Kayvan rubbed his thoughtfully. “You’re right. Beating you so easily does feel a bit dull. Let’s ge things up. From now on, I’ll teach you something different—how to get hit.”

  “Get hit?” Joe echoed, fused. “Is that really a skill worth learning?”

  “Of course it is,” Kayvan said. “If you want to fight effectively, you o know how to take a hit. Dodging is great, but you ’t always rely on it. Sooner or ter, you’ll get caught. When that happens, knowing how to take the blow make the differeween survival ah.”

  Joe raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t avoiding damage just a matter of being qui your feet?”

  “That’s part of it,” Kayvan admitted, “but otlefield, you’ll often find yourself in situations where dodging isn’t an option. You o learn how to absorb hits in a way that minimizes the damage. osture to take, which part of your body to use—these are crucial. A’s not fet that battles aren’t always one-on-one. Most of the time, it’s chaos, with enemies ing at you from all sides. Learning how to take damage without losing your ability to fight is an essential skill.”

  Joe sighed again. “I guess that makes sense…”

  “It’s supposed to,” Kayvan said with a grin. “Now, let’s get started.”

  Kayvan shrugged. “Although these teiques seem impressive, they’re not as useful as you might think. Space Marines don’t go into battle wearing casual clothes. ower armor.” Joe nodded, already familiar with the process of donning the sacred Mark VII Aqui-pattern power armor, which required the assistance of servitors or a dedicated Meicus armorium team. Dressing in power armor wasn’t a simple task, and Joe had also learned basic rites of maintenance for the armor. Power armor, he knew, was a teological marvel blessed by the Mae God, far surpassing the crude exosuits found iain frontier ies. These suits didn’t just provide unparalleled prote; they enhahe strength and bat prowess of their wearers through neural interfag and servo-assisted systems.

  “There’s er defehan power armor,” Kayvan expined. “You ’t outrun psma fire or dodge s-beams. The enemy will hit you, no matter how fast you are. When that happens, your only defense is the armor you’re wearing. If your power armor holds, you’re fine. But if it fails… well, it won’t matter where you’re hit. The result is usually the same. That’s why I always felt teiques like these were of limited use. Still, learning them might give you a ce to survive just a little longer.”

  Thus began Joe's brutal lessons. He learned how to take hits deliberately, deg whether to sacrifice his sedary heart or a redundant an when necessary. He mastered how to let a bde pierce him in ways that caused the least damage and how to staunch arterial bleeding when it occurred. Joe was taught to remain calm, even if his insides spilled out, so he could push them bad keep fighting. Thankfully, this training took p spiritual world, where injuries weren’t real, making the process easier to e wasn’t long before Joe uood his body intimately and could calcute when and where to take an injury if it meant delivering a decisive blow to his oppo.

  The training transformed Joe's bat style entirely. Previously, he moved like a slippery eel, evading every strike to remain unharmed. Now, he fought like a berserker, willing to trade blows, trusting in his ability to outst or outmaneuver his oppo. If an enemy sshed at him, Joe was just as likely to ssh back, aiming to end the fight in one desperate exge.

  But this yle had its limits. Against a foe like Kayvan, a Raven Guard captain, it didn’t matter how much Joe learned or practiced. Kayvan’s overwhelming power made these teiques almost meaningless. No matter where Kayvan struck, he could incapacitate Joe instantly.

  Kayvan sighed, visibly frustrated. “This is a real problem. What am I supposed to do? My body’s already in dee, and if I keep pushing…”

  “Captain,” Joe interjected, curious, “what exactly are you worried about?”

  Kayvaated before answering. “My body is… withering.”

  “Withering?” Joe echoed, startled.

  “Well, ly. That’s not the right word,” Kayvan admitted. “Here’s the situation. I still use my body, but only barely. Through observation, I’ve noticed something disturbing. My body is slowly being ordinary. The gene-seed within me is degrading. My Ossmodu is failing, my Biscopea and Larraman’s a far behind. If this tinues, I’ll be… useless. And if someone as strong as me es after you, you’ll stand no a traditional fight.”

  “Why would I have to fight someorohan me?”

  Kayvan chuckled darkly. “Because enemies don’t wait for you to be ready. They strike when you least expect it. If you want to survive in this gaxy, you must remember two things: always be loyal to the Emperor and serve the Imperium. And sed, make yourself strong enough to do so.”

  After brooding for a while, Kayvan finally came up with an unventional idea. “Let’s use the martial arts knowledge in your head.”

  Joe frowned. “That’s mostly fi. They’re just cepts I’ve seen in movies and games. I don’t know anything about real martial arts.”

  “That’s fine. A cept is enough. I build on that. Don’t fet, I’m a close-bat instructor. I’ve killed enough eo form aire army.”

  From that moment, Kayvan began experimenting. He meticulously analyzed every fight se Joe had ever watched, breaking down moves and teiques to their core elements. He bihese ideas with his own bat experience, refining them into something practical. Ohe groundwork was id, Kayvan and Joe practiced together. What began as a mentorship retionship evolved into a partnership of mutual learning and discovery.

  Kayvan’s approach blehe calcuted ferocity of a seasoned warrior with the creative fir of imagieiques. Under his guidance, Joe began to develop a uyle, merging the discipline of a Space Marih the iy of a mind unbound by traditional bat norms. Though still far from Kayvan’s level, Joe's growth was undeniable. The lessons were grueling, but for the first time, Joe felt he was carving his own path—a path that might just keep him alive.

  Kayvan had always looked down on the ideas that filled Joe's mind. Boxing, karate, and muay thai, to him, were nothing more than refined sets of fighting teiques. Sure, when practiced to the point of mastery, martial artists could perform feats that seemed almost magical to ordinary people. But it was no different than a skilled waiter in a Westeraurant pulling a tablecloth from under a fully set table without disturbing the dishes. It might look impressive, even miraculous, but iy, it was just the product of endless practice—a showy skill with limited practicality.