Chapter 3: Training Day and The Harpwings

[Stepping forth into a new day of training with some well-trained warriors.]

Saruja’s military forces had claimed various spots along and around the city’s borders to exercise and practice – there were shooting ranges, wooden dummies for sword practice, and dummies pumped full of Essence to mock that of the Baael, not to mention the various tracks and courses set up next to the barracks. Word from some of the older soldiers was that there was even an installation about three and a half kilometers from the city proper that had its own tools for practice.

To Simon’s credit (or maybe more accurately, Regnah’s), there was a dedicated area for the project’s participants to use about five kilometers away from the Southwest Gate. It had a two-kilometer track, seven wooden dummies, a small barracks with a supply of water and hardtack, and a three-person shooting range. All in all, impressive and not overly expensed, so Vincent thought.

All things considered, he was still unsure how they’d be practicing with only three members. Marching drills could be done easily, but with a child and a bookish type, Vincent seemed the most athletic, so he would probably outpace them. One-on-one training seemed unlikely since neither of them were physically built, and it would be odd for only three people to switch off constantly.

Out of the barracks came his answer; at the stroke and bell of ten o’clock, five soldiers exited in uniform (a sandy brown camo print covered their clothes, and each had a badge on their chest and an emblem sewn on their shoulders) and approached the three to greet them. In tow with them was a familiar Czeathe woman.

“Good morning, Captain Barolo,” Simon greeted with less energy than usual. “It’s nice to see your squad here already.”

The leader of the group was an older man, probably in his late forties, with short grey hair and a stern, serious face with few wrinkles. He presented himself strongly and with an air of control.

“Good morning Dr. Listrean,” he stated dryly. “It looks like my men are starting to get the hang of an odd schedule.”

Simon glanced obviously at the non-soldier in their company. “I see we have an extra guest with us today.”

Captain Barolo nodded. “The Commander spotted her talent and asked her to train with us. If she ends up not being useful to your little project, she has been promised a spot on the traveling guard.”

“Well, more hands provide better training,” Simon responded, not visibly taking offense to his comment. He motioned to Vincent. “This is Vincent Laverse, our project’s new leader.”

Vincent performed a weak salute. “Sir.” This captain seemed to look down on Simon for whatever reason, and that irked Vincent (although he himself had not given Simon much in the way of fair respect, either).

Barolo nodded at Vincent. “I am Captain Adam Barolo of Saruja’s 118^th Division. The soldiers behind me are my tactical squad, codenamed ‘Harpwing Team’. We will be leading the training sessions with your tentative squad.”

He shifted his head to face Simon. “Should we begin, then?” Captain Barolo motioned a signal to his soldiers, who each moved to different areas on the grounds. “Mr. Laverse, you have first choice of the drills you want to do. We’ll be doing two two-and-a-half hour sessions, followed by lunch, and then two three-hour sessions to finish up, with fifteen-minute breaks separating the sessions.”

He listed the training methods they had been using: a soldier named Markus was a weapon specialist, and would be able to give warriors practice with melee weapons (wooden swords, axes, and bats were present, as well as arm and leg guards, and padded gloves and footwear). Ernesto was a spellcaster and could teach people how to use Essence more efficiently, or just teach them some basic spells. Harte was a skilled sniper who offered a defensive dodging and cover course using the barracks. Finally, Liane was well-trained in all areas, and gave a chance for one-on-one fighting. Each soldier stood at attention, awaiting a recruit to approach them.

Vincent felt confident in his weapon skills and knew that he had an antipathy for magic. Between one-on-one combat and defensive practice, he decided to practice dodging and cover with Harte. Simon went to Markus for weapon training, Rinkyu decided to take a shot against Liane, and Hazkura went to Ernesto to learn magic.

Harte was a model soldier – his uniform was tucked and neat, and his weapon was well-maintained (at least, as much of it as Vincent could see). His hat covered his brown buzz cut, and his salute was strong.  The only thing that did not scream “this is a soldier” was his face, with half-closed brown eyes and a straight face that was ineffectively fighting back a yawn.

“Honored to train with you, Sir,” he said sharply. “I’m Winston Harte, and I’ll be the drill instructor for the defensive course.” He picked up his rifle and presented the door of the barracks to Vincent. “After you.”

