did Arthur win his two fights, but he seems to be making progress even now. He can feel his prana signal in the waiting room even here in the V.I.P. balcony. What’s more, he’s paying more attention to his opponents. His second fight was flawless, even if it disappointed the crowd with how quickly it ended.
“Sir Samuel!” He hears a familiar voice approaching. He turns to see a man in his late forties, dressed in a beautiful blue tunic, short blonde hair and a well-cared for mustache. His wry smile is something Samuel can understand. “It seems your protégé defeated my nephew in an instant. I admit, it’s more than a little disappointing.”
He has plenty of reason to be disappointed, but Samuel needs to keep those thoughts away, even if he truly believes them. Saying something like that would be beyond rude. Still, Samuel hopes that boy will be at least half as disappointed in his performance as his uncle is. He was too hasty and was easily read. Samuel hopes this will drive the young noble to improve further.
“Duke Silva.” Samuel bows. “I’m sure your nephew will only grow stronger from here.”
“We can only hope so.” The duke laughs.
Duke Edgar Silva is the head of house Silva, one of the four great noble houses. All three of his children have already become knights, so the eyes of the family were on the poor boy who just lost.
“Where are your companions?” Duke Silva asks with a raised eyebrow as he looks around.
“Prince Eliot went to look for his lord brother, the first prince.” Samuel informs. “General Kain went to discuss some matters with Marquis Cormag and Marquis Zaphiel.”
“Is that so? Any idea what about?”
“Only that it concerns the issues at the border, Your Grace.”
“I see. Well, we’ll be informed in due time, I suppose.” The man sighs with a smile as he looks down at the arena. “Have you heard, Sir Samuel? There’s a big chance that the winner of this tournament will be appointed to the Sanctus Brigade.”
Noticing where the duke wants the conversation to go, Samuel replies. “That’s the brigade your daughter is in, is it not?”
“That’s correct.” Duke Silva nods with a complicated expression. “Which is why, now that my nephew is out of the competition, I find myself rooting for your protégé. Mr. Arthur, correct?”
“Yes. But may I ask why, Your Grace?”
“All participants this year are too green, in my opinion. All but one man.”
Samuel doesn’t have to guess who he means.
“Mr. Marcus, Your Grace?”
“Correct again, Sir Samuel.” Duke Silva chuckles without humor in his voice. “I realize he would make a good asset to the knights, but simply speaking as a father, I would prefer to keep a man as dangerous as him away from my daughter.”
“And what does that have to do with Arthur?”
“I might be getting old, Sir Samuel, but I was once a knight as well. I can see that the two most likely candidates to win are Mr. Marcus and Mr. Arthur. And given the choice, I would rather put my trust in the man you personally chose.”
“I’m not deserving of your trust, Your Grace.” Samuel bows deeply.
“Please. Few men are as trustworthy as you in this kingdom. Ironic, considering we don’t know a thing about your past.”
Samuel grimaces. He can’t help it.
Duke Silva sighs. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Please, consider it a show of the kingdom’s trust that, despite your unknown background, you were given the position of vice-general of the Radiant Knights, Sir Samuel.”
“I have always seen it that way, Your Grace.” Samuel keeps his bow as he answers solemnly.
“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to be a good uncle and scold my nephew when appropriate.” He leaves, chuckling with more humor this time.
Samuel wonders if he should go check on Arthur and his progress, but given that his prana signal hasn’t stopped even during this break, he decides to leave him to his training.
It’s obvious to everyone that the final fight will be between the two demigods. And Marcus has a good advantage over Arthur. The wild young man is far more used to his own strength than Arthur is.
‘Grow, Arthur. Let these battles make you stronger. Grow so that one day you become my equal, and lend that strength to this country.’
Samuel leaves, heading to check on the patrolling brigades. If something had happened, he would know already, but it doesn’t hurt to check.