Unlike the previous weapon simulator, this opponent was unard. But Atticus could feel it.
Lethality. Precision. Calculated movents.
Its stance was unlike anything he had ever seen. It was as though only that stance covered all its openings.
"This is a hand-to-hand combat specialist, programd with the knowledge of every recorded martial artist, warrior, and master in Eldoralth's history," Viktor explained before putting distance between them once again.
It assud a neutral stance, body relaxed, yet perfectly balanced.
Atticus stood across from it, hands resting at his sides, his posture completely unassuming.
As Viktor reached far enough—
"Begin."
The air snapped, and the machine moved.
A blur of motion, its right leg cutting through the air in a precise, lightning-fast roundhouse kick aid at Atticus's temple.
Atticus didn't move.
The kick sailed past, missing by a re hair's breadth, but Atticus had already read it.
'A controlled feint. The hip rotation suggests a follow-up—'
The second kick ca instantly, transitioning seamlessly into a low sweep, aiming to take his legs out.
Atticus simply lifted his foot, letting the attack pass harmlessly beneath him.
The machine didn't hesitate.
Palm strike to the ribs. A sudden elbow toward his jaw. A shifting knee aid for his core.
Each strike was fast. Unrelenting.
Yet none of them landed.
Atticus weaved through the flurry of attacks as though they were moving in slow motion. Each strike barely missed him, grazing past his clothes but never touching his body.
Once again, to Viktor, it was absurd.
This was one of the most advanced combat training simulations ever designed. It was built to adapt, to counter, to overwhelm.
Yet—
Atticus hadn't even lifted his hands.
He wasn't fighting.
He was observing.
The machine suddenly switched styles, adjusting mid-combat.
Its movents beca looser, more fluid, an entirely different martial art.
Atticus narrowed his eyes.
'It's also learning,'
The opponent suddenly closed the distance with a burst of footwork, aiming for an intricate combination of joint locks and nerve strikes.
Atticus let it co.
Let it reach for him.
Then—
He moved.
A single step.
A shift in weight.
He redirected the machine's montum, twisting at the last second.
The opponent's attack collapsed in on itself.
And before it could recover, Atticus's fist snapped forward.
A clean, precise strike on the chin.
The impact sounded like thunder.
BOOM!
The machine launched backward, skidding across the training platform, its tallic limbs dragging deep grooves into the floor.
It slowly raised its head. But the mont it did, the air changed.
Atticus rolled his shoulders.
Then, for the first ti since the fight began, he raised his hands.
Then—
End.
"Next," Atticus called out.
Viktor snapped out of his reverie and tapped on his device again.
The island changed.
Endurance Training Without Mana
Atticus stood at the edge of a survival course, an endless stretch of hostile terrain sprawled before him.
Jagged cliffs. Unstable rock formations. Dense forests filled with hidden dangers.
In the distance, chanical drones hovered, locked onto his heat signature, ready to fire stun projectiles at the slightest movent.
This test was designed to break recruits. It was ant to push both body and mind to the absolute limit.
A loud klaxon blared.
Viktor's voice ca through the speakers.
"Begin."
Atticus took a single step forward.
The course activated instantly.
The drones fired.
A storm of projectiles rained down, moving at speeds that should have been impossible to avoid.
But Atticus was already gone.
His body twisted, weaving through the barrage like a shadow slipping through cracks in reality.
The ground beneath him crumbled, shifting into uneven terrain.
Atticus didn't pause.
Where Viktor expected that he would have tripped or hesitated, Atticus simply adjusted.
He didn't waste energy.
He didn't panic.
His breathing remained controlled, his posture efficient. He glided through the course.
Viktor remained silent, watching as Atticus effortlessly crossed the terrain, never once breaking rhythm.
As he neared the final obstacle, a massive cliffside, other recruits would have been on their last reserves of strength.
But Atticus—
He barely looked winded.
He scaled the cliff in seconds, his fingers gripping the rough edges, his movents as fluid as a predator scaling a mountain.
He reached the top. And when he landed, he simply dusted off his hands.
As though the entire endurance course had been nothing more than a warm-up.
"Next," Atticus calmly called out.
"Y-yes," Viktor muttered, shutting his open mouth and tapping more buttons on the tab-like device.
Fear and Stress Training
Atticus stood in the center of a large chamber, his posture calm, composed.
Viktor's voice echoed overhead. He appeared flustered but still tried to maintain whatever asure of composure he had left.
"This training is designed to break you."
"Fear is the enemy of all warriors. The mont you let it take root, you lose. This simulation will target your mind, drag out your deepest fears, and force you to face them."
A low beep sounded.
The chamber's walls shifted, pulsing with a strange light. The atmosphere thickened, the air turning cold.
Then—
The world broke.
The air darkened, the room stretching and warping into a nightmare-like reality.
Atticus imdiately felt the shift.
It wasn't an illusion.
It was a full ntal simulation.
A direct attack on the psyche.
But Atticus?
He stood motionless.
The world twisted around him, the image of his family appearing, each one being cut down one by one, killed.
However, his eyes didn't so much as flicker.
He had seen this before. He had accepted it. And he had vowed to make sure it never happened.
Therefore, it wouldn't happen.
His will was far too high for this to have any effect on him.
It wasn't real.
And more importantly—
It wasn't working.
The chamber pushed harder.
Suddenly, a figure appeared before him.
A woman.
Her face was partially obscured, but the fragnts that showed were all too familiar.
She reached for him, her expression unreadable.
And for the first ti since the training started—
Atticus blinked.
'Mom.'
His mother from Earth.
The simulation took that mont.
It rushed into his mind, warping, shifting, trying to create sothing.
It tried to dig deep.
But Atticus's gaze slowly darkened.
He didn't like this.
His mind hardened.
And then—
With a single, deliberate thought, his will surged.
The simulation collapsed.
The room snapped back into reality. The nightmare world vanished, the suffocating aura lifted, the terrifying whispers silenced.
"Are we done?"
Of all the tests that Atticus had just taken, this by far was the one that shocked Viktor the most.
'What the hell is a child doing with a mind as firm as that?'
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