Martial Demons Ascension

Rhyka's hand tightened slightly on the hilt of his curved blade as he stood in the arena, the sound of laughter and jeers washing over him like background noise.

But his mind wasn't on them.

He remembered Emmet's lecture clearly.

"Once you hit that level, you can be taught advanced forms of magic or even create your own The stronger your core, the more intricate your casting becomes. And the core isn't static it can be cultivated through stages."

Emmet had raised a finger then, pacing slowly in front of the class.

"There are five main stages of core development Beyond that, you don't need to worry about yet Stage One to Stage Five. And each stage has four sub-stages: Initial, Early, Mid, and Peak So you are constantly moving through levels, refining, strengthening."

He had tapped his temple.

"The important thing to remember is that every stage expands both your physical and magical limits By Stage One Peak, you've essentially reached the peak of what a human body can do naturally Faster, stronger, sharper reflexes enhancement simply lets you maintain that state."

Rhyka almost smiled under his mask at the memory.

By that standard, the majority of his classmates all the ones who had already awakened cores were Stage One Initial A few were scraping into Early Eto, Rinnte, and Millis stood a little higher, closer to Mid. But even then, they were barely scratching the foundation of what Emmet described.

And yet… even that small step was enough to put them on a different level from an ordinary human Their speed, their reflexes, the precision of their spellcasting all of it grew on the strength of their developing cores.

But me?

Rhyka shifted his stance, slowly rolling one foot across the stone to feel the weight transfer His body responded instantly, the line of his balance flowing like water.

He didn't have a core Not even the weakest Stage One Initial And yet, thanks to the glance, he had touched something far sharper than what Emmet described.

It wasn't magic.

It wasn't strength from a core.

It was him His flesh, his nerves, his instincts honed beyond what anyone in this class could comprehend.

His awareness was perfect. He felt the subtle micro-adjustments of his muscles, the exact angle of his blade, the weight distribution of his stance down to fractions.

His balance was absolute never too forward, never too back.

His intuition in combat moved faster than conscious thought He didn't need to plan where to step, or how to respond His body simply knew.

Even the short time since he had received the glance had been enough to turn him into a master of footwork, of timing, of reading movement. Every swing of the stick in the forest, every small drill he had tested, had come alive in his memory as though carved into him by decades of practice.

By Emmet's scale, his classmates were using on Stage One Initial cores to push them into "peak human."

But Rhyka? He was already beyond that peak in physical technique alone A boy whose every step, every shift of weight, every cut of his blade came with the precision of a grand martial artist who devoted hisl life.

They had magic He had mastery.

The first challenger stepped forward.

He was hesitant, shoulders stiff, but the jeers of the class behind him pushed him on.

"Don't you dare lose to him."

"Imagine getting beaten by someone with no core."

"Pathetic if you let him land even one hit."

The boy's lips tightened into a thin line. He had wood magic hardly suited for offense If he wanted to win, he'd need to rely on his body, on sheer force Against anyone else, that would have been enough But standing across from him was Rhyka, masked, blade in hand, and radiating a stillness that felt… wrong.

For a second, the boy's fear flickered back. Then his gaze caught on the ridiculous half-mask, the red and gold paint glinting under the arena's light He scoffed How dangerous could someone that desperate look?

Emmet's voice cut across the arena. "Begin."

The boy exploded forward.

Mana surged through his limbs, fueling speed and strength He closed the distance in a blur, right leg snapping up into a vicious kick aimed at Rhyka's ribs The kind of kick that would've floored any ordinary kid.

But Rhyka wasn't ordinary.

He didn't flinch Didn't retreat.

Instead, his body shifted with surgical precision His own foot shot out, not to block, but to intercept His heel clipped the inside of the boy's ankle, the smallest adjustment in angle but it was enough.

The boy's balance shattered mid-kick His body tilted sideways, momentum throwing him off his axis.

And in that instant, Rhyka's blade whispered forward Not to kill Not even to cut deep Just enough The curved steel grazed the boy's cheek, a line of red blooming across his skin.

The crowd gasped.

The boy crashed to the ground in a clumsy roll, panic flashing across his face as he scrambled back to his feet His hand shot up, touching the shallow cut on his cheek Warm blood smeared across his fingers.

When he looked back at Rhyka

He froze.

Because Rhyka was smiling. Wide. The mask couldn't hide it The kind of smirk that didn't belong on a cornered orphan it belonged to a predator.

The boy's breath caught. His mind screamed don't freeze, move, MOVE! He raised his fists again, rushing forward in a desperate attempt to reclaim momentum His arms lashed out, wild punches powered by mana.

Rhyka's body moved like water.

One sidestep he let the fist brush past his mask.

Another pivot the second punch missed by a hair

His footwork was flawless, calm, each movement minimal but effective.

Then he struck.

The flat of his blade smacked the boy's wrist with a brutal snap, forcing his hand open Before the boy could recover, Rhyka stepped in, shoulder bumping into his chest, sending him staggering.

The boy swung wildly, a sloppy hook.

Rhyka ducked under it His knee shot up.

Crack.

Air exploded from the boy's lungs as Rhyka's knee slammed into his stomach He bent forward, choking, only for the cold edge of steel to slide across his throat light enough to not cut, heavy enough to remind him what it could do.

The boy froze Completely.

Rhyka leaned in close, so only he could hear. "You lose."

Then he shoved him back.

The boy stumbled, collapsed onto the ground again, hands instinctively clutching his throat even though the blade hadn't broken skin.

Silence gripped the arena for a breath Then whispers spread like wildfire.

"He… emasculated him."

"That was nothing."

"He didn't even use magic."

All around the stage, students gaped. They had mocked him a second ago, but the sight of their classmate enhanced with mana crumpling so easily under Rhyka's technique sent unease rippling through them.

Rhyka stood tall, blade lowered but still gleaming, mask angled just enough to show that same smug smirk He cracked his neck again, the sound echoing across the stone.

"Next."