After five more days in the central pentagon sagiri finally settled into a schedule. wake before the instructors, which meant it had to be before three. Be the first in their dining wing so as not to mingle with them. Instead of arenas, they had some form of training pits deep inside the Pentagon. He settled for doing laps around the pit before jumping in when he couldn’t take it any longer. He settled on sparring along with the straw dummies with his fists. There was no weapon in sight in the pits, and perhaps it was because every instructor carried around their weapon of choice.

The presence tailing him had not stopped. Sometimes there could be two, and sometimes one, and he had settled on ignoring. With his fast-growing body, so did his strength grow as well. He could now do twenty laps around the arena even though he had been bedridden for two weeks. Combat sparring alone and dagger training with an imaginary blade also seemed easier, as if his body had suddenly stopped being weighed down by some weight, and he was finally himself. The only explanation he had been able to come up with was that the archive inside of him had been too big for his small body before and after hitting sixteen, his body, the archive, and the power powering it had finally had enough room to grow.

He was not allowed to join the common assembly, so he could just use the time to train. No instructor had talked to him, and he couldn’t help but think that Senraki had designed a plan to drive him mad, though. he missed the fourth year pentagon beehive of activity, but he had always loved silence, and his archive was always pulsing with whatever he saw in books now more than ever. Sometimes he did not have to read anymore. Just shuffle through the pages, and the archive could remember word for word and start rewriting his memory whenever he slept or while he trained his combat skills.

He did not faint at all anymore from the mere act of the archive merging with his memory. He, in fact, always felt like he could keep going and going, and it was only time that stopped him. That and the hunger that kept growing inside of him. He had still not reached the level of eating as much as Kaka, but his portion whenever he ate now was mountainous. He had not found a chance to talk with Senraki, Salka or Lotaga as much as he had wanted to. Perhaps that was also Senraki’s plan. The man always had a backup plan for a plan, and adding to the fact that he was powerful and cunning and sometimes acted like a child, it did not help at all. He acted like a child but was colder than anyone Sagiri had ever come across.

He punched the straw harder and harder, imagining the faces of the Tamelku twins every time he landed. He had become more agile somehow after the fight with Starshaped and Man-Boy. His boy somehow remembered the moves he had done then as he pushed the elbow of his right hand to the straw, he followed it with the back elbow of his left hand to the side. He did not stop. He threw himself back in two somersaults on his hands to evade two incoming attacks. He landed on his feet and only paused for a moment before he ran at full speed to the straw man, landed on both his knees around his neck, and twisted his body. just like with start shaped, he jumped off before the head sag with death.

He landed with his back to the straw before standing to his feet.

‘Though I’d never see that move again.” A voice filled the empty arena, and sagiri snapped his gaze upwards. Salka was standing at the edge of the pit. He had missed him yet again. “Your awareness of your surroundings hasn’t changed at all, either. guess it’s good because I got to see how good you have become. Yet that move was sloppy and slow compared to how you did it last time,” Salka corrected, jumping down to the pit.

“I don’t know how I did it either,” Sagiri said with a sigh. He knew his answer was unbelievable, but he hoped that Salka could believe him. Silence stretched between them as Salka walked even closer till he was standing right in front of sagiri.

“Seems you lack a sparing partner, and I’m free from my duty today. Come at me.” Salka said, standing with his hands folded to his chest.

“What?!” sagiri asked. He did not in a million years think that Salka was going to offer himself as a sparring partner.

“A warrior shouldn’t hesitate. Now kill me before I kill you,” Salka said in an instructor’s tone.

“Begin,” he said in a serious tone. sagiri did not want to hesitate anymore. it might

Sagiri moved first.

He closed the distance hard, shoulder low, fist driving toward Salka’s ribs. Salka shifted a fraction to the side to evade the attack. The strike passed through empty air. Before Sagiri could recover, a palm brushed his wrist, and his motion was redirected in an instant. He lost his balance, slid off centre, and fell to the ground.

He got back up and got into a stance. He attacked again, this time faster, but Salka evaded the same way with zero effort. sagiri however, had learned from his first attack how not to fall on his face again. He twisted, followed with a backward elbow aimed for Salka’s side.

Salka wasn’t there, however. The man’s movements were fluid and effortless. He stepped inside the arc of the strike and tapped Sagiri’s sternum with two fingers. Not hard, but just enough to break the rhythm. Sagiri staggered half a step, recovered, and drove a knee upward. Salka caught it mid-rise, turned his hips, and Sagiri was suddenly spun, his own momentum dragging him past his target.

