Atticus’ earlier assumption had been right. The next spar was nothing like the first.

As soon as it began, Niall went full power, bombarding Atticus with an intensity that should have overwhelmed the 16 year old boy.

However, Atticus had long since moved away from the notion of ‘normal.’ He was far from being a typical teenager.

Atticus fought.

The battle was so intense that his bones were broken like twigs on multiple occasions, the surroundings destroyed beyond recognition, yet he fought and held his own.

The fight he envisioned was based on the power Niall displayed during the last moments of their first spar.

Atticus kept his perception at full throttle for the entire 10 minutes, but he only used his full strength when absolutely necessary— specifically, during deadly attacks.

This strategy allowed Atticus to conserve his strength considerably. However, it wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

To pull this off, Atticus had to accurately assess each attack and their strengths. He had to gauge the intensity of Niall’s muscle contractions, the weight, and the target of each strike.

As Atticus continually did this, he began to awaken something. It wasn’t a dormant power or anything supernatural— instead, it was a feeling. A weird one.

Atticus began to sense death. It was a surreal sensation, something he didn’t fully understand. However, whenever this feeling surged through him like an electric shock, Atticus immediately unleashed his full power and evaded without hesitation.

Atticus’ focus was entirely on the battle, leaving no room for other thoughts. Niall, on the other hand, was thinking differently.

Nine minutes had passed since the battle began, and the best Niall had managed to do was land some bone breaking hits. Why the hell was the boy still alive!?

He had taken the fight seriously from the start, using all his experience and strength, yet he still couldn’t kill a teenager!

Niall felt anger; he felt utterly incompetent. Just what was this boy?

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“Why won’t you die!!!” Niall roared, controlling even more thick roots from the earth to shoot toward Atticus.

But, as though he had anticipated it, Atticus had already created enough distance between them, azure streaks filling the space as he sliced each root that neared.

“Shit!” Niall cursed as the 10 minutes elapsed, forcing him to stop the battle. He stomped his foot on the ground in anger, causing the entire pit to tremble.

At this point, the pit was a mess. The power of a grandmaster- rank, even without using his domain, was incredible.

The terrain had changed, and the width of the pit had expanded dramatically from the earlier 300 meters to more than 600 meters.

Niall clicked his tongue and walked out through the destroyed door of the pit, throwing Atticus a death stare as he left.

Atticus, of course, didn’t care about Niall’s feelings and immediately slumped to the floor. He was utterly exhausted this time around too, but unlike before, he was smiling.

His battle plan had worked! And best of all, he felt he had gained something valuable from it— the instinctive feeling he would get whenever an attack was truly deadly.

‘But I have to learn and be ready to adapt. He’s not going to remain stagnant the whole time,’ he thought.

After all, Niall was a grandmaster rank individual, even though he was limiting his strength to grandmaster-, and an experienced one at that. The man was sure to adapt and adjust accordingly, which meant Atticus had to do the same, continuously.

‘But I have to do it,’

No matter what, Atticus was determined not to die.

Atticus followed his earlier routine once more: he took a nap, ate another round of food, and then meditated to recover until it was time for the next spar.

This time, Niall blitzed through the broken door, suddenly appearing in the middle of the pit, his intense red gaze fixed on Atticus. He didn’t utter any degrading words and simply began the battle immediately.

The game of cat and mouse continued, but Atticus always found a way to escape death, leaving Niall incredibly frustrated.

Three spars turned into six, then ten, and then twenty. At some point, Atticus lost count of the number of spars despite his sharp intellect. He simply didn’t consider it relevant information anymore.

Time passed— days, and then weeks— until the three stipulated weeks were up.

The last spar was currently ongoing.

BAM!

Two figures collided, the force causing the ground and nearby walls to implode into bits and pieces.

At this point, the pit was no longer a pit. It had expanded to such an extent that many would call it a coliseum. The terrain was uneven in many parts, and thick roots constantly whipped around the space, each one targeting a single figure.

Two streaks, red and blue, blitzed through the space, suddenly appearing before colliding in a cacophony of attacks.

The first figure had a mixture of desperation and anger on his twisted face. His movements were forceful, and it was clear he was trying his very best to rip the opponent in front of him to shreds.

The second figure, however, had a surprisingly calm expression. His piercing blue eyes were wide open, not blinking even once as he fought.

His movements were measured and calculated, his control over his powers incredibly precise and accurate. He constantly parried some attacks while completely evading others with ease.

This second figure was none other than Atticus, who had grown exceptionally in the past three weeks.

He had honed the instinctive feeling of death he always experienced and was now able to accurately predict when an attack would come before it was even unleashed.

Atticus didn’t know where this feeling came from, but he eventually tagged it as his instinct. However, this wasn’t his only gain.

Due to the constant need to conserve his strength while still using his full power, Atticus had learned how to precisely control his power down to the minutest details.