Inside the barracks to the left of the entrance was a set of bunk beds, with cases of supplies in one corner. To Vincent’s surprise, however, was the room ahead of him – the building extended a good distance outside the wall, what he determined to be at least a kilometer, and at least a hundred meters wide. Lined randomly in this “hallway” were various panels not unlike Regnah’s solar panels. Protruding from them were hardlight projectors, casting near-physical walls and platforms into the space – a switch on the right wall (similar in design to his new phone) seemed to control the fake floors and walls to a degree.

“This is impressive.” Vincent’s thoughts leaked out a little when he saw this. “Are these systems set up at each barracks?”

Harte patted Vincent’s back roughly and said with a chuckle, “No, just a few of the more important ones. If you’ve heard that your unit is funded by Regnah, you should know these training rooms were created by him and Simon.”

He reached into the wall on the right (below the touchpad) and pulled out multiple small circular pads. “Place these on your shoulders, somewhere on your arms – each side – on the center of your chest, over your heart, and on your knees.”

Vincent took the items from Harte and did as he instructed. “What are these?” he asked.

“Targets,” Harte said with a smile. “Your job is to reach the end of this hallway and back while I shoot at you with rubber bullets. Two hits – or a hit at the heart – and you have to start over.”

Simple enough, Vincent thought. He made haste putting on the targets – they seemed to connect to the fibers in his clothes – and moved to the starting point.

“We’ll start at the count of three!” Harte called out. Vincent looked behind him, and saw a panel that he was standing on, his rifle at the ready. It didn’t occur to Vincent until just now how Harte would hit the targets while his back was blocking them – out of the corner of his eye, he could make out another target on the center of his back. Harte must have placed this one earlier.

“One!”

Vincent took a moment to plan out a path. Obviously, a straight line was the surest path to losing, and the hardlight walls on the left were more stuck-out than the ones on the right. Harte would know the panels’ movement patterns better than Vincent, so it was more tactical to hug the right ones early, then get better cover farther along.

“Two!”

Weaving too much would hinder him eventually, since there was only about seven meters of width along the whole hall, and the walls only moved a little. Dodging the shots would have to happen at some point. A plan had been made, and Vincent would follow through as best he could.

“Three!”

There was a loud, echoing beep that signaled the start of the training, and Vincent dashed to pursue the chosen path. The edges of the walls and floor panels glowed a neon teal, and started moving. He made it to the first jutting wall when he felt a pressurized sting on his right shoulder. He ducked behind the wall and assessed his arm. The target had gone from dull grey to a bright red, flashing gently.

“That’s one.” Harte’s voice came through each of the targets. “For a former soldier, you didn’t get very far.”

Irritated, Vincent inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. The barrier was starting to retract, and he dashed forward once again. There was another stinging sensation on his left shoulder blade as he ducked behind a still, vertical wall.

He looked at the target on his left shoulder – it was still grey. Checking the one on his back, it was also inactive. He heard the click of Harte’s tongue from the targets. Although they were rubber, the bullets were still being shot out at almost eighty meters per second. Taking too many would bruise him and leave him more vulnerable. Vincent took a moment to applaud the skill this sniper had, and the method of training he gave. This was a difficult test.

Vincent heard a gun’s ignition, and flinched at the sound – the wall was still up, so why had Harte fired? The answer came sooner than later, as a rubber bullet ricocheted off two walls and hit him square in the chest… just below the target. Another tongue click from the targets, as he heard a clip being reloaded. Vincent took the opportunity to move further down the hall, bobbing and weaving against his instinct. Harte wasn’t just skilled, he was able to predict the path his rubber bullets would take.

He once again felt the sting of the bullet, this time hitting the back of his knee. His leg buckled, and he glanced behind as he struggled to maintain balance. Harte had already loosed another bullet, and Vincent saw the instantaneous scene in slow motion as the bullet bounced off the wall just in front of him and struck the target on his chest. The target flashed red, then as if connected to the room, all the lights and targets flashed red thrice, then returned to a dull grey.

Harte spoke through the targets once more: “Color me impressed, you have an ounce of luck more than anyone I’ve met recently.” Vincent faced the direction Harte was stationed and saw him clapping slowly. “Wanna go again?”

