It was not, after that, enough. Not for Eric, not for Leia, though Eric had insisted on having his chance to play with Arthur now while he was still fresh. Or as he put it, "Let me lah, before he becomes too big head."
Arthur, of course, snorted at that rather uncharitable view of him. He also felt he needed to remind them, "I was always better than you two. At least when it came to spears and weapons."
"Good you said that," Eric said, flexing a little. "Otherwise, we'd have to grapple."
"Mmmm..." Arthur muttered, rotating his ankles a little and bouncing before shifting to the side, gesturing for his senior to start. They might be his seniors in terms of how long they'd been training with their sifu, but he was still better than them. Even when it came to grappling, Eric was only marginally better. Mostly because the man had been categorically stronger, and no matter what they might like to tell you, it did matter.
Stronger is stronger, and while techniques could make a difference, all else being equal, stronger and faster was better.
"So." Arthur tapped and struck, feeling his friend out with the staff as they tested each other out at range. He wanted to get an idea of how fast the other man had grown, what kind of traits he might have gained. Each little tap, each thrust that was blocked, and each step was an answer. "You managed to get to your Second Transformation yet?"
A flicker, a flurry of strikes that pushed Arthur back as he finished his question. He guarded himself, battling the attacks as he watched his opponent for a tell, wondering if Eric had gotten rid of it, that little preceding motion he did. So minor that if you had never duelled him before you'd never notice, that shift of grip as he tightened his fingers.
So minor.
That was the thing that duelists forgot, that watchers of things like the Olympics or high-level combat matches the world over never realised. You could study your opponents, in video replays, in high definition and in live matches, over and over again till even the most minute tell could be picked out.
Oh, most fighters had the big tells worn away, taught out of them. The rocking, the head bob, the way the eyes shifted or the hands that dropped. Big tells, that told a tale of movement and intention. But once you ironed those away, got rid of them, then you got to the smaller ones. And smaller. And smaller.
Till you carved a perfect fighting robot—that mattered little in a real battle. In that flurry of combat you engaged someone and walked away from the battle thirty seconds later, when your opponent was—if you did it right—dead and not coming back. Then, a subtle tic no longer mattered, because they would never have the time to figure it out.
Or exploit it.
"I'll take that as a no," Arthur said, sliding out of the flurry of attacks. Another series of stabs and ripostes, the spear shafts knocking one against in a series of klacks. A common rhythm, formed from repetition and a specific form. Drilled to such an extent the pair could have done it with their eyes closed, muscle memory taking over even as both blazed through the motions, the spear shafts themselves straining to keep up with the attacks.
But repetition and muscle memory meant that you left openings, created a routine that might be exploited by the smart. He saw it, the slight tightening of a grip, the shift in body. He intercepted the attack, long before it began, stepping in close and blocking it tight, riding the motion forwards.
Forcing his friend, his opponent, to choose anew.
Grunting, the snap of cloth as they moved, the whistle of spears as they crossed. Arthur could smell the dust rising from the packed earth floor, the sweat pouring from his body. He had lost track of time, the pair no longer feeling one another out but fighting at range.
A dozen passes, some strikes that were glancing, injuring but not fatal. School rules had you fight on, ignoring the throbbing pain, ignoring the potential fractures and the definite bruises. Only a fatal hit would end it, a properly placed one.
Throat, head, heart, lungs. Or, if you managed it, a direct strike to an arm or leg that dropped the opponent, at which point they were no longer allowed to use it, even if sensation returned.
Arthur had to admit, as he lay gasping moments later, that he never saw it. The attack was unusual, a cut kick that he had dodged with ease, but the slip forward and the trip that followed the attack pulled his ankle to upset his balance. Then, the spear, pushed upwards so that Arthur's arm moved upwards, Eric guiding the attack before he threw an elbow upwards. Right into his chest, catching him lightly.
That he understood, that he noticed. What he didn't was the way that same energy pushed through him, cast him backwards as though it had exploded within him. He staggered back, holding his chest, trying to get his lungs to breathe again. He was so disturbed by the sensation that he only realised he'd dropped his guard when the spearhead tapped the top of his head.
"What was that?" Arthur hissed, stepping back till he hit the edge of the ring, the back of the ropes pushing into his skin, blocking his attempt to flee. He shifted the spear, forgotten in one hand, to the side and let it rest against the ropes, watched it slide down and clatter even as he kept rubbing at his chest.
"Think you're the only one who learnt something?" Eric said with a smirk.
"No, but..." He didn't know what else to say beyond that as he waited. Waited for an answer.
"New trait. Vibrating energy. Combined with a projection," Eric said, grinning as he leaned on his spear now as he grounded it. "Can't project it through my weapon just yet, but in contact, it does that."
"Triggers projected energy that disrupts my own energy and the muscles and bones in me," Arthur said, wonderingly. The vibrating slowly went away, leaving him uncomfortable as he rubbed at it once again and sighs. "Smart. And if you can project it..."
"Like your Refined Energy Dart, yeah. Or through Focused Strike. It'll bypass a lot of armour," Eric said with a smirk. "Nice, eh?"
Arthur nodded in agreement, then sighed. He bent down, grabbed his spear and raised it.
"1-0. Let's try that again."
His answer was only a grin from Eric as he set himself.
***
A dozen passes with each of his seniors. It was enough to leave Arthur panting over in the corner, sweat pouring off him as he wiped at his face and tried to catch his breath. He had pushed until he couldn't fight any longer, barely giving himself time to rest between bouts. Now, the pair were both in the ring, fighting in a group battle with Yao Jing and Jan. This was the second round, with the pairings changing each time.
Good training, even though his seniors were tired already. Just like him. On the other hand, at least he was gaining a good understanding of what the pair could do. And the truth was, they were both stronger than him. Not all the way to Second Transformation but a decent amount of the way there.
A good addition to his team, even if they did cause their own problems.