Standing just outside the building, I glanced up at the engraved plaque above the entryway: “District D’s Training Hall.”
“Let’s head in,” I said, pushing the door open.
As soon as we stepped inside the building, the cool air imdiately washed over us—likely regulated by wind and chill runes embedded in the walls. The interior was clean, bright, and far more organized than any training facility I’d seen in District E. The entrance opened into a spacious reception area, where directional signs hung from the ceiling, pointing toward different sections of the hall.
Right ahead of us were several large, cube-like dueling rings, each one occupying its own space on the polished floor. Transparent mana barriers surrounded the sparring platforms, shimring faintly in pale blue hues. Inside each cube, divine warriors were locked in intense combat—blades clashing, spells flying, and bodies being hurled across the space like ragdolls. It felt like watching live battle simulations, except no one held back.
Michelle’s eyes widened. “Are those…?”
“Dueling cubes,” I said, recognizing the design. “It seems that anyone who fights in them will have their injuries automatically healed once they exit. The dueling cubes must have been infused with restoration magic—probably tied into the building’s system.”
As if to emphasize the point, a loud crash echoed through the hall as one of the duels ended. A young man in tattered armor collapsed inside the cube, and the shimring wall flickered montarily. The mont he was outside the barrier, a soft light enveloped his body, closing his wounds and patching up his bruises. In less than a minute, he looked good as new.
Boris let out a low whistle. “Now this is what I call a proper training facility.”
I nodded. This setup was leagues ahead of what we had in District E. While it was nothing compared to what might be available in upper districts, with facilities like these, you could train as hard as you wanted without worrying about long-term injuries or wasting potions. You also didn’t have to worry about being crippled before your next scenario.
Beyond the dueling cubes stretched several more training zones, each tailored for refining magic control and enhancing offensive skill execution. Further back, we spotted the entrance to the gym area we’d glimpsed earlier—complete with racks of enchanted dumbbells that could adjust their weight and training dummies that could mimic enemy movent.
“This place is going to be useful…” I murmured to myself. The higher your stats climbed, the harder it beca to improve them. Extre training like this could help overco that wall. More importantly, this wasn’t just a space for physical improvent—it was a place to experint, optimize, and push the limits of our abilities.
“I call the first match,” Boris said with a grin, already rolling his shoulders in anticipation.
Michelle sighed. “We haven’t even signed in yet.”
I nodded and turned toward the reception desk. “Let’s take care of that first.”
When we reached the reception desk, a familiar voice called out to us.
“Fancy seeing you here,” said a tall man in his late thirties—Igor. He wore an old-fashioned training uniform, his posture straight and composed. His black hair was tied neatly behind his head, and his sharp green eyes studied the three of us with calm interest.
“You are… the instructor from the District E training center,” I said, recalling his face instantly.
As far as I rembered, Igor served as the instructor for both District D and E, and he’d once taught Michelle during her solo training session.
“Sir Igor,” Michelle greeted with a small nod. “You work here too?”
“Sure do,” he replied with a light smile. “I’m assigned to both districts, but District D is my main post. Good to see you again, Michelle and Maxim. Looks like you two have grown stronger.”
She smiled faintly. “Still a long way to go.”
“Mhm.” Igor nodded before turning to face Boris. “By the way, who’s this strong gentleman here? I haven’t seen you before.”
“Nice to et you.” Boris stepped forward with a confident grin. “Na’s Boris. I see that you’re an instructor—interested in a little spar?”
Igor chuckled softly. “Always eager for a challenge, aren’t you?” He gave Boris’s bulky fra a once-over and nodded. “Very well. It’s been a while since I had a proper workout myself.”
Boris’s grin widened. “Perfect. I’ve been itching for a warm-up as well.”
“Let’s head to one of the open dueling cubes after you register, then,” Igor said, then added with a light tone of formality, “Also, I should inform you—District D’s Training Hall isn’t free to use. You’ll need to pay in advance depending on how long you plan to train. The standard rate is one hundred soul coins per day.”
The heck… Is this so kind of gym mbership? I blinked. The concept felt oddly familiar. Still, it wasn’t exactly like the modern gyms back ho; it didn’t offer a monthly plan or any bulk discounts, so the essence was very different. A pure pay-as-you-go system.
That said, the price wasn’t unreasonable considering the facilities and restoration magic provided by the dueling cubes. It made sense that higher-ranked districts would start monetizing access to quality resources.