---

Eleven rounds had passed before Vincent made it to the halfway point, and by the time he had, he and Harte had both reached a point of exhaustion. Vincent grabbed two water bottles and tossed one to Harte. “You have a sharp eye and a quick mind,” Vincent said, trying to sound impressed. “Does your gun do the calculations for you, or…”

“I wish!” Harte roared with laughter. “What you saw out there were my tempered skills, raw and unbound.” He cracked the seal on his bottle and added, “Excluding the rubber bullets, of course.” He took a chug of water, and asked in response, “What training did you go through to be able to progress in my course so quickly? It took the girl three months to get halfway, but here you are at the same point after…” – he checked his watch – “… one hundred thirty minutes.”

Vincent hesitated, but after a moment answered. “Being in the SSM for upwards of thirteen years makes or breaks a person.” He desperately wanted to punctuate it with a joke, and added, “I guess it didn’t break me.” There was a nervous chuckle from both of them, followed by an awkward silence. Uncomfortably long, unbearably still.

“Well…” Harte started, but took an extra moment to find the words. “Despite the circumstances, you were well-taught.” He chugged the rest of his water.  “If I’m being honest, though, you have a few things you could improve.  You waste speed when you duck behind walls, and you don’t watch the enemy enough.”

Harte pointed to the platform he was shooting from.  “Once you know where your enemy is, keeping an eye on them is crucial, especially against sniper types like me.  In the field, once we’re spotted, we move to a new position to make sure we don’t get countered or snuck up on.”

He then pointed to the walls, now still and lifeless.  “As for the speed thing, you need to react quicker to the gunfire sound.  Once I fire, you have about a second or so to dodge or block, so if you’ve just passed a wall, you can bob into and out of cover to keep your momentum going.  It makes you harder to hit, too.”

He crushed the air out of his bottle and threw it into a trash receptacle.  “That aside, it’s rare to see a child soldier survive to adulthood, but every single one I’ve met seems to be incredibly skilled.”

“You’ve met more than just me?” Vincent’s surprise was understandable – like Harte stated, child soldiers weren’t uncommon, but one surviving multiple battles was rare, almost mythic. Then there was the trauma, the lack of options for survivors… It was a one in a million shot to survive all the way to adulthood.

“Six… no, five including you,” he said with a sniff. “Lord Pennrose and the knight commander, as well as the Commander’s late father. The fourth I didn’t know too well, but we got to talking about it and she mentioned she was a Diroda from Miral. The Harpwing Squad was assigned a meeting with a squadron from the Miral Primary Force regarding the civil war.”

Vincent paused. “What is a Diroda?” He hadn’t heard that term before.

“Ah, sorry, Diroda is the term for a Kuran warrior who was raised to fight for Miral.”

Vincent chatted with Harte for a little longer, before he said, “We should probably move you on to the next activity. We don’t wanna waste valuable training time.”

They exited the barracks to see the other three teams sweating and tired. Simon and Rinkyu in particular were covered in dirt and bruises, though Hazkura was only sweating (heavily, in any case). The three trainers had barely any changes from earlier – Liane and Markus had a little dirt on them, but no bruises and minimal sweat, while Ernesto had no bruises, sweat, or dirt on him.

Harte snorted loudly into a chuckle. “Any progress is good progress,” he said as a bell rang on the side of the wall.

“Warriors, prepare to shift!” Barolo shouted from the edge of the training grounds. “First block is complete, three more to go!”

The teams split, and the members rejoined their respective squads.  Hazkura stood between the groups, unsure if she should join the Harpwings or the tactical unit.  Vincent noticed, and with a nod from Simon, waved her over to their group, to which she smiled and jogged over.

Simon took a couple of deep breaths before he spoke, still sweating from his drill.

“Good work getting through stage one, team! How did everyone feel about their progress so far?”  He looked at Hazkura expectantly.

“I could never get magic,” Hazkura said with a tinge of frustration. “Two hours passed before I knew it, and I still can’t… manifest anything but a wisp.” She demonstrated her first training’s results, gripping her left arm while focusing Essence into it. She strained her body so much that she began growling in pain as a thin curl of golden Essence bloomed in her palm, but it faded only a few moments later. Hazkura gasped as she released her arm.

“That’s the farthest I’ve ever gotten!” she said proudly.

Simon chuckled, then turned to Vincent. “What about you, Vincent? You seem less worn out than the rest of us.”

