1st Year Practical Sparring Part 3

Akshar and Peyton stepped into the circle, eyes locked on one another. The tension between them was palpable. Peyton took his stance, but this time his muscles were noticeably more taut than before, as though at any moment, his hands might fly into a punch, even though strikes were illegal.

Akshar, despite his usual brutish demeanor, assumed a basic stance: knees bent, hands raised defensively to guard his torso. 

The entire class sat on the edge of their seats. This was the rematch everyone had been waiting for. Last time, Peyton had won with ease, but the outcome of this spar was uncertain. The first round had taught the class that raw power could overwhelm skill.

At the back of the room, Jame was busy collecting bets, keeping a close eye on the instructor to avoid getting caught. 

"Two silver on Peyton," one student whispered.

"Two on the barbarian," another replied.

"Are you crazy? Didn't you see how the barbarian got his ass kicked last time?"

"Well... you never know," the student muttered back, uncertain.

"Ten on the barbarian," a deeper, more confident voice cut through the quiet betting.

Jame's head snapped up to see who had spoken. The class fell silent.

"Uhh... Instructor?" Jame stammered.

"Here. Ten on the barbarian." The instructor grinned, dropping ten silver into Jame's hand.

'Guess he's not getting paid enough,' Jame thought, surprised by the instructor's participation. Seeing the instructor bet, the other students stopped hiding their bets and openly joined in.

"Hup!" Akshar bellowed, dashing at Peyton with arms outstretched, ready to shove him out of the circle. Peyton reacted quickly, stepping to the left and rolling out of the way with mere inches to spare.

In a quick counter-move, Peyton darted toward Akshar's back, attempting to push him out of the circle. However, it was like trying to move a brick wall—Akshar didn't budge. He stood firm, hardly acknowledging Peyton's effort.

"Shoot!" Peyton cursed under his breath, backing away to reassess.

Akshar turned slowly, extending his hands again, eyes focused. Peyton understood what was coming and cautiously approached. The two locked hands, pushing against each other with all their might. 

The class watched in awe as the struggle played out. Akshar should have easily overpowered Peyton with his raw strength, but Peyton's clever footwork—shifting his body and redirecting Akshar's force—kept him from being pushed out of the circle.

"If I can't push, I THROW!" Akshar roared. He began spinning rapidly, lifting Peyton off the ground. Peyton's vision blurred from the force of the spin, and his mind raced, trying to come up with a plan.

"This monster..." Peyton muttered, his thoughts scrambled by the dizzying spin.

Akshar smiled wickedly, and with a sudden release, he flung Peyton into the air.

"Whaoh!" Peyton yelled, frantically trying to control his landing. But before he could adjust, he hit the ground past the circle's boundary.

Furious, Peyton slammed his fist into the ground, glaring at Akshar, who didn't even spare him a glance. The barbarian's eyes were fixed on George, standing at the edge of the room.

"YES! I KNEW IT!" a student shouted, celebrating his bet on Akshar.

Jame, busy distributing the winnings, handed out the coins to the lucky few who had bet on Akshar. Meanwhile, George stepped into the circle, his next opponent following close behind.

George's opponent, Healend, was a commoner with some skill, much like Peyton, but lacked his strength and experience. From Healend's stance, it was clear he had been trained in the same martial arts Peyton had used.

George, taking the same approach as before, began circling Healend. His eyes scanned for an opening.

'I knew you'd do that,' Healend thought, keeping his eyes locked on George while remaining still, tracking him as he moved.

Spotting an opportunity, George lunged forward, aiming for a single-leg takedown from Healend's exposed side. But Healend was ready, quickly turning and blocking the attempt. 

George disengaged and resumed circling, searching for another angle of attack. He extended his hands, walking forward, and Healend instinctively mirrored the movement, preparing to lock hands.

Just as their hands were about to meet, George ducked under, grabbing one of Healend's legs. 'These guys want a fast win... I'll show them a fast win!' George thought, attempting another single-leg takedown.

But Healend quickly bent the leg George had grabbed, increasing his balance and stability, making it harder for George to lift him.

Yet, George didn't stop. He tightened his grip and smiled. 'If I can't do a single-leg takedown, I'll just do a double-leg!' Without hesitation, George grabbed Healend's other leg, lifted him off the ground, and sprinted forward, slamming him down onto the floor.

"Cough!" Healend wheezed as the impact knocked the wind out of him. He stayed on the ground for a moment, trying to catch his breath.

George stood, wincing as he rubbed his back. Carrying Healend had strained him, but the spar was won.

From across the room, Akshar watched with amusement, grinning at how much effort George had needed to take down a relatively weaker opponent.

Peyton, who had once thought George might have hidden strength, quickly adjusted his opinion. 'So, he's not that strong after all... But he does understand fighting,' Peyton thought, his eyes narrowing as he reassessed George.