Sparring in the Red Dust
Two days had passed since the plague fog from the duel dissipated. It was evening on the training ground, filled once more with red dust and the stench of sweat. The sky was its usual crimson, but today, the ground beneath it stirred with a little more unrest.
One side of the training ground. A demon at the front muttered lowly.
"It's starting."
His gaze never left the center.
"Tenth year they've been at it."
"While we've been building walls, clearing corpses, and training, those two have been fighting there every chance they get."
The demon beside him snorted.
"Still, only El noona's made it that far. How many demons can hold out at that distance with Rak-nim?"
Another voice chimed in from the back.
"Rak-nim sometimes says, 'Come at me all together,' and sweeps half the training ground. You get it once you stand there."
A brief burst of laughter erupted, then was quickly swallowed.
"......Not going that far is the way to survive."
The laughter carried envy, and woven into that envy was resignation.
Today, too, Rak and El walked out to the center of the training ground. A step behind them stood Zan and Nas. Zan quietly watched the pair. Rak, the most dangerous one in this base. El, still growing stronger by the day. And now, the two of them standing on the same side as him. Zan still found that fact unfamiliar.
Rak stopped in the center of the training ground. His hands were empty. Just bare fists.
El drew a dagger from her waist. The blade was short, but the moment she gripped it, a dull red aura thinly rose from the tip. The unique recovery that forcibly knit dead flesh together and wrapped torn wounds to seal them.
Rak looked at El.
"Ready?"
El spun the dagger once.
"I said I'd take the lead."
Her lips curved lightly upward, but her eyes were serious.
"You're always just watching the young ones train. Give me a turn sometimes."
Rak rolled his shoulders. His bones cracked shortly with a pop.
"You say that, but you always come at me full force."
"That's how I match you."
El stated it like it was obvious.
"You saved me. You dragged me here. So take responsibility."
El raised her dagger.
"Keep going until I'm right on the edge of death."
Low chuckles leaked from spots around the training ground.
Rak snorted quietly.
"Right up to the brink of death?"
"That's how I get practice."
El shrugged.
"Without me, you'd be all stiff by now, too lazy to even head to the battlefield."
Rak's lips twitched upward briefly.
"Fine. Let's loosen up those stiff spots today."
Rak took one step forward.
"Here I come."
The words had barely left his mouth when El shot ahead.
Her foot hit the ground once. El's body blurred with the red sky, leaping forward, to the side, downward in explosive bounds. The dagger blade slashed alternately at Rak's throat, side, knee, and wrist. Joints. Paths for breath. Spots where blood pooled. Trajectories unconsciously chosen by someone who'd fought the same opponent for ten years.
Rak barely moved his feet. He twisted his body slightly, deflected the dagger with his wrist, sometimes blocked El's shoulder with his forearm. He shifted his position only by inches.
"Upper body."
Rak said curtly.
El's eyes flashed for a moment.
"Got it."
Today was one where he barely used his lower body. Rak planted his right foot into the ground, adjusting distance and angle solely with his upper body. El matched him, deliberately minimizing her leg movements and twisting her attack angles toward his torso.
"Head comes up too soon."
Rak's hand grazed El's forehead.
Thwack.
It wasn't invisible. But it was fast enough to strain the eyes. El's head snapped back briefly.
"Use your shoulder first."
Rak continued immediately.
"Head first, and your consciousness flies before you can even recover."
El clicked her tongue.
"Tch... I know."
Even as the curse slipped out, she quietly adjusted the angle of her shoulder and arm. In the next instant, Rak's fist drove into her side.
Thud.
A dull sound reverberated through bone and flesh. A nearby demon swallowed unconsciously.
That's on another level from a regular high-rank demon...
"Hng...!"
El's breath cut short. At the same time, a murky red light spread like blood from the struck spot. The color of torn flesh clinging desperately to seal itself. The light pressing hard to hold the area so organs wouldn't rupture. El hunched her waist slightly, then exhaled long and stood straight again.