Sagiri landed, rolled, and came up again immediately. Going against a man like Salka, there was no time to sit and think of his next attack, and salka using no effort, no matter what he tried, was making adrenaline pump in his body, pushing him to attack even faster.

He attacked in bursts, starting with a jab, cross, and low sweep, each movement sharp and committed. None of the combinations landed anyway. Salka flowed through them, never retreating far. He was comfortable on the defense as if he could sleep and still dodge. A forearm slid along Sagiri’s punch, a shoulder nudged his center, a foot appeared where Sagiri meant to step. Salka was simply too fast. He did not stand a chance

Every exchange ended the same way. With Sagiri off-balance and Salka untouched.

Sagiri growled and pressed harder. He was growing impatient, even with exhaustion kicking in. He feinted high and dropped low, driving for Salka’s legs. Salka shifted his weight, and Sagiri struck nothing but air and stone. A hand caught the back of his collar and released him just as quickly, sending him stumbling forward. This was infuriating him to no end. He picked himself off the ground and got into position again. No wonder Salka had refused to train him when Senraki had asked. The man was on his only level. Perhaps he trained warriors in the war college or maybe with high-ranking instructors.

“Again,” Salka instructed, and Sagiri rose to attack again.

His breathing grew louder. Sweat cut lines down his face. His strikes stayed fast but lost precision and attacking angles, widening. He tried to adapt, to read, to anticipate the way Salka moved before he moved.

Salka remained calm even as sagiri lost his mind. He corrected Sagiri constantly, without words. A knuckle to the shoulder when Sagiri overextended. A foot was placed in the exact wrong spot when Sagiri rushed. A palm pressed to the hip that turned power into emptiness.

Sagiri’s muscles began to burn. He swung anyway. this time carelessly. A straight punch going for Salka’s torso or where it had occupied a heartbeat earlier. Sagiri did not even land in the air this time, and Salka swept his legs clean out from under him. Sagiri hit the ground hard, breath leaving his lungs in a sharp burst.

He rolled, forced himself up. His vision tunneled. His limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, like they belonged to someone else. Still, he stepped forward and attacked again, slower now, but with everything he had left. Salka caught his wrist, twisted gently, and Sagiri dropped to one knee without understanding how. His arm shook. His shoulders sagged. Salka released him.

Sagiri tried to stand, but his legs failed. He dropped forward, palms hitting the ground, chest heaving, sweat dripping onto the stone. His lungs burned with every breath. His hands trembled uncontrollably. Salka stood in front of him, untouched, with not even one hair out of place.

“Enough,” Salka said. “You are worse than a three-year-old girl in my clan,” he said with a sigh. He stayed where he was, head lowered, fighting for air. He had not landed a single strike. Not one, as he watched Salka walk away, the raging fire inside of him awakened, and his pupils changed.

Sagiri pushed himself up anyway. His breathing broke rhythm. Something hot tore through his chest, not pain but uncontrollable rage. It was sharp and sudden, flaring past restraint. His hands clenched. His vision darkened at the edges.

He lunged. He drove forward like an animal, fists swinging wide, fast, reckless. A strike aimed for Salka’s back and to the back of his neck. Power poured into every blow, ugly and uncontrolled.

Salka reacted instantly, just as sagiri was about to make contact. He slipped the first strike, caught Sagiri’s forearm, and felt it too much force, too much intent. Sagiri tore free and attacked again, faster, teeth bared, breath snarling out of him. He didn’t hear Salka’s voice. He didn’t see the opening.

Salka stepped in hard. A forearm smashed across Sagiri’s chest, knocking the air from him. Before Sagiri could fold, Salka pivoted and drove him down, shoulder-first, into the stone. The impact rang through the arena.

Sagiri still fought. He clawed for Salka’s legs, fingers scrabbling, trying to rise. Salka pinned him with a knee between the shoulder blades and twisted Sagiri’s arm behind his back, locking it in place. Sand bit into Sagiri’s cheek. His body shook, straining, furious.

“Enough,” Salka said, low and sharp.

Sagiri growled and tried to surge again. His strength failed him. The fight drained out all at once, leaving only weight and trembling. His chest heaved. His limbs went slack. His eyes returned to their normal amber and his rage dissipated.

Salka held the lock a moment longer, then released him.

Sagiri collapsed fully this time, face to the floor, breath ragged, fingers twitching uselessly. The snap faded, leaving exhaustion and a hollow ache where control had been.

Salka stood over him, silent.

“That,” Salka said after a beat, “was reckless,” is all he said in a reprimanding tone, but there was something more now behind his eyes.

Sagiri didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His body refused to move.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep