Despite my eagerness to dive headfirst into the martial training, Deckard didn’t start imparting his kicking knowledge right away but made me warm up on the practice track he briskly put together and put me through a few sets of exercises, mainly leg warm-ups, and splits. According to him, getting my body to operating conditions was crucial.
Nothing wrong with that. I didn’t want to end up with severed tendons or torn muscles, either. If only I wasn’t drenched in sweat and out of breath at the end of it. That bastard jacked up the burden on my body of the army-grade weights that I had to wear during each and every training session. Thirty percent, no matter how little it may sound, was still at least an extra twenty kilos I had to haul around. And since I wasn’t your everyday Earth gal anymore, it was even more. [Behemoth], or I should say, my behemoth stomach that I decided to call the extra nutrient storage increasing the density of my body, was about twenty percent full. Because of that, whether I liked it or not, I now boasted a weight of about eighty kilos. Far from full use of the skill, for sure.
If I ate properly, and I mean from morning till night, which was technically impossible - my actual stomach would burst by then - I could fill my behemoth stomach to the brim and reach a weight of around 150 kilos. A number I would be terrified to reach on Earth. The thought of turning into an obese lump was giving me goosebumps. Fortunately, not an issue here on Eleaden that I have to worry about.
The thing that weighed me down was the army-grade weights, four bracelets, and a belt. All things considered, after doing the short math, my body had to deal with an extra 37 kilograms of weight because of them while I was putting it through a rigorous workout.
“A-another r-r-round or...?” I asked between gasps, not finishing the sentence in the hope that I was warmed up enough and ready to take whatever Deckard’s fighting style entailed.
The bastard enjoyed my eagerness to go through everything he threw at me, to get it over with as quickly as I could so I might finally learn how to actually fight; I saw it in his eyes. Yet I believed that he himself was impatient in his own way. After all, he taught me because he was stuck on some bottlenecks as far as his skills were concerned for years, and it was only his experience with Army recruit drills that held him back not to rush me through training. At least, that’s what I thought.
“Well...” He said and paused, leaving me in suspense a little longer, before he grinned. “I think it’s enough for a warm-up.”
“So?” Was it finally time for some real martial training? I tried not to get my hopes up too high, but the prospect of it poured fresh energy into my veins.
“Yes, time for you to learn how to kick properly.”
Here it was. Finally! ‘Yay!’ Though I held back a loud cheer, Sage wagging behind me like crazy, and my wings doing a weird aerial victory dance gave my excitement away.
“Hold your horses, Little Beast,” Deckard said, pulling a log from his spatial storage. “It won’t be as easy as you think.”
My wings’ flutter and tail wagging waned as my ears drooped, and confusion flared up on my face. I wasn’t that dense or naive to think it would be easy; that wasn’t why I was baffled. It was the log I had trouble imagining what it could be for. Hardly for sitting on around a campfire.
“This will be your training partner for now,” he said of the log in his hands, which he at once set about fixing to the ground. With the metal base jammed into the soil beneath our feet and the piece of wood on top of it, I immediately recognized what it was supposed to be, a really hardcore version of the kicking bag stand.
“Are you serious?”
“Regretting that you are barefoot already?”
“No, I...” What did being barefoot have to do with it? Oh... “Shit! Why does it still have a bark? Shouldn’t it be something like, I don’t know, a sandbag?”
“Sandbag?” Deckard raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to learn how to land a solid kick, not how to massage?”
“I do, but...”
“Look, Little Beast. Not every enemy you face will be fat and furry; there are insects down there with their shells harder than plate armor; creatures made purely of stone. How are you going to fight them when the hardest thing you’ve ever kicked will be a sandbag?”
“I’ll put my boots on,” I tried, having a hunch that such a half-assed solution isn’t going to win me many points with him.
Yet Deckard nodded. “Okay, prove to me that you’re okay with the boots, that having them on your feet doesn’t bother you at all, and I’ll consider replacing the log with something else, softer.”
He knew me too well. Or I should say, after last night, every city guard in the city knew my stance on shoes. I wish things were different, and I got a little bit of the normalcy I was hoping for with my new pair of boots. Instead, those damn pieces of footwear only brought me more misery.
“No shoes for me,” I conceded. It was infuriating, but would you wear an itchy sweater that gave you a rash just to feel cool? I wouldn’t, even if it meant admitting I was less human than I wished to be.
“Freedom to the feet, huh?” Deckard amusedly repeated the phrase I had shouted yesterday in Drunken Filly.
“Yeah,” I said, defeated. Now that freedom didn’t seem so great. “So, this log?”
“For you to kick, to learn how in the first place, then to not be afraid to boot something hard, and to get used to it...I guess this is where your [Unbending Resilience] and especially [Rough Hide] come in handy.”
Well, I could see why. Kicking that log, I was in for more than just a sweaty ride, but one full of pain and bloody feet.
