Martial Demons Ascension

Nero's body was still hunched slightly from the blow, one hand pressed to his stomach where Rhyka's fist had landed Dust clung to his cloak, fragments of wood slid down his shoulder from the shattered post he'd been slammed into For a moment, the sharp rise and fall of his chest seemed to say everything that Rhyka had not only struck him but driven the air clean out of him

But then… his expression shifted

His lips peeled back, slow at first, before stretching into a wide smile

Not the arrogant smirk of a noble brushing off an insult Not the forced mask of someone trying to save face A real smile sharp, bright, and brimming with adrenaline His gray eyes gleamed with something Rhyka recognized instantly Excitement

Nero's breath was ragged, but the tone that left his throat was steady, deep, and laced with genuine satisfaction

"Good…" he muttered, straightening his back despite the pain still rippling through his abdomen "…Very good"

Rhyka, standing across the yard, didn't let himself grin openly Internally, his chest swelled with triumph he had landed a clean strike on someone who was supposed to be leagues ahead of him in magical ability He'd dismantled Nero's traps, broken his constructs, and proved without a shred of doubt that his martial essence and instincts weren't just for show

But outwardly? He controlled it

His golden eyes narrowed faintly, his posture relaxed into something bordering casual A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips calm, understated, calculated Let Nero have his smile Let him feel his thrill Rhyka would show only the faintest flicker of his own satisfaction, keeping the rest buried where no one could see

Because that was how predators worked They didn't celebrate the strike they simply prepared for the next

The tension between them hung in the air like a drawn bowstring Dust still swirled faintly, the shattered fragments of glass pillars glinting under the fading light Both boys stared at one another Nero smiling like he'd found an equal worth fighting, Rhyka smirking faintly as if he had expected this all along

And then the sound of slow, deliberate clapping broke the silence

Clap Clap Clap

Both turned their heads slightly to the side

Emmet stood just beyond the edge of the yard, arms folded, an unreadable smile on his face His hands came together again, the sound echoing against the dojo's ruined walls

"Well," Emmet said, his tone carrying both weight and approval, "that was a performance worth watching"

He stepped closer, boots crunching over scattered glass dust His eyes swept between them, lingering first on Rhyka, then on Nero, as if appraising them not just as youths but as something more

"You two," he continued, "are geniuses Real ones Different paths, different talents, but genius all the same"

The faintest chuckle left his throat as he gestured to the ruined yard, the cracked post, the scattered debris "And you didn't even kill each other I suppose that counts as restraint"

Nero exhaled sharply through his nose, his wide smile still carved across his face He didn't protest the interruption His eyes flicked once more to Rhyka, as though to silently say this isn't over

Rhyka's smirk lingered, just enough for Nero to catch, before he finally straightened his posture and exhaled slowly His eyes burned gold, steady, unreadable

Emmet clapped once more, his voice calm but final

"Enough for today"

The fight was over

But in the silence that followed, both boys knew the truth: it wasn't finished Not even close

Nero stood with one hand still pressed lightly against his gut where Rhyka's punch had landed, the ache throbbing dully beneath his palm He should have been furious, humiliated, even For years he had towered over peers his age, his noble training and bloodline talent placing him beyond reach Yet here, in this isolated mountain village, a boy without a core had struck him clean

And instead of anger, what he felt was exhilaration

His lips were still curled into a wide smile, his eyes lit with sharp gray fire as he thought over every second of the exchange

He wasn't stronger than me Not physically

That much was clear The way Rhyka moved, the speed he showed, the power behind his strikes, Nero could measure it In raw physical terms, the boy's body aligned somewhere in the territory of a mid Rank 2 mage That in itself was impressive for someone who hadn't cultivated mana But still, it wasn't beyond Nero's comprehension He had seen bodies honed through mana tempering, had fought mercenaries and adventurers with similar strength

But strength wasn't the thing that left Nero smiling

It was everything else

The precision of every step The timing of every strike The way Rhyka had looked at his magic, seen through the layers of deception, and understood the intent behind it instantly His intuition was uncanny, almost inhuman He didn't move like someone trained in techniques drilled into him by a master He moved like someone who had become combat itself, who could turn debris into weapons and dismantle spells with his bare hands because he saw the truth behind them

His instincts… his intuition… his sense for battle, Nero thought, chest tightening with adrenaline It's the best I've ever seen No one my age, no one I've fought, not even most older mages could compare He isn't reacting, he's predicting No, he's dictating

And the most unnerving part? Rhyka had done it without even drawing his blade The curved sword with its strange design still hung at his side, untouched Nero knew enough of martial techniques to recognize that with the right enchanted weapon, a blade that required only a trickle of mana to activate its properties, Rhyka's lethality would rise even further And yet, the boy hadn't needed it

That realization made Nero's grin widen

Across from him, Rhyka's smirk had faded back into something calmer Outwardly, he looked indifferent, aloof, as if the fight hadn't mattered But inside, his mind was dissecting the match with surgical precision

He held back

That was the conclusion he reached

Yes, Nero had fought to win His skill had been real His intent had been genuine Every glass shard, every hidden pillar, every fog-like trap had been layered with enough killing intent to leave no doubt Nero hadn't been playing with him in terms of tactics

But when it came to force, true magical output, he hadn't shown even close to his full hand

Rhyka had felt it In the hum of the fog In the density of the glass pillars In the cracks of Nero's mana circulation The noble had been precise, yes, but restrained His Rank 2 aura hadn't reached its peak saturation The kind of flood of mana a mage would unleash when going all out simply hadn't been there

He tested me with skill, Rhyka thought But not with power

He understood what that meant Nero had respected him enough to fight seriously in terms of strategy, but not enough to unleash everything That small gap, that withheld force, lingered in Rhyka's chest like a splinter

His smirk didn't betray it But in his mind, he filed the truth away with cold precision:

Next time, he won't hold back And neither will I