CHAPTER 166: TEACHING TIME [4]

Clang! Clang!

Their blades met again, sparks spitting like angry fireflies as steel rang through the chamber. Julies’s breath came ragged, his shoulder burning, but his eyes stayed locked on Doran.

The older man’s grin widened. "Better—you didn’t flinch that time."

Whshhh!

A blur of black leather and steel. Doran’s dagger whistled past Julies’s ear, close enough to shear a lock of hair. Julies ducked and countered, Silent Fang slicing upward.

Skkrrt!

The tip of his blade nicked Doran’s sleeve, leaving a thin white line through the fabric.

Julies smirked despite his sweat. "Your coat’s looking worse than my shoulder."

"Cocky pup." Doran’s chuckle echoed in the smoke, low and dangerous. "But you’ll need more than scratches to put me down."

Thump!

His boot lashed out, slamming into Julies’s chest. The boy staggered back three steps, the air punched clean out of him.

"Ghkk—!" Julies coughed, forcing air back into his lungs. His knees bent, but he planted his blade into the stone floor with a sharp krrk!, steadying himself.

Doran prowled forward, boots crunching against the grit on the floor. Step. Step. Step.

"Lesson two," he said, spinning the dagger once before leveling it at Julies’s heart. "Never let your enemy set the pace. The one chasing is the one dying."

Julies ripped Silent Fang free from the stone with a harsh shnnkt!. His lips curled into a grin, blood still trailing down his arm. "Then stop walking, old man. Let’s see who’s dying."

Bang!

Julies launched forward, faster than before, his blade a streak of dark silver. Doran’s eyes widened a fraction. The boy’s footwork was sharper now—more controlled.

Clang! Skkrrrk!

Steel screamed as Julies slashed in a flurry, blow after blow hammering at Doran’s guard. The chamber rang with the storm of steel, every strike pressing harder.

Doran laughed through the chaos. "Now that’s a wolf bite!"

But Julies didn’t laugh. He pressed harder, his own voice a growl. "And wolves hunt in packs... but tonight, I’m the pack!"

Clash!

Their blades locked again, sweat and smoke curling between them.

"Lesson number three," Doran said, his voice steady as steel. "Counterattacking is a high-difficulty skill. It requires more than speed or strength—it requires control. Think of it in two stages."

He lifted his dagger and pressed it against Julies’s blade, the edges screeching together. Shrrk! Sparks spat between them.

"First, you meet the weapon head-on. You don’t run from it. You take the impact." His weight pressed forward, locking their blades in place. "That’s the foundation. You can’t counter while dancing around like a startled rabbit."

Julies gritted his teeth, arms trembling under the pressure.

"And the next step..." Doran’s smirk sharpened. "...is simple. Like this."

Clang!

Their arms shot upward as Doran slid his blade along Julies’s, raising it high. Then his body shifted, fast and heavy, and his elbow smashed into Julies’s shoulder.

"Ugh!" The boy staggered, pain flaring hot down his arm.

"See?" Doran’s grin widened. "No footwork in the world saves you from that."

Julies tried to recover, but his footing betrayed him. His legs tangled, and he went down hard. Thud!

The stone floor stole the breath from his lungs.

Doran stepped back, twirling his dagger lazily in hand. "That’s counterattacking. You build on the impact, then drive it into your opponent where they can’t run. The method doesn’t matter—break the weapon, lock a joint, cripple the feet. The point is the same: make their own attack the noose around their neck."

He let the words hang, watching Julies push himself up on shaky arms.

"In time," Doran continued, his tone turning thoughtful, "you’ll learn to do more. Wear them out, make them desperate, then strike when their strength fails. But first, you need to stop relying so much on evasion."

Julies’s fists clenched, knuckles whitening. His head lowered, breath ragged.

"You’ve gotten so used to slipping away," Doran said, circling him, "that you’ve forgotten the value of standing your ground. Evasion alone won’t carry you forever."

The boy trembled, sweat dripping to the floor.

Doran’s lips curled. He could see the frustration burning in him, the anger of being thrown down so easily.

"Look at you," he said with a chuckle. "Spending too much time with knights. Their bad habits are rubbing off—you’ve even caught their competitive spirit."

Julies’s head snapped up, eyes hard. "It’s too noisy here."

Doran barked a laugh. "Ha! There it is. That spark. Good."

Julies dropped back to one knee, steadying himself. His voice was strained but determined. "I understand. But I still can’t grasp it fully. Please... let’s go again."

The smirk on Doran’s face deepened. He flipped his dagger once, the steel flashing in the dim light.

"That’s the spirit," he said. "Get up, boy. The real lesson hasn’t even started."

Clang!

Julies surged back to his feet, Silent Fang arcing in a wide slash. Doran’s dagger met it with casual precision, sparks scattering like fireflies in the dark. The older man’s stance was loose, almost lazy, but his eyes glimmered sharp with focus.

"Better," Doran murmured, twisting his wrist. The clash rattled up Julies’s arms, but instead of recoiling, he shoved harder, teeth bared.

Krrrk!

The edge of Silent Fang scraped along Doran’s dagger, forcing the older man to angle his blade aside. Julies stepped in tight, shoulder slamming into Doran’s chest. The impact drew a grunt from him.

Julies grinned through the sweat and pain. "Lesson four—don’t give your teacher breathing room."

Doran’s smirk returned in full. "Lesson five—don’t announce your moves."

Crack!

Doran’s knee shot up, driving into Julies’s gut. The boy gasped, but he didn’t fold this time. He caught Doran’s wrist, locking the dagger in place.

The chamber rang with their struggle—breathless snarls, boots grinding against stone, blades grinding in the narrow gap between them.

"Good," Doran hissed, leaning close enough for Julies to see the wolfish gleam in his eyes. "You’re starting to think like a fighter, not just a runner."

Julies spat blood at the ground, refusing to break eye contact. "And you’re starting to sweat, old man."

For the first time, Doran’s chuckle wavered. He pressed harder, but Julies shifted his weight, twisting his shoulder under Doran’s arm.

Shrrkt!

Silent Fang slid upward, cutting a clean line across Doran’s vest—this time deep enough to scrape flesh. A bead of red bloomed across the fabric.

Doran stilled.

Julies froze too, Silent Fang still pressed against him.

For a moment, silence filled the chamber.

Then Doran threw his head back and laughed, loud and wild, the sound echoing off the stone. "Ha! There it is! Finally drew blood." His eyes burned with approval. "You’re learning faster than I expected."

Julies’s chest heaved, his grip shaking but unyielding. "That makes us even now."

Doran’s smirk sharpened. He tilted his head, voice dropping low. "No, boy. This just means the game’s begun."

Before Julies could react, Doran slammed his forehead forward.

Crack!

Stars exploded behind Julies’s eyes as pain burst across his skull. His knees buckled, but instinct screamed louder than agony—he slashed blindly, Silent Fang cutting the air in a vicious arc.

Clang!

Steel met steel again, sparks scattering as both men staggered apart, blood dripping from Doran’s cheek and Julies’s split brow.

The older man wiped the crimson with his thumb, then tasted it, his grin feral. "Now you look like a wolf."

Julies steadied his stance, Silent Fang raised despite the trembling in his arm. His lips curled into a bloodied grin. "Then you’d better run."

Doran’s eyes glinted, dagger spinning once in his grip. "Show me, pup. Show me if you’ve got fangs worth baring."

And with a roar, they clashed again.