Chapter 88: Training and more training.

The sound of steel cutting through the air was relentless. It wasn’t a rhythmic training session, nor technical in the traditional sense. It was continuous pressure, with no room to breathe, no room to overthink. Scarlet didn’t slow down for a second, and Victor was forced to keep up or simply be overwhelmed.

Her blade came from above with enough force to break a normal guard. Victor managed to raise his sword in time, but the impact went through his entire arm. The shock traveled from his shoulder to his chest, and his body recoiled half a step back, his foot scraping the ground to avoid completely losing his balance.

He tried to counterattack immediately, but Scarlet was no longer there.

She appeared on his right side, turning her body along with the movement of the blade, and the cut grazed his flank. It wasn’t deep enough to incapacitate, but it was clean enough to open flesh. Blood flowed instantly.

Victor reflexively clenched his abdomen, trying to contain the pain, but he didn’t have time to react. Another blow came in quick succession, horizontal, too fast to keep up with brute force alone. He raised his sword again, this time too late, and the impact threw his arm to the side.

Her blade passed through.

The cut went across his shoulder.

More blood.

More failure.

Scarlet didn’t stop.

"Faster," she said, without changing her tone, already repositioning her body for the next attack.

Victor took a deep, heavy breath, trying to ignore the burning sensation building in his muscles. His body had been burdened with micro-tears since the beginning of the session, but now it was worse. Much worse. Each impact was becoming more costly.

He advanced this time, trying to reverse the rhythm, using brute force to push space. His blow came heavy, direct, without refinement. Scarlet dodged with a minimal, almost lazy movement, and let the attack pass by her side.

"You still think that strength solves everything," she commented, twisting her wrist and striking his blade to destabilize him.

Victor lost his train of thought for a second.

That was enough.

She entered his guard as if he weren’t there. The sword hilt struck his sternum hard, taking his breath away instantly. Before he could react, the blade followed, superficially cutting his arm, opening another line of blood.

He recoiled, this time more instinctive than technical.

His breath caught in his throat for a moment.

His body was slow to respond.

Scarlet observed.

"Your body is already lagging," she said. "You’re accumulating damage faster than you can process it."

Victor didn’t answer.

He adjusted his grip on the sword, ignoring the slight tremor in his fingers. Blood trickled down his arm, dripping onto the stone floor. Regeneration was... slow. Very slow.

In fact, almost nonexistent.

Without new blood, his body was operating at the limit of what it could reuse. And that, at that level of intensity, wasn’t enough. Even so, he advanced again.

The next minute was worse.

Scarlet increased the pace even more. There was no warning, no transition. Just... more pressure. More speed. More cuts. More impact.

Victor blocked some, dodged others, but not all. Never all.

Each mistake cost flesh.

A cut on his thigh made his leg give way for half a second. An impact on his forearm made the sword almost slip from his hand. A direct blow to his already injured shoulder made his arm simply unresponsive for a few moments.

He was being dismantled.

Not completely.

But progressively.

And the worst part wasn’t that.

It was that she wasn’t even close to using everything.

"You’re surviving," Scarlet said, stopping the movement for a second. "But you’re not fighting."

Victor was leaning forward, breathing heavily, his body marked with cuts, bruises beginning to appear under his skin. The blood was no longer gushing with such force, but it wasn’t closing either.

He spat some blood onto the ground, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Keep going," he said.

Scarlet didn’t argue.

She advanced again.

The next impact was too direct. Victor tried to block, but his arm didn’t respond in time. Her blade struck the side of his sword, completely bypassing the defense, and the cut caught in his torso, deeper this time.

He froze.

His body didn’t fall.

But it remained there for a second, still.

Breathing.

Feeling.

Scarlet took a half-step back.

Observing.

It was at that moment that Carmilla, who was leaning against one of the side columns, uncrossed her arms and approached a few steps, unhurriedly.

"That’s enough," she said simply.

Scarlet glanced sideways, but didn’t answer.

Carmilla stopped beside Victor, analyzing his state with a direct look, without romanticizing anything.

"You’ve already hit your limit," she continued. "More than that is a waste."

Victor didn’t answer immediately.

His breathing was still heavy.

His body was still reacting.

Carmilla tilted her neck slightly to the side, exposing her skin effortlessly.

"Drink a little," she said. "Just enough to stabilize."

The gesture was natural. No provocation.

No pressure.

Just... practical.

Victor turned his face slowly toward her.

His eyes swept over her exposed neck.

The pulse.

The smell.

His body reacted instantly.

His throat burned more intensely.

His mouth itched.

That voice... returned.

But this time, he didn’t freeze.

He looked away.

"No," he said.

Simple.

Direct.

Without hesitation.

Carmilla arched an eyebrow slightly.

"It’s not pride," she said. "It’s efficiency."

Victor made a small sound through his nose, almost a humorless laugh.

"I know," he replied. "But it’s not about that."

He straightened his body slightly, ignoring the pain that came with the movement.

"It hasn’t even been six months yet," he continued.

Scarlet watched in silence.

Carmilla held his gaze for a few seconds.

"Your body won’t keep up with this pace without replenishment," she said. "You already know that."

"If I depend on that now," Victor replied, "I won’t learn anything."

The silence stretched for a moment.

Carmilla didn’t insist immediately.

She just... observed.

Victor closed his eyes for a second.

He took a deep breath.

And then he did something different.

His body tensed.

But not like before.

It wasn’t just physical exertion.

It was... focus.

He inhaled slowly, controlling his breathing more precisely, ignoring the widespread pain. His mind focused on the internal sensations, not the external ones. Not on the cuts. Not on the exhaustion.

On the blood.

On what still existed.

On what could still be used.

His muscles trembled slightly, but not from direct weakness. It was an effort of control. Regeneration... didn’t return to normal.

But it changed.

Slow.

Controlled.

Small.

The edges of some cuts began to close.

Not fast.

But consistent.

Scarlet noticed first.

Carmilla soon after.

"You’re forcing regeneration without replenishment," Scarlet said, in a neutral tone.

Victor opened his eyes again.

"Yes."

Carmilla crossed her arms again, now with a slightly different interest.

"This will wear you out faster," she commented.

"I know," he replied.

He rotated his injured shoulder, testing the movement. It still hurt. It still limited him. But... it worked.

"But that’s what I want," he finished.

Scarlet was silent for a second.

Then she took a step forward again.

"Then stop talking," she said. "And come back."

Victor adjusted his grip on the sword.

His body was still far from ideal.

But it was... functional.

"Let’s go," he replied.

And he advanced again.