Chapter 37: Sparring Against His Mother, Lyra

Alaric stretched languidly, his body deliciously sore from his nighttime activities with Kara. He couldn’t help but smile as he remembered the way she had moaned and writhed beneath him, her body arching in ecstasy as he brought her to climax over and over again.

But now, it was time to get up and face the day. With a groan, he pushed himself out of bed and padded over to the washroom, eager to cleanse himself before facing the world.

As he stood under the hot spray of the shower, Alaric couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. He had finally lost his virginity, in a way, and it had been even better than he had imagined. He couldn’t wait to see what other delights the Harem God System had in store for him.

With a towel wrapped around his waist, Alaric made his way back into his room, eager to check his notifications.

[Congratulations! Kara’s orgasm has awarded you 3500 Experience Points.]

[Congratulations! Fondling Kara’s breasts has awarded you 3800 Experience Points.]

[Congratulations! Spanking Kara has awarded you 3200 Experience Points.]

[Congratulations! Fingering Kara has awarded you 3700 Experience Points.]

[Congratulations! Making Kara orgasm has awarded you 4000 Experience Points.]

[Congratulations! Biting Kara’s nipples has awarded you 3400 Experience Points.]

Alaric grinned, his eyes scanning through the dozens of notifications. Each one detailed a specific act or reaction from Kara that had earned him Experience Points. By the end of the night, he had amassed a whopping 37,000 Experience Points.

[Congratulations! You have reached Level 19!]

Alaric whooped in delight, punching the air in victory. He had gained a full level just from his night with Kara. The Harem God System was definitely a powerful tool.

With a satisfied grin, Alaric dressed in his finest clothes and made his way downstairs for breakfast. He was eager to show off his newfound status to his mother and prove to her that he was no longer the same weak boy she had sent away to the Academy.

After a hearty breakfast, Alaric made his way to the training fields, his heart pounding with anticipation. He knew that his mother was waiting for him, eager to see what he had learned during his time away.

As he approached the training grounds, Alaric saw Lyra standing in the center of the field, her battle attire hugging her curves in a way that made his mouth water. She held a wooden sword in her hand, her stance relaxed yet powerful.

“Good morning, Mother,” he called, bowing with respect, though a spark of excitement shone in his eyes. “I’m ready for our spar.”

Lyra’s warm smile softened the steely glint in her gaze, pride flickering behind her piercing eyes. “Good morning, my moonpie,” she replied, a soft tease in her voice that Alaric couldn’t help but grin at. She raised her wooden sword, gesturing for him to take his stance. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Alaric inhaled deeply, calling forth the magic within him. “Magica Corporis,” he whispered, feeling the now-familiar surge of power course through his veins, tightening his muscles and sharpening his reflexes. His vision felt sharper, his limbs lighter, and as he settled into his stance, he felt the enhanced strength humming beneath his skin, ready to be unleashed.

Lyra took a small step back, settling into her own stance with natural ease. She lifted a wooden practice sword in one hand and gestured for him to begin with the other, her expression serene and composed. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said.

The words were barely out of her mouth before Alaric launched forward, closing the distance in a flash in just two strides, leading with a quick jab, followed by a swift roundhouse kick aimed at her midsection.

He had practiced this combo endlessly at the Academy, and he was eager to test it against his mother.

Yet, with fluid grace, Lyra sidestepped his attack, letting his fist slice through the air before deftly bringing her wooden sword up in an arc. The edge of the blade tapped against his shoulder, a light reminder of how swiftly she could counter.

“Not so fast, my sweet child,” she murmured, her voice lilting with amusement as she circled him, her sword raised with ease.

Alaric gritted his teeth, brushing off the stinging pride as he reset himself. This time, he adjusted his stance, shifting his weight to his back foot and lowering his center of gravity. He attacked again, switching up his movements with a quick feint before going in for a sweep kick. But Lyra was ready. She brought her wooden sword down in a graceful arc, blocking his kick with an effortless twist.

“You’re letting your stance give you away,” she chided gently, her eyes twinkling. “Keep your movements smaller, tighter, moonpie. Don’t let me see where you’re going next.”

Alaric absorbed her advice as he squared up once more. He took a moment, then moved in again, his fists a blur of jabs and hooks.

This time, he tried to keep his strikes more contained, focused, visualizing the power moving through his body like a taut line rather than a wild swing.

Lyra’s expression shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing her face as he closed in on her guard, his punches landing closer and closer to her form.

“Better,” she acknowledged, the approval in her voice spurring him on. But then, she struck—her movements so swift and controlled that Alaric barely registered the transition. With a deft flick of her wrist, she guided her sword in a series of strikes, each one aimed at a vulnerable spot: a tap to his shoulder, a quick strike at his thigh, and a final light blow to his side.

Alaric staggered back, breathless, his enhanced strength beginning to wane under the strain. But the thrill of the spar kept him going. This time, he decided to use one of the techniques he’d perfected at the Academy, a technique focusing on rapid, successive strikes aimed to overwhelm an opponent’s defenses.

He darted forward, his fists a blur as he unleashed a flurry of blows. His fists struck in quick succession, each one sharper and more precise than the last. He landed a few solid hits on her, his knuckles connecting with her armor with a satisfying thud.

Lyra’s eyes widened, an impressed smile breaking through her calm demeanor. “Very good, my little warrior!” she praised, genuine pride filling her voice. “You’re learning. But…” And before he could even react, she surged forward, her sword striking low at his shins, forcing him to jump back.

“But,” she continued, “you’re still relying too much on power.” She advanced on him with swift, calculated strikes, her every movement an effortless blend of grace and precision. “It’s about control. Refine your movements, keep them smooth and steady, like this.”

With each word, she illustrated her point, delivering a sequence of strikes that left Alaric scrambling to keep up. He blocked as best as he could, but his arms felt heavy with exertion, his breaths coming in shorter, sharper bursts. His mother’s movements were flawless, without a single wasted gesture. It was as if every part of her was a single, perfectly honed weapon.

As he struggled to maintain his defenses, Alaric remembered her words: smaller movements, refined strikes. He steadied his breath, lowered his stance, and tightened his attacks, focusing on precision rather than brute force. His hands moved in smaller arcs, his strikes more contained, and he felt his form tighten and condense.

To his amazement, it worked. Alaric managed to slip past her guard again, landing a strike against her shoulder. Lyra blinked, a glint of surprise and admiration in her eyes as she took a half-step back, regarding him with newfound respect.

“Well done, moonpie,” she murmured, her smile soft and proud. “You’re quicker to learn than I thought.”

Emboldened by her praise, Alaric pressed on, his movements now reflecting her advice. His strikes were no longer wild or broad, but carefully measured. And though his mother’s skills were leagues above his own, he felt a growing sense of accomplishment each time he blocked one of her blows or managed to anticipate her next move.

“You have fought well till now,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice as she seemed to become a bit more serious. “But don’t let it go to your head just yet.”

With a grin, Alaric readied himself, knowing that his mother was about to take the fight to a whole new level. And he was right. Lyra lunged forward, her movements a blur as she swung her sword in a series of rapid arcs, each one aimed at his weakest points. Alaric barely managed to deflect the first few strikes, his arms straining as he blocked and dodged, his heart pounding in his chest.

The difference in their skill levels became painfully clear as Lyra’s strikes came faster and harder, her movements honed and lethal even with a practice sword. Alaric fought to keep up, his muscles burning with the effort as he parried and dodged, his mind racing to anticipate her next move.

In a final burst of energy, Alaric launched a spinning kick he’d practiced for months at the Academy, hoping to surprise her. But Lyra sidestepped it with a swift turn, bringing her wooden sword up just as his momentum carried him off-balance.

With a gentle yet firm tap, she knocked him to the ground, pinning him with her sword poised just above his chest. Her face was warm, her expression brimming with love and pride as she looked down at him.

“Stay grounded, moonpie,” she advised as she waited for him to stand up. “If you lose your footing, you lose your advantage.”

He nodded, standing up and trying to keep his feet firmly planted before launching himself at his mother again.

But Lyra’s experience and skill were overwhelming, and soon he found himself on the defensive, struggling to keep up as she pressed him harder and harder.

Finally, she delivered a powerful swing that caught him off guard, her sword connecting with his side and sending him stumbling back. He gritted his teeth, feeling the sting of the blow, but he refused to give up. Steadying himself, he took a deep breath, centering his focus.

Lyra watched him, a soft smile on her face. “You’ve done well, my sweet child,” she said, lowering her sword. “You’ve come far in your training, and you should be proud of that. But there’s still much for you to learn.”

Alaric stood there, his chest heaving, his body sore but his spirit soaring. He had sparred with his mother, An Expert Martialist, and held his own, even managing to land a hit on her. The fight had been one-sided, but he had learned so much from their bout, gaining a deeper understanding of his own strengths and weaknesses.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said, bowing deeply. “For teaching me, and for pushing me to be better.”

Lyra’s eyes softened as she looked at him, her expression filled with warmth and pride. “Of course, moonpie. I’ll always be here to guide you. You’re my son, and I know that one day, you’ll surpass me.”

As they walked back to the mansion, Alaric couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. He had faced his mother in battle and learned valuable lessons about control, precision, and intent. And he knew that, with her guidance, he would continue to grow stronger, ready to take on any challenge that lay ahead.