The group turned to him – because he ended his session with ten-ish minutes of chatting and rest, he was no longer sweating and gasping for air. His clothes were still stained with sweat, and his bruises hadn’t faded, although in the case of the bruises, they were mostly concealed by his clothes.

He patted his chest above his heart. “Harte was merciless, but I managed to get a good distance in for my first day.” He intentionally left out how far he had gotten, in worries of ruining Rinkyu’s mood, which seemed slightly more energized than he had seen before. He turned to her and asked, “How was the mock battle with Liane?”

Rinkyu grinned and said, “It was 4 to 18 in her favor.” It was weird that she seemed proud about losing, but then Vincent recalled her progress in the target practice – maybe it was weirder that Vincent progressed so far in one session.

“Improvement, indeed!” Simon crowed. “I still struggle getting a single point against her.” He clapped for a moment and added, “After this next set, we’ll take a lunch break.” Simon immediately turned his attention to the next sets without providing his own progress; Vincent noticed, but said nothing.

---

The second set of tests went as well as they could have, as Vincent decided to practice with the melee weapons – he already had basic and advanced training with swords, handguns, and fisticuffs, so his training with Markus was easier than the sniper game. After a well-deserved lunch (mostly consisting of high-quality rations), they went back into their training – although Vincent was pulled aside by Barolo before the groups reconvened.

“Liane would like to test you for the next set. This will be a three-hour set, so she is expecting exhaustion in the last exercise.”

Vincent had no reason to refuse, but it was odd that someone was requesting to train with him on the first day, more so the person he was saving for the last training partner. As he and Barolo approached Liane, he noticed her demeanor was notably lax compared to the other two he trained with. She wasn’t standing at attention, or even really standing – she had sat down and leaned against the wall awaiting a response.

“First Lieutenant Ursula Liane,” she said as she stood, brushing the dirt off her pants. She had short blonde hair and was surprisingly tall (though not taller than Vincent). Her build was muscular but thin, though it was well-hidden with her fatigues.  As she stood, he noticed some intricate tattoos on her left upper arm and on her wrists.  They looked almost… familiar.

“Nice ink,” he complimented.  “Does it have a meaning?”

“Maybe if you’re group is successful in being approved, I’ll tell you,” she said with a chuckle.  “For now, focus on training.  I heard from Harte that you’re making good progress dodging, so I’d like to test what you know all-around.”

She handed Vincent a handgun (loaded with rubber bullets upon his inspection) and a wooden sword. “I heard from Simon that these are the tools you’re used to.”

Vincent nodded, and asked, “How is this test done?”

“It’s a straight point-per-hit fight.  You can use any method at your disposal to attack me – punches, magic, weapons, whatever.”  She handed Vincent a black glass-like wristlet.  “This will coat your body in a midlight barrier – it’ll zap you if you receive a would-be fatal hit.”

He put on the device and clicked a tiny button on the side, activating a body-contoured barrier of midlight, colorless and transparent.  Liane immediately hit him in the neck once the barrier finished forming, and he felt an uncomfortable zap from where she struck him.  It wasn’t too painful, but it was something he wouldn’t want to feel multiple times, so there was incentive to dodge and block.  He deactivated the wristlet again, in case she was feeling frisky.

They got into position, two meters from each other, when Vincent noticed her only weapon was a dagger-sized wooden tool, with no other weapons to speak of. Before he said anything, he also noticed her stance – it was as if a redbear cub was trying to scare off a predator, but more meticulously placed, as her free hand was open just above her head slightly to the right, and her dagger hand was tight to her side. Her stance wasn’t lacking openings, but the aura she emitted raised red flags in his head.

By contrast, Vincent’s stance wasn’t well-trained or balanced, and was full of openings that he could *probably* cover at a moment’s chance. He was understanding the vast difference in their skill with every passing moment.

“Are you ready?”

Vincent steeled himself for the coming pain. “Ready.”

The wristlet vibrated as the training began on Barolo’s command – it remotely activated as he pressed a device with a similar material as the midlight bangle. Vincent braced himself for a strike, preparing to counterattack if necessary, but after a moment, he noticed Liane hadn’t moved from her position.

“Are you hesitating out of fear or out of thought?” she asked mockingly. “You should act quickly and with purpose when fighting one-on-one.”