“Fine by ,” Boris said without hesitation. “I’ll pay up once we register.”
Michelle and I exchanged a look. If we were planning to spend the rest of the day here, it might be worth the coin. Especially if I could use the gym and testing facilities to push my stat growth further.
“Let’s get signed in, then,” I said, stepping toward the reception counter.
I still had more than three thousand soul coins left, so spending a hundred for the day wouldn’t make much of a dent. In the grand sche of things, it was a small price to pay.
Once we finished registering and paid the fee for the day, we made our way toward one of the dueling cubes. Watching Boris and Igor spar would be a good opportunity to observe high-level hand-to-hand combat in a controlled environnt—and maybe pick up sothing useful while I was at it. There was always sothing to learn when two experienced fighters went all out.
The two n stepped into one of the vacant dueling cubes. The mont they both entered, the mana barrier sealed shut behind them, isolating the ring from the rest of the training hall. A few curious divine warriors nearby paused their own routines to watch—after all, sparring between Giml-rank combatants was always a worthwhile sight.
They both stood in silence, facing each other. Boris cracked his neck once and rolled his shoulders, loosening up with that familiar swagger of his. His stance was sharp and firm—an unmistakable blend of Russian military discipline and martial arts mastery. He settled into a karate stance, balanced and ready, his movents fluid from years of training in judo, sambo, and brutal hand-to-hand combat refined through battlefield necessity.
Igor, by contrast, moved with the deliberate focus of a seasoned traditionalist. He dropped into a low, composed stance with one hand extended forward while the other was tucked near his core. His form wasn’t flashy, but every inch of his posture spoke of precision and experience.
Then, without warning, the fight began.
Boris struck first, closing the gap with a quick step and feint before unleashing a sudden palm strike toward Igor’s chest. Igor turned, absorbing the blow with his forearm before retaliating with a sweeping kick aid at Boris’s thigh. Boris reacted instantly, catching the leg mid-swing and yanking, trying to pull Igor off-balance—only for Igor to twist and land perfectly on both feet.
They exchanged blows rapidly after that. Boris’s punches were precise and powerful, transitioning fluidly from open-hand strikes to close-quarters grapples. He ducked a sweeping elbow, shifted his weight, and tried to throw Igor using a modified judo technique.
But Igor was no slouch. With a subtle shift in footing, he redirected the throw and slamd his palm into Boris’s side. A dull thud echoed through the barrier as Boris grunted, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he grinned.
“Not bad! Not bad at all! It’s been a long ti since anyone’s pushed back in hand-to-hand combat.” Boris let out a hearty laugh, clearly enjoying himself, his voice ringing with satisfaction.
Igor smirked back. “Likewise. But don’t think I’m done yet.”
Their spar resud at full speed—two powerhouses clashing with unmatched precision. Boris’s modern, dynamic style t Igor’s classical, refined discipline. Neither gave ground for long, exchanging blows and counters in perfect rhythm. The barrier flashed with every heavy impact, absorbing shockwaves from their movents.
Outside the cube, Michelle and I stood among a small crowd of intrigued spectators. I kept my eyes on the fight, analyzing their movents with focused attention. Igor was slightly stronger physically—his strikes carried more weight, and he was marginally faster, likely the result of higher base stats. But Boris was more skilled in martial arts, and his techniques were sharper and more efficient. He turned his comparative disadvantage into an edge through refined execution and adaptability.
“Um, who do you think will win, Maxim?” Michelle asked, watching intently. “Boris seems to have finally t his match.”
“Yeah,” I replied without looking away. “It could go either way. They’re not using any skills—just pure martial prowess. It’s going to co down to stamina and instinct.”
It was a true clash of titans. More than just brute strength, this was a match between technique, will, and experience. Around us, more divine warriors gathered, drawn by the spectacle. In fact, this felt more like watching a professional MMA bout. It was oddly nostalgic and undeniably entertaining.
While that thought lingered in my mind—
“Are you the one who defeated Graham in the Grand Colosseum?” a calm female voice spoke from behind .
I turned around and found myself facing a young, pretty Asian woman, probably in her early twenties, likely younger than , but older than Michelle. What caught my attention first, though, were the two katanas strapped on her back—a strange and impractical placent for them to be. This oddness imdiately marked her as soone from Earth.
Definitely a divine warrior, and without a doubt, soone strong.
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