"We spar. Show me what you got, and I’ll determine if you’re worthy to be taught my technique."
Simon frowned at the words of Instructor Ormon.
"You want me to spar with you? That isn’t fair. You’re way stronger than me."
Instructor Ormon nodded. "True, but don’t worry. I won’t use my demonic energy in the slightest. I’ll also use a single hand, and I won’t move from this circle."
He drew a circle around him with his toe, and Simon raised a brow when he saw this.
’Not too big and not too small. But his constitution is insane. Enhancing your toe with demonic energy and using it to cut this hard ground to form a circle is something I can’t do at my current level.’
’Would I even be able to cause him any harm?’
He shook his head lightly and released a soft sigh.
"Although, you doing all of that does not still mean I’ll win, but no problem. What are the terms of the spar? When do I win? When do I lose? When does it end?"
"All good questions," Instructor Ormon replied calmly.
He folded one of his lower arms behind his back, two were nonchalantly crossed, while the fourth- his lower left hand which he intended to use- was lifted slightly as he gestured at the circle around him.
"You win..." his voice lowered, "...if you make me take a single step out of this circle."
Simon narrowed his eyes. "And when do I lose?"
"When you decide to give up." The instructor said nonchalantly.
Simon’s right eye could not help but twitch at the pure confidence and indifference the instructor spoke with.
He twisted his neck to the side, causing a soft crack to echo in the training ground.
"So, I just have to fight you and make you acknowledge me before you teach me your technique?"
Instructor Ormon nodded. "Yes."
Simon rotated his wrists, then he began to hop from one foot to the other.
"No problem."
Six hops later, he exploded forward with his eyes emitting a cold light.
He appeared in front of the instructor in less than three seconds, then he released a straight punch at the abdomen of the instructor.
Instructor Ormon furrowed his brows slightly, then he indifferently and calmly took a step to the side, completely dodging the attack.
Simon expected this, so he planted his foot on the ground and swung his fist to the side.
His fist glowed with his demonic energy, and his movement was fast and smooth.
However, Instructor Ormon placed his palm in the path of his fist and blocked it.
Bam!
The sound of both attacks crashing into one another was loud, and the Initiates around began to focus and get interested on the spar.
’He’s not as hard as a Bulwark, but Rakshas also have insane physical defenses.’
Despite having this thought, Simon did not waste a single second responding to this block.
He rolled his shoulder forward and shifted his weight, turning the blocked punch into a pivot. His elbow shot upward toward Ormon’s ribs, sharp and precise, and it was followed immediately by a low sweep aimed at destabilizing the instructor’s stance.
But Ormon didn’t move his feet.
One hand.
Just one.
His palm dropped, and he intercepted the elbow before it could land, then he slid his feet to the back, dodging the following leg sweep.
He acted like he knew where the attack would be before it existed.
Simon’s eyes hardened, then he changed his rhythm.
A barrage followed, and it was fast, layered, and unpredictable.
Feints within feints. Strikes that began as one thing and ended as another. The kind of transitions that was born from countless battles, from a life where hesitation meant death, from a life where even gods would be wary of.
Instructor Ormon’s eyes flickered with a complicated light as he responded to each and every one of Simon’s attacks.
For a moment, it looked overwhelming.
But Ormon’s taller frame barely shifted.
He leaned slightly, tilted his head, adjusted his arm by inches at a time, his palm moving like the hands of Buddha- each movement was minimal, yet perfect in this situation against Simon.
Every strike Simon threw was either brushed aside, redirected, or avoided by the narrowest margin.
Not a single step left the circle.
Simon’s breathing deepened and became rougher, but he was calm throughout.
This was not a surprising result to him at all.
’He’s not more skilled than me...’
Another strike of his was blocked.
’He’s just... stronger than me.’
Another feint of his was seen through.
He closed his eyes, releases a soft sigh, then he stopped a few meters to Ormon’s right.
His fists were still clenched, and his gaze locked onto the instructor.
"I honestly don’t think there’s any point in continuing this. Not only are you stronger than me, the height difference is also not something I can ignore."
"I cannot even send a straight jab at your face. My straight jabs land on the lower part of your chest."
"Besides, you’re not even attacking me. You’re just blocking and dodging."
Instructor Ormon was a little bit lost in his thoughts, then he looked at Simon with a mixture of confusion, suspicion, and disappointment.
"I had to see how good you are with your fists. If you had some talent for the fist path."
"And?" Simon asked with a slight raise of his brows.
Instructor Ormon shook his head slightly, then he folded all his four arms and looked at Simon with a serious expression.
"You are difficult to gauge. You’re an... enigma."
Simon’s expression remained indifferent, and he didn’t say a word.
"Your talent when it comes to battle as a whole is honestly... too frightening. It almost felt like I was facing a Demon King who had fought many battles and wars."
Simon’s lips twitched slightly.
’Well... You’re not exactly wrong. I was a Demi-God, not a Demon King.’
Just as Simon had this thought, Instructor Ormon spoke.
"Your battle talent seems to overpower everything, so I could not accurately gauge your talent for the fist path. But I have a question."
Simon narrowed his eyes slightly.
Was this going to be another one of his silly questions?
"Why do you fight like a swordsman?"