Hild cracked her knuckles. "Alright, Jil. You're up first."
Jil groaned but stepped forward, her exhausted body dragging slightly as she moved to stand across from Hild in the open yard. The morning sun had risen higher, casting long shadows over the grass.
Sweat clung to Jil's skin, her muscles ached from the relentless workout, but she swallowed her fatigue. If there was one thing she hated, it was backing down from a challenge.
"Alright, little troublemaker," Hild said, rolling her shoulders. "Come at me."
Jil hesitated for only a second before charging forward, her bare feet kicking up dust. She threw a straight jab aimed for Hild's stomach, her body moving on instinct, but before her fist could land—
Hild sidestepped effortlessly.
Jil stumbled slightly, catching herself before falling flat. She turned, eyes narrowing. That was too fast!
"Again," Hild said, smirking.
Gritting her teeth, Jil launched another punch, this time adding a follow-up kick. Her movements were wild, unrefined—yet natural, like an untamed storm.
Her legs didn't hesitate to shift direction, her arms swung without restraint, and her body bent unpredictably.
Hild dodged again, but not as cleanly this time. Jil's kick had come from an angle that shouldn't have been possible—it lacked the strict form of martial arts, yet it carried its kind of efficiency. Her freedom of movement made her unpredictable.
Hild's eyes flickered with recognition.
Jil stumbled mid-punch, accidentally rolling into a crouch before leaping forward with a wild haymaker. That shouldn't have worked. A standard jab shouldn't transition into a right hook mid-motion, and yet Jil made it happen.
Hild blocked the strike with her forearm, feeling the weight behind it. It wasn't polished—it wasn't perfect—but it had intent.
Jil wasn't just throwing punches—she was feeling them, adjusting as she went, reacting in real-time to her own body's instinct.
Jil spun, attempting a roundhouse kick, but lost her balance. Instead of falling flat, she let the motion carry her into an unplanned somersault, landing in a crouch before immediately springing forward with another attack.
It was chaos.
It was reckless.
It was effective.
Hild barely avoided the strike, twisting just enough to let the punch graze her ribs. She grinned. "You don't care about structure, do you?"
Jil panted, wiping sweat from her brow. "I don't know what that means, but I know I'm hitting you more than you're hitting me."
Hild chuckled. "Fair enough. But tell me—what are you going to do about this?"
In a flash, Hild stepped in and swiped Jil's legs out from under her. Jil yelped as she fell backward—but even as she tumbled, her body reacted.
She twisted mid-air, landed on her hands, and pushed off the ground with a wild spinning kick.
Hild barely leaned back in time to avoid it.
Jil landed, slightly shaky but still standing, a wide grin on her face. "Ha! Not this time!"
Hild exhaled slowly, studying the girl. She hadn't been trained. She had no formal stance, no proper technique. And yet—
Jil was adapting as she fought.
"Martial arts," Hild began, sidestepping another attack, "is the art of making your body move as a single, unified force. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes, every part of you must work together."
Jil growled. "Yeah, yeah—I'm trying—!"
"No," Hild said with a smirk. "You're doing something else."
Jil lunged forward again, only for Hild to effortlessly grab her wrist. In one swift motion, Hild spun Jil around and planted her onto the ground.
"Ah—!!" Jil hit the dirt with a grunt, her face buried in the grass.
She groaned, rolling onto her back. "That wasn't fair."
Hild loomed over her, arms crossed. "Martial arts is about discipline, about efficiency. You—" she pointed down at Jil, "are not efficient."
Jil scowled. "Thanks for the encouragement."
Hild let out a breath, shaking her head. "But… you have something else. Something rare."
Jil blinked. "Huh?"
Hild looked down at her with genuine curiosity. "Most fighters follow a set pattern. Jab, hook, step back, guard, counterattack—it's all ingrained in their muscle memory. You? You don't have patterns. You just move."
Jil sat up, tilting her head. "Is that… a good thing?"
Hild smirked. "It's dangerous. To your opponents, but also yourself."
She extended a hand. Jil took it, allowing herself to be pulled back up.
"With proper training, you'll be a nightmare to fight," Hild admitted. "Your body doesn't follow the standard rules of combat—you move however you want. That kind of freedom in battle is terrifying."
Jil perked up at that. "So… I'm awesome?"
Hild scoffed. "You're a mess. But if you survive training, you'll be a lethal mess."
Jil beamed, wiping sweat from her forehead. "I'll take it!"
Hild chuckled, stepping back. "Alright, you're done. Werf, you're next."
Werf, who had been watching with wide eyes, swallowed hard. His turn had come.