CHAPTER 243: MIXED MARTIAL ARTS

When Eleanor entered the Mixed Martial Arts School, she found the same shade of darkness and the same absence of life. But this time, she knew Instructor Arrichion would be waiting in the dark room.

"Instructor, I am here for training," she said aloud, her voice carrying into the silence.

As expected, Arrichion emerged from the shadows. "You are here. Good. Follow me."

He led her into another room, which was a lot larger and bare in the middle. The walls were lined with shelves, each holding rows of neatly ordered weapons. In the centre of that immense space stood Instructor Arrichion, a mountain of a man whose stillness was more intimidating than any combat stance.

Eleanor followed and stood before him in her green robe and uniform. Her heart beat steadily, firmly, with determination. She had trained Martial Arts before... under Oswyn Elizabeth Raynor, the former clan head of the Raynor Clan. But this was different. This was under a conqueror, a true legend of Mixed Martial Arts.

"The foundation you possess is a scaffold," Arrichion’s voice boomed... not with sheer volume, but with a density that seemed to vibrate in her bones. "We will not tear it down. We will use it to build a fortress. Your mind is your greatest asset and your greatest liability. It records everything. But your body must feel it. Your bloodline gives you some advantage in learning, but not much in the reality of life and death. Today, you will learn to make your body remember."

He began to circle her like a predator weighing its prey. "I do not believe in styles. I believe in efficiency. In the singular, perfect motion to end a conflict. Not only a conflict... a true warrior can end a war if they can overwhelm their opponents completely. We will start with the three pillars... Structure, Breaching, and Finishing."

He paused, then commanded, "Structure is the most unbreakable form of a martial artist. All power flows from the ground... it is the root of the fighter. A tree without roots will topple at the slightest breeze. Now, assume your basic horse stance."

Eleanor slid into the stance she had first learned as a child in Teresa’s family dojo, later refined under Oswyn’s guidance. Feet spread wide. Knees pressed outward. Hips lowered into a controlled squat. Back upright, chest proud, spine slightly curved, but balanced.

"Adequate for a rookie. Useless for a master."

In a blur, Arrichion was behind her. His foot tapped the inside of her ankle. "Your root is narrow. A push here," his hand pressed against her shoulder, "and you fall."

She stumbled, catching herself just in time.

But he did not allow her to reset. For the next hour, it was a relentless assault on her concept of stance. He shoved her, kicked at her feet, yanked at her arms... all while barking corrections. He called it Dynamic Rooting.

At last, after thirty minutes of brutal adjustment, he seemed somewhat satisfied. "Now... widen your intent! Feel the energy from the floor! The academy’s nanobots in your body will respond once you command them. Tell them what you need... stability under extreme pressure!"

Eleanor felt it... a light stinging in her dominant muscles, spreading across her frame. Her body was shifting, ever so slightly, as though tuning itself.

"Now, move to a forward stance. No... not a lunge. A falling step. Catch yourself with your structure. Again! Follow me in your own way. Do not copy me."

Fortunately, Eleanor’s eidetic memory caught every micro-adjustment of Arrichion’s body... the precise tilt of his spine, the subtle shift of weight. But knowing was not the same as being. Her muscles screamed, unaccustomed to such exacting calibrations.

Then she felt it... a strange, warm humming deep within her bones and muscles. The nanobots were rewriting her... mapping optimal firing patterns of neurons, adjusting tendon tension, refining muscle memory from the inside. It was alien, invasive, but undeniable.

Her next stance was not perfect, but it was different. Stronger. Firmer. More rooted than before.

When Arrichion shoved her this time, she swayed... but she held.

A grunt that might have been approval was her only reward. "The scaffold holds. Now we add the walls."

"What we will do is Breaching," Arrichion continued. "The Art of the Opening. You cannot break a fortress by pounding its walls. You find the flaw... the crack, the single loose stone... and apply precise, overwhelming force."

The next hour was a brutal lesson in anatomy and physics. Arrichion drew a practice dummy woven from enchanted straw out of his storage ring. It perfectly mimicked the density of muscle and bone.

