Another Spar

Weeks passed, and Sturm still did not feel any change after continuously consuming a reduced dose of Gintseng twice a day. The hallucinations, however, were slowly decreasing in time and would now only last for a quarter of an hour. Additionally, the hemorrhages completely stopped after reducing the dose.

Edgar had tried to find out more information about the herbal root but had no success as it was restricted knowledge. He had contacted Tibron as well, but the underground shark had only assured him the authenticity and would not go into further detail, even threatening the merchant with death should he keep asking.

Other than that, the merchant was strangely absorbed in a book he kept reading every free second he had. During Sturm's lessons, he constantly spaced out, which was a very untypical behavior that just did not seem to fit the usual Edgar.

The old man liked to make some stupid jokes now and then, but he was always focused and never let distractions get to him. It was slightly worrisome. However, considering the latest goods Edgar had brought, it certainly had to be something related to… that. It would also explain the merchant's strange obsession.

Sturm did not mind as the lessons were still elementary, and he did not learn too much anyway. How complicated could the classes for a ten-year-old be, even if he was an apparent genius? The answer was still not very.

Apart from lessons with Edgar and training with Reinhardt, the five fights Sturm had been winning each pit day were slowly showing results. Every week the opponents got older, as there were no junior combat slaves around his age that he had not fought and easily beaten. It was prohibited for young combat slaves to fight the adults, but Sturm was slowly approaching the age limit just before that.

Even with the increasingly older junior combat slaves, the fights were beginning to bore Sturm. Without a challenge, blood would not start boiling, and that was what many professional fighters like Sturm were addicted to.

Luckily Reinhardt agreed that real challenges were necessary to keep growing. He kept increasing the intensity of their sparring. While he could still physically overpower Sturm, he had to admit that the young slave was already surpassing him on a technical level.

Intrigued by his student's limits, Reinhardt decided to stimulate Sturm's potential by inviting other mercenaries as new sparring partners. The restriction that young combat slaves could not fight adult ones was not for their safety but because it would not be enough of a show for the audience. There was nothing that prevented them from sparring and fighting against adults in their free time.

The slim man standing in front of Sturm right now was one of these mercenary friends that Reinhardt was acquainted with. His upper body laid bare, showing his defined muscles with not a single gram of fat to be seen anywhere on his body. The long black dreadlocks and his tanned skin gave him an exotic feeling.

<<He is only missing some tattoos, and he would be the perfect tribal warrior. I wonder where he is from.>>

The tribal mercenary looked at Sturm with the usual disgust everyone displayed towards slaves. "Yo Reinhardt, are you serious? You brought me here to train a freakin' slave boy? Why even bother? You know they can't take any celestial steps. You would be better off investing your time into a bronze level magic beast; at least they can be somewhat useful with enough training."

Not amused at all with his student being ridiculed, Reinhardt's face darkened visibly.

"I asked you to help me train a promising martial warrior, and that is exactly what you will be doing here. I would appreciate it if you would not insult my boss's assistant."

The native-looking mercenary flicked his head to remove some dreads from his face and crossed his lean arms in front of his well-developed chest.

"No offense, but how is a slave supposed to be or even become a martial warrior? And you have no right to judge me. You did not tell me it was a slave because you predicted my reaction, didn't you? There's no way I am touching a filthy slave as a favor."

Reinhardt was speechless for a moment. His acquaintance was right. He purposely omitted that information as he knew that slaves were looked down upon and even considered filth by some. At this moment, Edgar stopped reading his book and looked up from his table next to the cart.

"Five"

The native mercenary looked confused. "Five what?"

"Five silver for every day you help with Sturm's training. If you do not want the money, then get out of here. We will find someone else who is willing to get paid." Edgar replied snarkily.

Five silver was not a small amount, especially as compensation for such easy work. A mercenary could be happy to get paid a single silver for an escort job that would last two to three days, so the amount of money offered was very generous.

"Pay upfront, and it's a deal. Do not blame me if the thing… I mean, the kid gets hurt."

In response, a small pouch flew towards the mercenary and landed at his feet. The mercenary picked it up and threw it next to a small leather backpack he had brought. Then he moved towards the boulder that Edgar had once lifted up and signaled Sturm to come closer. Without any further comment, he got into a fighting stance similar to the Wushu cat stance.

The second Sturm got close enough; the mercenary charged, clearly intent on hurting him.

<<If the boy is unconscious or too hurt to keep fighting, then that means he cannot practice more, and I will instantly earn five silver>>, the mercenary planned.

