Warrior Training System

The clone lunged at him once more, her blade flashing in the dim light. Cassian moved instinctively, his feet gliding across the ground. His sword traced arcs in the air, smooth and unbroken, like the leaf's path through the wind. He didn't force his strikes; he let them come naturally, his movements guided by the flow of the battle.

For the first time, he felt truly at ease. Each swing, each step, each parry felt effortless, as though he were no longer fighting against the world but moving with it. The clone's frustration grew with every failed strike, her attacks becoming erratic and desperate.

Cassian smoothly dodged her attack, his movements fluid and seamless as he stepped back and to the side, almost as if carried by an invisible current. Each step was gentle yet precise, building momentum with an effortless grace. Gradually, his speed increased, shifting from the calm drift of a gentle breeze to the sharp, forceful rush of a sudden gust.

Dust stirred and swirled around him, caught in the wake of his motion. Even his domain began to respond, subtly influenced by the rhythm of the technique, its energy rippling and adapting to his newfound flow. Cassian wasn't just dodging—he was moving with a purpose, becoming part of the wind itself.

As Cassian dodged with a faster rhythm, the Amina clone adapted, her movements becoming sharper and quicker to match his pace. Her technique, infused with a piercing cold, revealed itself in a series of rapid, precise thrusts. The thin blade of her sword seemed almost an extension of her will, a weapon built for speed and agility. Each strike came with a biting chill that cut through the air, leaving faint trails of frost as if the cold itself guided her blade.

Cassian observed her closely, his sharp eyes picking apart the principle behind her style. It was a swift sword technique, built on the foundation of speed and agility. Quick, decisive movements formed the core, each strike aiming to overwhelm and disarm an opponent before they could react.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

Cassian wasn't just watching; he was actively shaping the fight. His technique, rooted in precision and deliberate control, was evolving with every exchange. The Gale Whisper, a style based on both precision and a confounding flow, was the perfect counter to her speed. It allowed him to guide the flow of the battle in his favor.

By sensing the subtle changes in the wind, Cassian could predict her next move before she made it. As she launched her attack, he redirected her blade with fluid, flowing strikes, steering her momentum away from him. Each movement he made wasn't just a dodge or a counter; it was a way to subtly control the fight, guiding her aggression into a dance that worked in his favor.

Cassian rejected the feeling of being just another fighter. As he found his rhythm, he began to flow like the wind, moving with a grace and fluidity that seemed almost artistic. To anyone watching, it wasn't a battle anymore—it was a performance. Even though his attacks were fast and sharp, they were within the rhythm of the wind, like the leaves fluttering in a gentle breeze, some slashing through the air while others curved with the soft elegance of nature.

With each movement, Cassian could feel the connection growing stronger, the flow of his technique becoming second nature. He had it—he could now move with the wind, guiding his strikes like an unseen current. His body flowed effortlessly, each action perfectly timed with the rhythm of the battle. And The opponent's body was riddled with more and more wounds as the fight dragged on, each strike landing with precision.

Across from him, Amina's clone stood, breathing heavily, her body marked with deep cuts. She clutched her arm, feeling the fight slipping away from her. She couldn't keep up. Her domain, once strong and confident, flickered with uncertainty, wavering as her control over it faltered.

Cassian, his understanding of the flow complete, took a final stance, embodying the wind in his every movement. He lunged toward her with the speed of a sharp gust, catching the clone off guard. She saw only the green blur of his sword before the wind itself seemed to swallow her up. Her hair fluttered wildly in the sudden burst of air, but before she could even react, the storm of energy ceased, leaving nothing but silence.

For a moment, she felt no pain, only the gentle caress of the breeze on her neck. Her eyes swung in confusion, only to realize she had already fallen. Her body remained upright for a brief moment, standing like a lifeless statue, before it crumpled to the ground. Cassian, still in his stance, stood motionless, the slash having cut through her cleanly, leaving nothing but the stillness of the aftermath.

Cassian, still absorbed in the flow of his technique, barely registered the excited voice growing louder behind him. "What was that?" Larick's voice cut through his thoughts, full of awe as he approached with wide, amazed eyes. Soon, the others joined him, equally stunned by what they had witnessed.

"You disappeared and reappeared in front of her like a gust of wind," Larick continued, his voice almost disbelieving. "Then I saw you slowly cutting her head off, so smoothly, it didn't even seem possible. How did you...?" He trailed off, his confusion clear as he struggled to understand what had just happened.

"Is that your sword style?" Amina asked, her voice still filled with amazement. "It felt like you were letting the wind move you..."

Cassian nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "Did I look cool?" he asked, his smirk widening.

Amina chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Really cool."

Cassian raised an eyebrow, sheathing his sword with a cocky smile. "Cool enough to get a kiss?"

The group, who had been watching in awe, now shot him annoyed looks as they began to disperse, clearly unimpressed with his attempt at flirting.

The one he was flirting with let out another chuckle, shaking her head. "Not that cool..."

Cassian smirked, his confidence never wavering. "Next time, I'll be even cooler, so keep your lips moist."

Amina's smile faded, and her expression twisted into one of mild disgust as muttered "Pervert."

Cassian, however, wore a smug grin, taking her words as a strange form of praise rather than an insult.