The machines were quiet. No hiss, no warning, no buzz. Just sudden blur strikes. Mid, high, low. One clipped his shoulder, another grazed his side.
He adjusted. Footwork tighter. Weight balanced.
Then they doubled in speed.
Lucen started laughing under his breath.
'This is how gladiators died.'
—
By the time he limped off the ring, his hair was soaked, his shirt was stuck to him, and his legs felt like deadweight. His system was ticking.
[Reflex Training Achieved]
[Endurance +1]
[Minor Bruising Detected: No Action Required]
Varik handed him a protein pack.
Lucen squinted at it. "This tastes like drywall."
"You'll live."
Lucen popped the seal and drank it anyway. It tasted like chalk dipped in rust.
He said, "You know, I bet there are kids out there training with like, rubber swords and breathing exercises."
Varik shrugged. "Then let them."