As if to punctuate her remark, Liane jabbed at Vincent with her armed hand – it was quick but powerful as he heard the whistle of wind that caught the wooden blade as he bobbed out of the way of the strike. He felt a sharp zap at his neck as she twisted her arm, leaving the dagger’s blade less than a centimeter from his neck.

“That’s one point.”

She returned to her stance, continuing: “Our dossier on you has limited information, but sometimes rumors are the truest form of information. You specialized in CQB where you had the element of surprise.”

Vincent swiped at her with his sword, but she disappeared from his view in the blink of an eye.  His vision suddenly flipped as she grabbed him by the leg and easily threw him meters away.  He landed on his knee, surprised at her dexterity and strength.

“Your skills are focused on quick takedowns and manipulating blind spots. If you don’t expand your skills, you’ll end up dead on your first mission. Honestly, you’re built like a swordsman, but you fight like an assassin – it’s not a good mix unless you’re trying to throw people off, and even then, it only works if you can parade both skill sets.”

Liane stepped forward and threw a powerful front punch directly at Vincent’s chest with her empty hand. Vincent knew it would hurt, but if he held his ground, he would have an opening to strike her. Or so he thought – the punch reverberated through his body, making him numb for a moment, and in that same moment, Liane switched to a grab and threw him in an arc over her and to the ground. Another sharp zap as the dagger landed on the midlight barrier on his forehead.

“That’s two.”

Her attacks were quick and powerful, and lacked the openings that were present of other warriors he had met. She was well-taught, yes, but more than that, she was physically strong and tactically smart. Not only that, but she was able to gauge his reactions before he could. She was alarmingly confident with every action she did, which made her strikes even more lethal (at least, if they were fighting for real).

She twisted up back into position, this time with both hands near her sides, though still somehow ready. “You need to learn to spot the weaknesses in your defense before your enemy does. At a moment’s glance, you need to react.” As she said this, Vincent returned to his own stance. He was starting to understand why Rinkyu was so happy with a 4-18 loss.

They continued sparring for the full three hours, but Vincent failed to activate Liane’s glove even once, and she had managed to score almost eighty hits. She dropped her stance at the bell and returned the dagger to its holster on the arms rack.

“Not bad for a first session,” she mused, “but I think you’re relying too much on your weapons and what you’ve been taught by mercenaries.” She removed her glove, and held out her hand to Vincent, requesting the other. “Retraining your mind is the easy part, but retraining your body will take some level of dedication and blood.”

“Thanks,” Vincent replied plainly. He was a little sour about not scoring a single hit with his two best weapons.

“It will take time, but you’ll get there.” Liane grinned and turned to put the gloves away. She added, under her breath, “Or you’ll be the cause of your team’s death.”

Vincent’s last exercise was with the magic user Ernesto – he was a smaller man with olive skin and short black hair tied into a bun. He stood at attention better than the other three and maintained his posture as Vincent approached. “Sir! I am Ricard Ernesto, second lieutenant of Harpwing Team, sir!” He greeted Vincent with a sense of etiquette, as if he were a superior officer.

“Uh, at ease?” Vincent wasn’t sure exactly where he stood on the chain of command for the military, since he wasn’t technically in their military, but was at the same time collaborating with them. Ernesto relaxed his stance a little.

“The afternoon will be over soon, sir, so we should get on with the last segment of your training.” Ernesto held out a red metal band – apparently wristwear was popular in Saruja. “This bracelet will maintain your internal Essence flow,” he explained, “and in theory, it will make using Essence easier over time.”

“I suppose by ‘in theory’, you mean that this is one of the technologies we’re meant to test?” Vincent asked.

“Yes, sir.” Ernesto put his heels together and returned to attention.

Vincent wasn’t sure what to make of this – the soldier in front of him or the equipment provided – but he did as he was instructed. The wristband self-tightened after it passed his wrist joint, and he felt a slight prick as a small light activated on it. The light started glowing white, but then slowly shifted between red and purple.

“What’s with this?” he asked, pointing at the colored light.

Ernesto relaxed his posture again. “The color determines the affinities that you are most at balance with. Red is fire, and purple…” He pulled a palm-sized notebook from his back pocket and flipped a few pages in. “Purple is Baelis.”