“So, what do I do,” I said after closing my eyes for a moment and mustering back my resolve.
“Well, kick it,” Deckard said half-jokingly and then went on. “You already know what stance to take, how to move your feet. The new tier of [Dancer’s Stride] makes it even easier for you. Just use the basics you know. Do not push too hard against the floor with your heels; stay on your toes and try to centralize the whole weight of the body on your feet. It’s the next step which will be more challenging.”
To say that there can’t be anything difficult about kicking would be as foolish as underestimating the folding of a paper airplane. The true masters could send it tens of meters away, whereas mine always hit the ground not far from me. So I just cocked my ears, kept my mouth shut, and waited to hear what Deckard had to say.
“More challenging for both of us, actually. I know my body, how to shift my weight and how to move around to deliver the kick. I know how to teach it to others. Whether it’s someone big or small, man or woman, the same applies to everyone, more or less. You know what I’m getting at?”
I’d have to be dumb or still hammered not to. “My wings and tail.”
“Yes, just by having them, your center of weight is different from a human’s. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. As you know, that overgrown duster helps you keep your balance, and it does a damn good job of that. But it will also make your kicks different from mine. I suspect this part will come naturally to you. It would be a challenge for me to find a way around that and apply what I know to you.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“You, on the other hand, will have to learn what I’m going to teach you in both your human form and beast one.”
“Shit!” I couldn’t help but curse. Even though it was right under my nose, so to speak, having to learn in both forms never crossed my mind.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Deckard laughed. “In your beast form, you’re bigger, bulkier, and you have beast legs. I may have to invite a terran to join in on your training, but we’ll see how we fare.”
“Weren’t there any terrans in the army?” I know they weren’t among the Castiana City Guards - well, apart from Meneur now - but that was merely a defensive force of the city. There surely must have been a terran in the Empire’s army.
“Good thinking, but no. The Terran Federation collapsed three years before the end of the Mind Wars, you can tell at the war's peak, and even though we were short of bodies back then, no sane General would accept untrained refugees into the ranks. Just taking new humans was a huge risk.”
“Mind control?”
“What else. Making sure the recruit didn’t have a mind mage in their head took a lot of resources, and even more to train their mental defenses to a level that guaranteed they wouldn’t get mind fucked on the first encounter with them and their mind fucked hordes. Sahal, at that time, had hardly enough resources not to let the refugees starve, let alone train any. Frankly, the end of the war had come in the nick of time.”
Yeah, I’ve heard that before. A little longer, and the front line would have collapsed. “And what about now? Are there any? Terrans, I mean?”
“I don’t know, don’t care, and it’s completely irrelevant to your training.”
“Then why the fuck tell me the whole damn story. You could have just said you didn’t train any.”
Deckard just shrugged. “A little nostalgia, and I figured you should know how things were.”
Fair enough; I was quite ignorant of the world I was in. Yet I believed that history lessons belonged elsewhere. “How about finally showing me what to do.”
“All right,” he nodded, took a deep breath, and grinned. “Let’s start with a simple roundhouse kick or, say, a kick in the side, as your area of focus should be near the opponent’s kidneys when it comes to humans. Don’t confuse it with a side kick, though. A roundhouse kick, like all kicks, doesn’t start with the movement of the leg, but with the movement of the body, in this case, the arm. Use that one that is farther from your opponent. That will help you put your shoulder and hips into action to land a powerful hit. Your dominant leg is the right one, so let’s start with that one, watch.”
Deckard then went on to show the kind of kicking I’ve only seen on TV so far. He made it look so easy. Almost as if anyone who could take a step should be able to do so. His opponent was not the log I expected and hoped to see him hit - just the air in front of him.
“Why don’t you kick that,” I gestured to the not-sandbag. “Because you don’t have any shoes?”
“Because I’d kick it in two, smartass. But now you can show me how it’s done.”
“Just like that?” A few words, one demonstration, and that was it? Pretty sure I needed more than that.
He casually shrugged, a smug smile on his face. “Just give it a try. We’ll see from that what next.”
The log, as wide as my waist, covered in bark resembling that of a pine tree, looked much more intimidating now that it was to come to the actual kicking than when Deckard pulled it out. Yet, I walked over to my new training partner, took a breath, prepared myself for a hell of a lot of pain, and assumed the right leg back position. Then as the ever-present breeze threw a strand of hair into my eyes, I lashed out with my foot and struck a log in the kidneys.
Unsurprisingly, it did not collapse to the ground writhing in pain. I was the one who nearly peed my shorts when a sharp pang shot through my leg and into my body. Fortunately, I managed to keep the whining and cursing at bay.
“W-well?”
Deckard chuckled at my efforts not to show how much pain I was in. “Not bad at all, for a first try. You brought your back knee straight up just to the right height. But then you have to pivot it, locking your leg out, hitting with the top of your foot.” He followed it up with a demonstration. “First, make sure you charge your knee correctly. That’s what bringing a bent knee up is called. It’s a basic movement that directs your kick,” Deckard said as he brought his knee up with his leg bent in another demonstration.