"The body is a structure. A chain of weak links... the ankle, the knee, the hip. Break one link... and it will be over." He didn’t strike the dummy’s legs. Instead, he tapped the side of its knee with the toe of his foot. There was a sharp crack as the enchantment broke, and the leg buckled inward.

Eleanor replayed the scene in her mind. She didn’t just see the strike... she understood the principle... leverage, angle of attack, and the exact force required. A cold, clinical knowledge of how to break a living thing.

"Your turn," Arrichion said, stepping into the dummy’s role. He adopted a guarded stance. "Find the flaw. My weight is on my back foot. What does that make my front leg?"

"A lever," Eleanor answered instantly, memory rising from childhood lessons.

"Then use it."

She attempted the kick.

"Too high. Too slow. Your opponent is not a mindless dummy. They move and retaliate. Calculate motion, probability, battle awareness." He caught her foot and with a gentle twist sent her crashing to the floor. "Knowledge is not action. The thought must be the deed. No space between."

Again and again she tried. She saw openings with crystal clarity... dozens at once, an overwhelming flood of data. But her body was too slow. By the time she chose one, it was already gone. Arrichion was like an unbreakable wall, casually deflecting her each attack.

Frustration burned in her chest. Each time she failed, Arrichion demonstrated... his gentle taps to her legs precise and merciless reminders. If he had truly struck, her bones would already be shattered.

Then, something shifted. Not in her muscles, but in her nerves. Her perception sharpened... the world slowing by a fraction. Her body moved before the thought had fully formed. She saw his weight shift, the micro-opening of a stance... and her shin snapped upward in a savage arc, targeting not the knee, but the nerve cluster just above it.

He blocked it, but his block was no longer casual. He pushed her leg down. "Good. You are beginning to not think."

A few minutes later, he accepted her progress and moved on. "A fight should be one move. Your first move should be your last. We call it the Cessation. No defence. A simultaneous breach and finish."

Arrichion demonstrated brutally efficient motions... a palm strike to shatter the nose and drive bone into the brain; a throw that used an opponent’s charge to snap the neck on the floor; a finger-strike to the throat that was less an attack and more a sentence of death.

Each technique seared itself into Eleanor’s mind. Her thoughts thrummed with a dark, unsettling pleasure at cataloguing endings.

Then they sparred. They did not attack to kill, did not even strike with full force... but both knew what every movement meant.

For half an hour it was relentless exchange. She always ended on the floor, his hand or foot poised at a lethal point. Yet each time her response grew faster. The gap between mind and body narrowed.

When he finally stopped, Eleanor stood trembling in the centre of the room. Her chest heaved, her body screamed, but her spirit blazed with exhilarating overload.

Arrichion’s expression remained unreadable. "Your body has learned much today. Your spirit has learned more. It is already past lunchtime. I ordered a lunchbox for you beforehand." He pointed to a box on the floor. "Go to your dorm. Eat. Rest. Recover. And do not forget to play basketball this afternoon. Tomorrow we will begin the next module."

Eleanor took the box, her arms heavy as lead. She placed the box inside her robe. She did not trust herself to speak. She bowed, then walked out.

In her room she bathed quickly, then devoured every scrap of food in the large box... and still felt she could have eaten more.

Finally, she collapsed onto her bed. Her mind replayed the Cessation techniques. Deep inside, she felt the strange hum of the nanobots, ceaselessly rebuilding her. Stronger. Sharper. Deadlier.

It felt as if she were being remade. "Nora, what is happening inside my body?" she asked.

"Master, the academy nanobots are programmed to adjust your body to each fighting style you learn. I did not alter their programming, as they are autonomous and have no connection to the outside world. Right now, they are adapting your body to today’s highest strain points. Once the process is complete, it will be easier for you to perform the same moves in the future," Nora explained.

Eleanor smiled. "Becoming powerful is important. Nora, I need a short nap. Wake me up for outdoor play."

"Of course, Master. You can rest assured," Nora replied, and Eleanor drifted away.