Martial Demons Ascension

Emmet's arms were folded, but his fingers tapped once against his sleeve Outwardly, his expression was neutral, teacher-like, but inside he was reeling.

That footwork… that timing…

He had seen countless sparring matches over the years, dozens of students fumbling their way through "combat." What Rhyka had just displayed was not fumbling It wasn't even "talented for his age." It was clean, practiced, and deliberate.

It was skill.

Since when had he been training? Emmet asked himself Who taught him? Where would a magicless orphan even learn this?

None of it made sense At eleven years old, no child should have that kind of combat instinct not even the prodigies born into warrior clans For Rhyka to have reached that level alone…

Emmet's chest tightened with an unexpected feeling Pity.

Had Rhyka been blessed with even the weakest spark of magic, he could have taken this martial skill and woven it into something terrifying The arts of the Sword Saints came to mind infamous across the world for blending blade mastery with spells that could tear down mountains With the right backing, Rhyka could have walked that path.

Instead, here he stood smirking behind a gaudy mask, playing the villain in front of classmates who only mocked him.

Emmet sighed through his nose, gaze lingering on that smug face. What a waste.

Down in the arena, the other students weren't so composed.

Groups clustered together, whispering in sharp tones.

"He made Jerran look like an amateur."

"Yeah, but Jerran had wood magic, what was he supposed to do?"

"Doesn't matter Did you see that dodge? He read him like a book."

"He's still magicless One spell and he's done."

The chatter grew louder as they argued, voices laced with both unease and ridicule. No one wanted to admit they were nervous, but more than one student was secretly glad they hadn't been the first to face him.

Finally, as if by silent agreement, their gazes shifted toward one of their own.

Loretta.

She didn't hesitate when the suggestion reached her ears.

Her long blonde ponytail swayed as she stepped forward, eyes gleaming with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. Compared to the nervous shuffling of the boy before her, Loretta looked like she belonged on the stage.

Her classmates whispered her name like a promise She wasn't the strongest caster in their year, but she had control More importantly, she had a signature spell: Water Dance.

It wasn't brute force, but it didn't need to be. By channeling her mana through rhythmic, dance-like movements, Loretta could create threads of water that flowed with an eerie grace, almost like they had a mind of their own The spell required precision, discipline, and timing things she had spent countless hours perfecting.

If anyone could humiliate Rhyka in front of the class, it was her.

She climbed onto the platform with a dancer's poise, each step measured, deliberate Her eyes bright, almost shining with self-assurance locked onto Rhyka. She didn't laugh, didn't mock.

Instead, she tilted her head, studying the mask and the curve of his blade.

Then she met his gaze directly.

The arena quieted Even the whispers died down, anticipation building.

Rhyka adjusted his stance lazily, blade hanging low at his side His smirk deepened beneath the mask, as though daring her to come closer.

For a heartbeat, it was just the two of them, locked in silent challenge.

Emmet straightened slightly, the faintest frown creasing his forehead Loretta's control over water was real If she used Water Dance at full precision, she could cover gaps in her defense that most beginners couldn't Against an ordinary opponent, she would suffocate them with fluid pressure until they collapsed.

But against him?

Emmet's gaze slid to Rhyka's feet To his balance To the subtle way his weight shifted, already prepared to move.

This wouldn't be ordinary.

Not at all.

Loretta didn't immediately raise her fists. Instead, she pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breath The reflection of Rhyka's curved blade glinted across her face as she inhaled, then looked him squarely in the eyes.

"Give me a minute," she said evenly.

The request shocked a few in the crowd. Asking an opponent for prep time was unheard of in a spar It was basically admitting her spell wasn't instant But her voice carried a calm confidence, like she wasn't ashamed to say it.

Rhyka tilted his head Then, with a smirk tugging beneath the mask, he gave the smallest nod.

"Fine."

And so, Loretta began.

She moved with dancer's grace, one step flowing into the next, arms cutting the air with deliberate precision A twirl of her wrist A sway of her hip Every motion drew faint threads of water into existence, droplets forming from the ambient mana in the air At first they seemed sluggish, clinging to her fingertips, but as the sequence continued the streams thickened, weaving into ribbons that circled her like living serpents.

Students leaned forward, murmuring. Even those who mocked Rhyka earlier grew quiet.

The water responded to her movements at first, trailing after her like obedient extensions of her limbs. But soon… soon it began moving on its own Snapping Curling A coil broke from her control for a moment, striking against the ground like a whip before slithering back into orbit.

Her golden hair swung with the rhythm, ponytail whipping side to side as her dance reached its climax.

Finally, Loretta stopped The water circled her waist, her arms, her legs, restless but contained, writhing as if alive She lifted her chin, eyes flashing with challenge.

"I'm ready."

Emmet raised his hand. "Begin."

The air tightened.

Rhyka moved first.

Slow steps Then sudden ones His pattern was strange, jerky, unpredictable. He prowled in broken rhythms one moment gliding forward, the next swaying back, his blade dragging against the floor with a faint scrape His movements were deliberately erratic, his footwork a puzzle meant to break her sense of timing.

Loretta didn't bite immediately She kept her distance, letting the water spin tighter around her But then she lunged.

Her first strike was a compressed fist of water, surging forward with force She ducked low behind it, using the moving barrier as both cover and spear.

Rhyka twisted his hips, barely avoiding the main fist, only for a second strike to rip across from the side The water moved with brutal efficiency, curving like a snake mid-flight.

Rhyka dropped into a roll The fist tore past his mask, spraying cold droplets across his cheek He came up from the roll in a crouch, blade already thrusting forward, a clean stab meant to catch her as she closed in.

Clang!

The water slammed into his blade, deflecting the thrust Sparks flew as metal scraped wet pressure, and Loretta pushed forward, spinning with a kick meant to stomp him down.

Rhyka's answer was instant He used the planted sword as a pivot, palms pressing on the hilt to leverage his weight His body flipped into the air, legs cutting an arc His boot smashed into her cheek with a sharp crack.

Loretta staggered back, teeth gritted, but the water lashed protectively, pushing him away before he could capitalize.

Rhyka landed in a crouch, his blade lodged awkwardly in the ground He darted toward it, but Loretta's arm swept in a fluid arc.

A massive fist of water launched forward, larger than before, extending far out to bar his path.

Boom!

The ground cracked where the fist slammed, spraying shards of stone Rhyka twisted his body mid-dash, sliding under the strike by a hair The water recoiled, only to surge again, a second fist lashing out with relentless momentum.

He ducked once more, rolled, then sprang to his feet as a third strike ripped through the air. Each time he closed the gap, inch by inch, his movements razor-precise, his balance flawless.

Loretta narrowed her eyes. She wasn't throwing blindly She knew exactly where he wanted to go back to that sword. So she shaped the water to herd him, cutting off angles, forcing him to the edges.

But Rhyka wasn't fooled. His instincts screamed the truth of her intentions He baited one strike, feinted another, weaving closer and closer with minimal steps.

Finally, he saw his opening.

Loretta pushed forward with a decisive strike, her body leaning in just slightly, over-committing to stop him.

And that was what he had been waiting for.

He slipped past the edge of the water fist, stepping inside her guard before the currents could reorient His shoulder slammed into her, his free hand snapping into a brutal punch that buried itself into her stomach.

Thwack!

Air whooshed from her lungs as pain shot across her abdomen Her body curled forward, eyes widening in shock.

The water around her faltered The elegant, writhing ribbons collapsed into formless splashes, crashing uselessly onto the stone floor.

Gasps erupted from the crowd.

Loretta fell to her knees, clutching her stomach.

Rhyka stood over her, hand raised to strike again blade still stuck in the floor behind him But he didn't move. Instead, he exhaled slowly, turned his back on her, and walked calmly toward his weapon.

His hand closed around the hilt, pulling it free with a clean scrape The curved blade gleamed as he rested it on his shoulder.

Behind him, Loretta forced herself back onto her feet, regaining her breath, sweat plastering strands of hair to her face She grit her teeth, water trembling around her once again as she steadied her core.

The fight wasn't over.

But everyone watching knew something crucial had just happened: Rhyka had just shown her mercy