“Shouldn’t you be the one to make sure I do it right,” I said, an edge of nervousness creeping into my voice. I was surprised myself how quickly my enthusiasm for the training was replaced by an uneasiness that I would mess it up, that I wouldn’t be able to pull it off and disappoint both him and myself.
Deckard laughed. “Don’t worry, Little Beast. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
“Okay,” I let out a deep breath in an attempt to shake off the anxiety.
“So, the first part of charging is you want to make sure you’re not charging too low. You charge too low, and your kick will only go so high. You want to make sure you charge right around your gut. That way, your kick goes through your body level or chest level. Still following me?”
“If I want to kick the kidneys, I have to raise my knee to my gut.”
“Exactly. Now try to put what I’ve shown you into practice.”
My training partner was still standing in the same place, challenging me with his gaze, mocking me. One kick, a little pain, and I was already hesitating. What a coward I was. “Fuck you!” I growled silently, took a breath, brought my knee up, pivoted it, locked my leg out, hit the log with the top of my foot, and swallowed the pain.
“Again!” Deckard bellowed, his voice carrying an edge I’d never come across before. He took this very seriously. So I just gritted my teeth and kicked the log in the kidneys again - and then a few more times.
“Okay, enough. I’m sure you’ve noticed your kicks aren’t quite right. That’s because you don’t have the proper hip rotation. You’ve got to pivot your hips on your roundhouse kick. If you don’t rotate your hips as you kick, you’ll kick more up rather than across. Got that?”
I did. His demonstrations as he spoke helped tremendously. At least as far as understanding what he was telling and showing me was concerned, putting it into practice was another matter entirely.
“Good,” he said when I gave him a nod. “Hip rotation is not the only thing you have to watch out for. You want to make sure you’re pivoting the non-kicking foot. So as you’re getting that hip rotation, you must pivot the foot that is on the ground. If you can do all that, it will help you increase the speed and power of your kick. Try engaging your tail and wings as well; I’m sure you can get even more energy into your rotation by swinging them. Now, try it.”
Kick the log again. I got it. Putting everything he said and showed me into action, I did my best to kick with my right foot, already healed from whatever damage it had suffered before, while I swung Sage around and adjusted my movement with my wings.
“Shit!” I swore aloud, gritting my teeth. I surely didn’t do as well as he showed me, yet I hit the log way harder than I had ever kicked it before. It was mind boggling how much a few instructions could do. Well, baffling and more painful.
Further directing my movements, Deckard let me keep kicking the log until he was kinda satisfied with the way I rotated my hips and pivoted my non-kicking leg.
“You’re leaning too far forward,” he said when he stopped me. “It’s important to have a good body posture while you’re kicking. This is where your extra limbs will probably come some more into play and require you to find your own way. However, you should make sure you don’t lean back or forward as you throw your roundhouse kick. It’ll only hurt your technique, especially if you’re leaning forward. You’re not gonna be able to get the full extension or rotation for your roundhouse kick.”
“Okay.” I’m not saying easy to do, but something that shouldn’t be hard to keep an eye on.
“Then there’s your foot. You want to make sure you’re hit with the right part of your foot. You definitely don’t want to hit with your toes, but make sure you hit with the top.”
“I was doing that,” I argued, still able to feel the bark digging into my skin there.
Much to my bafflement, Deckard shook his head. “Show me your leg. Come on, bring it up.” When I did so, he grasped my leg in his hand and ran his finger over the spot I was hitting the log with. It kind of tickled a little. “Is this the top of your foot? It is not. You turn it too far in, a little more, and you would hit with your ankle. Trust me, not what you want.”
He was exaggerating. The spot on my foot where I hit the log was well away from the ankle. I got the point, though.
“A little lower, too,” he said as he ran his fingers closer to my toes. “Hitting with the lower part of your shin isn’t a bad thing, but your kick will lose a lot of power if you do.”
“Got it,” I said, and he let go of my leg.
“Well, we’ll see about that,” Deckard smirked, gesturing to the log. “Remember, don’t lean back or forward; hit it with the top of your foot.”
Repeating the words and movements in my head while I tried to recall the previous ones of my legs and hips, I fixed my gaze on the log, my training partner. The bastard was taunting me again, getting on my nerves. So, as a drop of cold sweat rolled down my spine to my ass, I brought my knee up, charged it, swung with Sage, locked out my leg, and hit the log in the kidneys with the top of my foot. Then again, and again. Deckard was constantly correcting my moves, giving me instructions while I was looking for a way to put them into action, to incorporate them into my nascent fighting technique including the movements of my wings and tail.
The kicking turned out to be harder than I thought it would be. But, again, what came easy in life, right?