A heavy sigh escapes my lips, my inner turmoil hidden behind a façade of calm resignation. "Dea, please adjust my body to handicap it to level 10, so I can practice our new close combat," I request.
Dea's voice is a soothing melody, a counterpoint to the bandit's gruffness. "I will induce an electrical field around the Master's body cells, simulating gravity ten times that of Earth's and akin to the resistance one would encounter in deep water. This will train the Master's body, limiting movements to that of a Level 10. For close combat, I recommend a blend of Krav Maga with Tai Chi," she advises, her tone pragmatic, yet conveying the essence of the martial arts—purposeful aggression mixed with fluid elegance.