Not only were commoners superior in all physical aspects, but the native mercenary had the aura of an experienced and battle-hardened fighter around him. He expected to see Sturm despairing when faced with his killing intent but was surprised to see the boy's eyes gleam with excitement instead.

<<This is what I was waiting for!>>

The danger stimulated Sturm's senses, and his Nine Pillars kicked in. His sight turned sharp, analyzing the charging mercenary. Not a single movement could escape his eyes.

<<Two more steps until he reaches me. He will fake a left punch but execute a front kick with his right leg.>>

Sturm did not have to look at his opponent's legs to know there was only one step left. He faintly felt the vibration through the earth.

The sound of steady breathing entered his ears. Why do boxers breathe out when they punch? It is because getting hit in your stomach with your lungs full of air stuns you. The mercenaries' breathing rhythm confirmed the punch was a decoy, and just a moment later, a kick King Leonidas would be proud of sped towards Sturm.

Inside Sturm's mind, a black space appeared. It was similar to what he imagined in his mind when he fought the shadows of professional fighters from his previous life. Only now, his mind was analyzing the fight from a top-down view. It was the combination of his Nine Pillars and the mental projection of shadowboxing. A new realm of possibilities opened up in front of him and resulted in the first concrete ability of The Art of the Nine Pillars—[Black Room].

The mercenary in the [Black Room] resembled an anatomy muscle model, while his steps sent out a wave similar to drops in water.

Another anatomy model stood in front of the charging mercenary. Sturm's knowledge about his own body and his proprioception produced a perfect copy of himself in the space. Numbers appeared on their body parts, representing the distribution of weight and, therefore, their balance.

The timing was perfect. Sturm showed no reaction to the fake left punch and adjusted his body to dodge the kick. He aimed a punch at the mercenaries' solar plexus and timed it to arrive the second his opponent inhaled. Stopping the body's momentum during a kick is incredibly hard, and most fighters would be helpless against such a perfectly timed counter, but this was not Earth.

The mercenary instantly stopped extending his right leg for the front kick and dropped his bodyweight with an elbow extended towards the punch, effectively deflecting it. Sturm was too concentrated to be surprised and made adjustments of his own.

<<He dropped his weight, and his balance shifted.>>

Before the lifted leg could touch the ground again, Sturm used the moment to kick the standing one. It was a beautiful low-kick Saenchai would be proud of. Inside the [Black Room], Sturm saw the numbers on his sparring partner begin to shift towards his standing leg.

<<Why would he…?>>

It was not just that. Instead of putting his leg on the ground, the mercenary started lifting it, while his shoulders and core also started getting active. Throwing his arms back, he did a back handspring. Sturm's kick only hit the air.

<<What? This Eddie Gordo looking m*****cker also fights like him?>>

The fight did not stop there, as the mercenary showed no hesitation and attacked the moment he landed. A brawl broke out, except that both kept dodging and deflecting with no hit connecting. This was what Reinhardt had intended. Latif, the mercenary he had invited, was a similar type of fighter to Sturm.

Unlike him, who relied on overpowering the enemy with pure strength and tanking any incoming hits, the native mercenary had a more tactical approach—looking for weaknesses, using openings, and fighting passively with counters. The brawl that was happening was, in reality, an exchange of continuous counters.

Four minutes went by with no one being hit, but slowly the difference in physical ability started showing as Sturm could no longer completely keep up. Reinhardt knew from the evasion training that both his student's mind and body would soon collapse from overwork, so he stepped in. Even the weakest commoner would be a lot faster and stronger than Sturm. The boy could only keep up with utmost efficiency, moving only precisely how much he had to without wasting even a single movement. The concentration this would require was unimaginable to him.

"That is enough. You guys are getting a bit too much into this. Do not forget that this is only sparring."

<<Is it over already? I was just getting started…>>

Exhaustion fell over Sturm, and he could barely keep himself standing. Reinhardt's broad shoulders appeared in front of him, and the giant's back loomed over the boy like a mountain. Sturm could no longer see the native mercenary and closed his eyes to finally take a deep breath.

*WHACK*

Latif had noticed Sturm relax and close his eyes. He knew Reinhardt was not quick enough for him, so he quickly bypassed the guard captain and brutally kicked Sturm down. The boy bounced off the ground, motionless.

"You dirty little slave. You dare to think you can keep up with me? You are nothing! If I had been serious, you would not have been able to dodge ANYTHING."