67th Day of Summer
There was an art to fighting. It was not simply done nor easily mastered, but honed as a painter would perfect an image. It must be first introduced to the canvas, then worked on over time. As an artist would get used to the feel of a brush, a combatant would begin to form their weapon into an extra limb. While the painter would begin to think of what next to graze their coloring over, a fighter would begin to think of what next to harm with their tools. It required education and experience, and constant attention and reverence. As an artist would embrace their brush and canvas, a fighter would embrace their weapon/techniques and opponents.
This was Light's thought of mind, which he carried with him full heartily as he stepped inside the Vitrax. He walked past the entrance, past the statue of the Ebonlord, down the Vitrax hallways, and directly to the training hall. Light had a mission this day, and that was to raise his combat skills in both Weapon and Unarmed. He made a promise that he would not leave until he was exceptional in both skills. So he came, and so here he was.
It only took him a few ticks to find someone to challenge. His first opponent was an ebonstryfe soldier, one who's skills were proven to be almost as equal as Light's during their battle. The match that Light requested lasted long between them. The man who he had challenge was an exceptional fighter, nearly countering every move that Light made.
The match started with Light challenging him to an unarmed tussle. Light chose the mat which they would fight on, then the stretching began. There was no referee or spectator who was willing to call foul play, for who would be noble in a real fight?
Light stood into his fighting stance, his legs outstretched and his arms perfectly placed to protect and attack. He never fought with a closed hand; this was mostly because Light attacked the most harmful points on the human body, some of which required an open palm to strike it.
The man came after Light first, as Light requested, and began his series of attacks with a frontal punch. Light did as he was taught and blocked the punch with both of his arms. However, while he did this, his opponent had decided to land an uppercut with his other hand onto Light's rib cage. Upon the connection, Light immediately felt as though a giant meteor packed with Rhysol's own power had descended upon him. He fell to his knees, the only sound he could possibly make being a grunt, and nearly coughed up his breakfast.
That was during the beginning. As the fight continued onward Light had grown accustomed to the pains given to him. He had even learned a helpful technique of battling through them, which was to maintain a steady breath and only focus on the enemy. Light was a very action oriented man, so he was soon placed into his special element while he fought. He gave it everything he had during that batle, which turned out to be the very thing that awarded him the victory towards the end.
It happened quick; as Light and his opponent rested for a tick, so tired that even movements began being replaced by breath intakes. Light had decided to attack while his opponent was tired and believed that Light was just as tired, which was actually true. This was the perfect chance for Light to finish this fight, but how could he possibly?
As mentioned before this man was well aware of Light and had countered his attacks in an efficient matter almost every time. In fact, Light was sure that his opponent was more tired from blocking than from receiving harsh assaults.
Light had to be cunning towards the ending of his match. However, more importantly, he needed to be strategic.
Light raced towards his foe, body outstretched and fists ready to thrust. His sloppy form and tired demeanor helped greatly with the illusion he wanted to create. As the man raised up his fists to block or counter any strike Light planned, he was unpleasantly surprised when he belatedly realized what Light was aiming for.
When Light was close enough to his enemy, he suddenly hopped in the air and outstretched his legs. By the time Ligh's back had landed on the ground, Light had managed to plant a boot firmly into the man's crotch. In response the man fell entirely to the ground and screamed in agonizing pain. The soldier did not stop his series of heaves and cursing until he was escorted out of the Vitrax by his companions.
At that moment, Light had discovered an important concept of fighting: Doing what ever it takes to win equaled victory. This must have been an ultimate strategists thought of mind. Every down-handed thought, un-noble strike, or cowardice plan of action was worth using if that meant a stepping stone to victory- only someone who truly wanted to win would think of this.
Light sighed. Now here he was sitting in a corner of the Vitrax and watching everyone train on their own. 10 bells had passed since his first fight. His body had been given enough time to heal, so he was now able to return to training. He did not have his gear with him, though, only a practice bastard blade which he had taken from the weapons rack, so all he could train with was his sword and his fists. At least he would raise those skills to the fullest.
Light began to search the room. What he was looking for was his next opponent, and his next victory.