"Up to here, it's fine."
Rak said.
"Nghhh... Not fine... I'm just holding it together."
El caught her breath and grinned.
"If I wasn't, I'd be puking by now."
Still, she stepped forward again.
The exchange dragged on. Rak's fists, elbows, knees, and shoulders. El's dagger, ankles, and the back of her hand laced with recovery. Their footprints layered in circles on the training ground floor. Whispers passed among the watching demons.
"El noona endured that for ten years?"
"That's why she's still alive and standing here."
Zan listened to those words, straining to capture even a fraction of the movements before him. When Rak's hand passed in front of his chest. The instant El's foot struck the ground. But at some point, it felt like only raw "dangerous presences" exploded and vanished in clumps. Zan's fingertips twitched unconsciously.
Breakage.
The sensation of thinly slicing and severing paths where something spread. Not yet the moment to unleash it, but a faint heat rose between his fingers. Zan swallowed and lowered his hand.
Watch now. Remember.
Their way of fighting will be the line my power must reach.
"Just now."
Rak said, halting his fist.
"The angle of your second thrust."
El swallowed her panting breath.
"Haa... Under the ribs?"
Rak nodded.
"That's a spot you block first, before recovery can hold it."
His gaze flicked toward the onlookers.
"Don't keep that angle to yourself. Practice it with the front-line shield guys."
El blinked.
"...Try it together in tomorrow's training?"
"Yeah."
Rak's lips curved slightly.
"Tomorrow, you thrust from there, Gart takes the hit."
On one side of the training ground, Gart let out a weird "Urk."
El waved toward him.
"I'll go easy."
A moment later, Rak stepped back. His breathing was only slightly quickened, his body calm as if it could fight much longer.
"That's enough for today."
El sheathed her dagger with a shake and exhaled long.
"I could go more."
"You could."
Rak said.
"But the rest have to keep up with the gaps you create."
El's eyes widened slightly.
"......Guess I need to remember all this."
Rak nodded quietly.
"Based on your movements today, redo the paths: front-line shields, flank breakthroughs, inner treatment zones."
Rak called to Nas, who had been watching from the training ground's edge.
"Nas."
"Yes."
"You saw it all."
Nas nodded curtly.
"Paths and angles sorted in my head. Just readjust movement lines and troop distribution."
Rak said,
"Starting tomorrow, mix El with the front-liners."
He glanced at El and added,
"You too. Don't just watch me. Feel for yourself how long the front guys can hold."
El's mouth curved up.
"Got it."
Underneath those words lay an unspoken 'Good, let's fight again.'
Before the demon soldiers dispersed, Rak called Zan.
"Breakage. Draw the line. Don't touch allies, just the black stains."
Zan didn't clasp his hands. Instead, he extended his fingertips forward. Red fragments thinly spread, tracing an invisible boundary line on the ground and pressing down on the black smears staining the target pillars at the training ground's edge.
Rak added lowly,
"Maintain the range. Waver, and allies waver too."
Zan gritted his teeth, steadied his breath, and nodded.
"......Understood."
Some mimicked the moves they'd just seen, laughing. Others rubbed their chests and muttered,
"Good thing he's on our side, really."
Zan stood there a moment longer. Rak and El had already left the training ground. Watching their backs, Zan dimly realized it. The place he now stood was utterly different from the battlefield he'd overlooked from the prayer halls above. This was where demons who stained their hands with blood and clashed bodies were forging a "new path," bit by bit—not the hands flipping ledgers from on high.
Zan quietly looked down at his hands. Between his fingers. The faint sensation of the red fragments that had slowed the plague lingered.
The prayers that once rose upward were severed. In their place remained the power to draw lines and block for the living down here.
Zan nailed it into himself once more.
From now on, I follow no one's voice.
The training ground slowly settled into evening's clamor. Today's fight ended here. But tomorrow, this place would nurture not "how to fight," but "how to endure." And that endurance would one day become the line that breaks what descends from above.