"Twin Sword Style—Writhing Centipede," Kalem muttered, adjusting his stance as he sheathed his swords.
The technique had served him well. The fluidity of his movements, the unpredictability of his strikes—it all came together in that one moment. His swords had moved like the many legs of a centipede, twisting, striking, and overwhelming his enemies before they could even react.
Garron, who had been watching intently, folded his arms. His sharp eyes took in Kalem's posture, the faint traces of mana still lingering around his muscles.
"High-quality weapons, a refined mana-muscle technique, and a well-structured sword style… Just who was it that willingly showered you with this much support?" Garron asked, suspicion clear in his voice.
Kalem met his gaze without hesitation. "No one. I am self-taught."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Garron scoffed. "Surely, you jest. Even high-ranking warriors here require guidance to reach your level."
Kalem shook his head. "If you put it like that, then yes, I was given the basic definition of the mana-muscle technique by another person."
Garron frowned. "From just a definition?"
Kalem nodded. "That was all I needed."
Garron exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "Either you're a genius or a liar."
"Perhaps both," Kalem admitted with a slight smirk.
The older warrior studied him carefully, then grunted. "Explain."
Kalem sighed, as if debating whether to entertain the conversation, but in the end, he relented. "Mana-muscle techniques aren't something mystical or unattainable. They're just an extension of the body's natural movements, enhanced through controlled bursts of mana. Once you understand that, it becomes a matter of refinement, repetition, and adaptation."
Garron raised an eyebrow. "That sounds far too simple for something most people struggle with for years."
"Most people overcomplicate it," Kalem replied. "They rely too much on external teachings rather than understanding their own body's limits and potential. I studied anatomy, watched how different creatures moved, and built my technique accordingly."
"You studied anatomy?"
"Of course," Kalem said. "A smith should understand the structure of his weapons, but a warrior should understand the structure of his own body just as well. Strength without efficiency is wasted effort."
Garron let out a short chuckle. "You sound more like a scholar than a fighter."
Kalem shrugged. "A good warrior is both."
There was a pause as Garron mulled over Kalem's words. Then, without warning, he stepped forward, drawing his own sword.
"Show me," Garron said.
Kalem blinked. "Now?"
"You're self-taught, right?" Garron smirked. "Then let's see if your knowledge holds up against real combat experience."
Kalem glanced around. The battlefield was still being cleared, with other recruits recovering from their encounters. Some were treating wounds, others were collecting remains of fallen creatures. No one seemed interested in interfering.
"Fine," Kalem said, rolling his shoulders. "Just don't complain if I embarrass you in front of your subordinates."
Garron laughed. "Big words, kid. Let's see if you can back them up."
Kalem moved first.
He dashed forward, his twin swords flashing as he launched a rapid assault. Each strike was precise, flowing seamlessly into the next—slashes, thrusts, feints—all executed with inhuman speed.
But Garron was ready.
The veteran sidestepped the first flurry, deflecting Kalem's blades with his own. The clash of steel rang through the air as Garron countered, swinging a powerful downward strike.
Kalem twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the blow as he slid behind Garron, aiming for an opening.
Garron, however, reacted instantly. He spun around, his sword cutting through the air with terrifying force. Kalem barely managed to parry, the impact forcing him back.
"You're fast," Garron admitted, his stance unshaken. "But speed alone won't be enough."
Kalem grinned. "I know."
He shifted into a lower stance, his muscles coiling like a spring. Then, he vanished.
Garron's eyes widened slightly as Kalem reappeared at his side, his blades striking from multiple angles in quick succession. Garron blocked, parried, and countered, but Kalem moved unpredictably, his footwork weaving around the battlefield with unnatural fluidity.
It was like fighting a storm—unrelenting, ever-changing.
For several more exchanges, the two clashed, each testing the other's limits.
Then, just as quickly as it began, Kalem halted, stepping back.
"That's enough," Garron said, lowering his sword. "I get it now."
Kalem raised an eyebrow. "Get what?"
"You really are self-taught," Garron admitted. "Your movements aren't rigid like those trained under a strict school of combat. You adapt mid-fight, adjusting based on instinct and observation."
Kalem sheathed his swords. "Is that a good thing?"
Garron smirked. "It is. But it also means you'll have to constantly refine your technique. Without a proper mentor, it's easy to plateau."
Kalem nodded. "I'm aware."
Garron studied him for a moment before sighing. "Alright, kid. I'll admit—you're interesting. Let's see if you can survive the rest of today's mission."
Kalem smirked. "Just watch me."
As they continued moving deeper into the battlefield, Kalem displayed his adaptability even further. He swapped between weapons effortlessly, showcasing a range of techniques with mastery that left even seasoned warriors in disbelief.
When forced into close-quarters against swift, dagger-wielding abyssal creatures, Kalem switched to a pair of short blades.
"Dagger Style—Night of Long Knives!"
His movements became erratic and deceptive, his attacks striking from multiple angles in quick succession. The creatures barely had time to react before they collapsed, their bodies riddled with fatal cuts.
Moments later, faced with larger, armored foes, Kalem picked up a spear from a fallen warrior.
"Spear Style—Spiral Strike!"
With a single burst of mana, he spun the spear in a fluid, continuous motion, piercing through the enemy's weak points with deadly precision.
Then, when a massive brute of a beast stormed towards the squad, Kalem retrieved an axe from his crate.
"Axe Style—Decapitation!"
He swung in a single, thunderous motion, his strength focused entirely on one lethal strike. The sheer force behind it cleaved through the creature's thick hide, severing its head clean off.
And when a pack of agile enemies attempted to flank the group, Kalem wielded a chained sickle, his movements unpredictable and fierce.
"Chained Sickle Style—Violent Wind!"
The sickle spun wildly, the chain allowing him to strike from unexpected angles, tearing through the enemies with ruthless efficiency.
Each time he changed weapons, he didn't just use them—he mastered them.
Garron, watching from the sidelines, was left momentarily speechless.
"This kid…" he muttered under his breath. "Just how many weapon styles has he learned?"
By the end of the mission, Kalem stood among the few unscathed. His armor bore some scratches, but his breathing was steady, his gaze sharp.
Garron stepped forward, shaking his head. "Alright, I take it back. You're not just interesting—you're a damn monster."
Kalem wiped the sweat off his brow, smirking. "Told you to watch me."