Chapter 90: Testing Strength
As the saying goes, "The more skills, the better." Ryan needed a more well-rounded combat ability, one that would sharpen his reflexes, endurance, and close-combat intuition.
"Barton, Professor," Ryan nodded slightly, his expression calm, "I was previously caught up in various matters. But now I have so free ti. I’d like to revisit the practical training you ntioned last ti. Is that still available?"
Upon hearing this, Barton grinned widely, the old scar across his brow shifting, giving him a sowhat fierce appearance. But his eyes reflected an unmistakable appreciation.
"Available! Of course, it’s available!" He waved a massive hand in a manner akin to a fan. "When I say sothing, it’s as good as a nail driven into wood! Co on, kid, let see if you’ve gotten rusty from just fiddling with those iron gadgets!"
He turned and walked toward a relatively empty area of the training hall, his voice echoing through the large space:
"Perfect timing, no major classes this afternoon. Let size you up first, then I’ll give you sothing to warm up with!"
Ryan followed, his steps steady.
He knew that the upcoming training would not be easy. But in order to endure the coming storm and even strive for more, these sweats and pains were the price to be paid.
The rough and solid floor of Rockhold Training Hall reflected his determination to enter a new stage.
Barton led Ryan to a more spacious, designated practice area within the hall. Their presence drew the attention of several students, who cast curious glances back and forth between Ryan and the imposing Barton.
"What are you staring at?!" Barton’s thunderous voice suddenly bood, shaking a few students who were nearby, making them instinctively shrink back. "Practice what you need to, fight if you have to! Get distracted again, and your training load this afternoon will double!"
The students quickly dispersed, returning to their own practices, though their peripheral vision kept sneaking glances in this direction.
Barton turned around and faced Ryan, his battle-hardened eyes filled with a scrutinizing, expectant gleam.
"Alright, kid. Tell , what’s the one thing you want to practice most right now?" He crossed his arms, his muscular forearms looking almost as thick as Ryan’s thighs. "Though I admire your cleverness, I know this isn’t your strong suit. You’re not like those single-minded combat freaks who try to hamr themselves into an anvil. It’s fine, having a focus is good. I like teaching smart people."
Ryan paused for a mont, then spoke: "Professor Barton, when I’ve fought against others, I’ve relied heavily on magic. But once an opponent closes the distance, I lack effective ways to maneuver or counterattack, often ending up in a passive position. I’d like to know if there’s any way to improve this situation?"
"Hahaha!" Barton laughed, the scar across his face twisting with the motion. "Of course! But the best way isn’t sothing you can just hear, it’s sothing you have to fight out!"
His expression turned serious in an instant, the lazy aura surrounding him vanished, replaced by a grounded and steady presence that carried an unspoken pressure, like the weight of a mountain.
"First, let asure exactly what you’re working with, then I’ll figure out what advice to give you! Be ready!"
Before Ryan could react, Barton moved.
He didn’t unleash any explosive speed, instead, he moved like a brown bear stalking its prey—steady, rhythmic steps, gradually closing in on Ryan. Every footstep on the specially made stone slabs resounded with a dull thud, creating an invisible rhythm that compressed Ryan’s surrounding space and reaction ti.
Barton wasn’t using any weapons, but his fists, as large as fans, and his body’s seamlessly coordinated posture, were weapons in themselves.
Ryan’s pupils constricted, and almost instinctively, he took a sliding step back, his left hand drawing an arc in front of him. He quickly muttered a short incantation.
Several wind bullets, the size of fists and with sharp edges, ford out of thin air, whistling toward Barton’s chest, abdon, and knee joints.
This was a variant application of the Wind Bullet low-level cantrip, not very powerful, but fast and capable of interfering with balance.
A glint of appreciation flashed in Barton’s eyes, but his steps remained unwavering. His thick arms glowed faintly with a soft, earthy yellow light, as though he were swatting away flies, blocking the wind bullets with precision and ease.
"Boom, boom," the dull sound of wind bullets colliding with his glowing arms and legs echoed, almost like hitting tough leather. The only sign of impact was the slight rustle of his clothing, yet his body didn’t falter in the slightest.
The glow faded, revealing that he had used a Resistance spell or a similar skin-enhancing magic. Though it couldn’t block powerful attacks, it was more than sufficient to handle this level of disturbance.
"Too weak! Just scratching an itch?" Barton shouted, suddenly accelerating.
This ti, the air around his feet stirred slightly, and his steps beca much quicker. In a single stride, he closed the remaining distance and threw a heavy, straightforward punch directly toward Ryan’s center.
The punch carried the force of a briefly enhanced magic shockwave, and Ryan could feel the rush of wind and pressure coming his way.
Ryan’s footwork shifted urgently, his body twisting at an odd angle to barely avoid the punch.
At the sa ti, his right hand pointed, and several muddy tendrils erupted from the cracks in the stone slabs beneath Barton’s feet. Simultaneously, a small fla shot from Ryan’s left hand, pressing toward the exposed side of Barton’s arm.
"Oh? A combination punch?" Barton was genuinely surprised.
He didn’t force his way through, but instead, with a low growl, he instantly created a thin, tough transparent force field around his body, a simple protective magic. The muddy tendrils slid across the force field’s surface, uselessly.
As for the fla, his arm bulged with muscle, and a red light flickered across the skin’s surface. Combining his physical defense with a basic elental resistance spell, he endured the heat. Then, with a swift counterattack, he sliced a sharp palm strike at Ryan’s neck, a faint whistling sound of wind accompanying it.
Ryan quickly retreated, and a slightly transparent force field shield materialized in front of him. Barton’s wind-infused palm strike collided with the shield, emitting a screeching friction sound and a dull impact, causing the shield to ripple violently, nearly shattering.
Taking advantage of the montary opening, Ryan distanced himself and raised his hand, summoning several electrical arcs in a web-like pattern.
The rapid exchange of attacks and defenses left the onlookers in stunned silence—Ryan’s combat style completely surpassed their understanding.
He used a variety of low-level elental tricks effortlessly, combining them in unpredictable ways. Though it didn’t carry the overwhelming force of a major spell, it was intricate and difficult to defend against.
Barton’s performance, however, was even more impressive—he was not recklessly charging in. Each of his responses combined fundantal strengthening, protection, or speed spells at just the right mont. He used Resistance to block wind bullets, Wind Step or Lightfoot to accelerate during attacks, Deflecting Field or elental resistances when defending, and enhancing his punches and kicks with sharpness spells, shockwaves, or elental energy.
His magic level wasn’t particularly high, but his timing in using them was impeccable, perfectly blending with his martial arts to create an efficient and composed combat style. Every move pushed Ryan into a smaller and smaller space.
Barton’s eyes shifted from light appraisal to serious, then to focused.
He realized that Ryan’s combat abilities were far beyond beginner-level. His magical combinations under pressure and sense of rhythm were those of a top-tier prospect.
However, it was clear that Ryan lacked experience in dealing with such magically-enhanced close combat pressure.
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