Chapter 193
Training (2)
"Have you completely lost your mind!?" Reuel blurted from where he lay sprawled across his bed. "It's been a long day, and you still want to do more!?"
Henry rolled his shoulders with a casual shrug. "Sure, I'm a little tired," he admitted, "but my match wasn't that taxing on me, so I've still got energy to burn." He leaned back against the wall, hands in his pockets. "And besides, I usually train whenever I get the chance. You can only be perfect when you practice."
Reuel groaned. "Uhh, I think the saying is practice makes perfect, genius."
Henry blinked, then gave a nonchalant nod. "Right."
He turned to IAM. "So… are you up for it?"
IAM stretched slightly before standing. "Of course. I didn't actually fight today, but I wasn't using my Avien either… so yeah, I'm a little tired—but I've definitely got enough left in the tank."
Reuel rolled his head to the side and locked eyes with Yohan across the room. "Whatever," he muttered. "You guys go ahead and do whatever you want. I'm done. My bones feel like lead after being smacked around by Zara." He let out a sigh as he sank deeper into his pillow, clearly not planning to move for the rest of the night.
That earned a few quiet chuckles from the others. The image of Reuel flying through the air— his arms flailing and face twisted in disbelief—was still fresh in their minds.
"It's not funny," Reuel mumbled, barely lifting his head. "I could've died, you know."
"Sure you could've," Yohan said dryly, a smirk on his face as he pulled a blanket over himself after making his way into his bed.
Reuel gave up trying to defend his dignity and resumed his slow descent into sleep, already halfway there.
After saying a quick goodbye to the others and exchanging a few nods, Henry and IAM made their way to the door. It closed softly behind them, leaving behind the dull hum of tired breathing and soft muttering as the rest of the room gave in to exhaustion.
...
IAM stood quietly outside Henry's dorm, the air still and cool around him. The sky above was dark now, dotted with faint stars. His eyes occasionally flicked toward the door as he waited.
The door finally opened, and Henry stepped out holding his weapon—a jian. It was an elegant weapon, known as the gentleman of swords—graceful, balanced, and deceptively dangerous.
Henry gave a nod and a small smile. The two moved quickly m into the open where a mini car was waiting. They climbed in, Henry at the wheel, and began the quiet ride toward the combat grounds.
The academy passed by in a blur of shadows and low-lit buildings, the streets mostly empty at this hour.
As they rode, IAM found his thoughts drifting—specifically, back to Ari. Her voice echoed in his mind, those calm but invasive words from earlier. He couldn't help but wonder if she was watching them right now. If somewhere, behind a console and a wall of screens, she was tracking their movements through the surveillance system. The thought settled in his mind.
It wasn't just the act of being watched—it was the helplessness of it. Knowing there was nothing you could do. Just a sense of awareness that you were potentially under observation, and there was no telling what was being seen.
IAM turned his gaze out the window and tried to push the thought away.
Eventually, they arrived.
Henry smoothly pulled the mini car into the parking space just outside the combat grounds, and the two of them stepped out, stretching slightly from the ride. The air here smelled faintly of sweat and the building ahead glowed with a low light.
Even at this late hour, the combat grounds were alive.
As they approached, IAM could already hear the sounds of activity from within—the rhythmic clash of sparring weapons, the dull thuds of impact pads being struck, the distant shouts of training partners calling out feedback. Doors opened and closed with people moving in and out.
It was clear the combat grounds didn't sleep.
Hard work didn't stop when the sun went down. Not everyone relied on their natural talent or a powerful path. Some were here to really grind and make something of themselves.
IAM and Henry quickly made their way through the wide halls of the combat building, heading toward the locker area. After changing into their training gear—they stepped back out and wandered through the corridors until they found an unoccupied training room.
Henry pushed the door open, and they entered.
The room was brightly lit, its walls a clean white that made every scuff mark on the floor stand out clearly. The air smelled faintly of old sweat, rubber, and the subtle scent of disinfectant—evidence that this place saw constant use. The ceiling was high, lined with recessed lights and reinforced with shock-absorbing panels, designed to withstand everything from sparring to full-force impacts.
Across the room, a variety of gym equipment stood neatly arranged in sections: heavy sandbags suspended from iron hooks, racks of weights, resistance bands, balance trainers, padded flooring for footwork drills. A row of humanoid dummies lined one wall—some static, others adjustable with mechanical joints to simulate different guard stances or striking zones.
Further down, a few weapon racks held wooden replicas of swords, staffs, and other standard training tools. A mirrored wall stretched along one side of the room, slightly fogged from prior use, allowing trainees to monitor their form and movement. In one corner, a standalone terminal was built into the wall, likely for reviewing combat footage or playing training simulations.
The room was quiet, except for the distant thud of activity from other training rooms in the building.
Henry turned to IAM and clapped his hands lightly. "Before we start, it's important we figure out what kind of sword you want to use."
IAM looked around the room for a moment before bringing his thoughts inward. He didn't need to become a master of close combat—it wasn't his goal to be flashy or dominate in swordplay. What he needed was practicality.
After a few seconds, he answered. "I don't need to be an expert. I just want to hold my own against someone of your level, at least long enough to create space. So I don't need a full-length sword. Just something I can rely on in close-quarters. When someone tries to close the distance, I want to be able to defend myself. Maybe… a short sword? Something easy to carry and won't get in the way of my movements."
Henry gave a thoughtful nod. "Hmm. Not a bad choice. Makes sense."
He turned and walked toward the back corner of the room where several wooden training weapons were stored. He rummaged through a few racks before finally pulling one out—a short sword made of dark polished wood, its surface slightly worn from use.
He returned and handed it to IAM.
The moment IAM took it, he felt the weight settle into his hand. It wasn't unwieldy, but it was heavier than it looked.
"You really seem to know your way around this place," IAM said, glancing around at the room.
Henry gave a small shrug. "Yeah, I'm here a lot. Spend enough time anywhere and you start figuring things out."
"I see…"
Henry turned toward him. "Go ahead and activate your Avien. Don't worry—this room's private. Just you and me."
IAM gave the space one last look, scanning the corners out of habit. Then he nodded and let out a quiet breath. He focused inward, and about four seconds later, he felt it—mana surging once again through his Avien, spreading out across his body like a rush of cold electricity.
The effect was almost immediate.
His limbs felt stronger. The fatigue that had been dragging his body loosened its grip. The wooden sword in his hand didn't feel as heavy anymore.
Henry watched him, eyes slightly wide. "Damn… you really are experienced-level now."