Vincent wasn’t unfamiliar with the term “affinity”, though he only knew his affinity with fire; having an affinity for Baelis-Essence was uncommon among Hjina, due to their position as a progenitor species, existing before the birth of the element Baelis.

“Nothing to get worked up about, though, sir,” Ernesto reassured Vincent, as if reading his mind. “Baelis is harder to train than other elements because it’s connected to emotions, but it’s not all evil and dark, like what some of the churches may preach.” He adjusted his posture again and held out his hand as if he were gripping a water balloon from below. “Position your hand like this – we’ll be going over the fundamentals.”

Vincent did as instructed. “Now, we’ll start with manifestation of your fire element. To alight, you must focus on relaxing your heartbeat and blood flow. Take some slow, deep breaths to calm your nerves.”

Vincent closed his eyes and steadied his breathing – it took him a few minutes, but he eventually calmed himself.

“Once your breathing has steadied, you need to picture an image of what you’re trying to cast. For the spell Flare, start with the fire of a torch or a campfire.”

Vincent obeyed and made an image of a small torch-fire appear in his mind. It was gently warm, though the image shortly became a scene. It was a memory of the insurrection, with citizens of the fort-village waving torches towards him. The fires grouped together, and soon became a raging inferno burning away the village and people, and growing uncontrollably.

“Stop!” Ernesto’s voice ended the image, and his hand grasping Vincent’s woke him from his state. Vincent caught the tail end of a large blaze turning to nothing in his palm, and Ernesto looked a little concerned – or more aptly, scared. “Okay, so we’ve got the manifestation down, but your control is…”

Ernesto searched his mind for a word, but he could not grasp it. “Well, to be honest, your control is odd. Normally, you can’t create larger effects without mastering the smaller ones, but you immediately manifested Blaze, not Flare.” He scratched his head and added: “…Or maybe something stronger than Blaze. Either way, you should focus on learning the lower-level spells to manage your mana, then we can start perfecting your higher-level ones.”

---

The final bell rang about three or so hours later, and the captain addressed both groups.

“Good job making it this far, Tactical Unit! I realize that some of you were not bred for combat, but you’ve shown your grit for moving forward. If you pass the King’s requirements, I’m sure we’ll all enjoy more brutal training sessions. Laverse and Hazkura, keep up the training, and you’ll be ready to score a point against Liane in no time.”

He turned to his unit. “Harpwing Team, I thank you for your dedication in training the new blood these past six months, and I look forward, as I hope you do, to seeing your skills improve with the tactical unit.”

Barolo stood at attention with his arm curved under and around his heart, and the members of Harpwing Team saluted in kind. Simon and Rinkyu did a common hand-to-head salute, and Vincent and Hazkura followed suit.

“So, Listrean,” Barolo asked as he dropped his stance, “What do you want to do?” He motioned to Hazkura, who looked at Simon excitedly. Rinkyu didn’t show any emotion to this request.

Simon looked at Hazkura for a moment, then to Vincent, and smiled. “Well, Leader,” he said with a smidge of coyness, “If you want to assess her strength, now would be the best time.”

Vincent also looked at Hazkura, who now wore a face of confusion, but still emitted lively joy. “Fair point,” he said, smirking. “If you want to join us, Hazkura, I want you to fight me one-on-one. No weapons, no gizmos, just fists.”

The fleeting moment of confusion in Hazkura’s face was swapped with even more anticipation than before, as she happily said, “Not problem! I want to fight you, too!”

Everyone else stepped to the barracks door as Hazkura and Vincent squared up, two meters apart, and readied themselves. After fighting Liane, Vincent’s confidence was waning, but he had a feeling that he could easily beat Hazkura – though he had nothing to base that on, since she also couldn’t land a hit on Liane.

“Ready…” Barolo held up a small handheld button and hovered his thumb over it.

“No holding back?” Hazkura asked, smiling.

“No holding back.” Vincent returned her smile. They were both excited at the prospect of a challenge that they could win after a day of failures.

Barolo pushed the button, and the buzz of the barracks once again filled the air. “Fight!” he shouted.

Vincent was able to close the distance in two large steps and immediately went for her legs – Liane had some clever ideas, and immobilizing the opponent by tripping them was one of them. He slid his left leg between and behind hers, and pivoted to push her knee forward. To Vincent’s surprise, she had not gone for a dash or a kick, but a punch that veered past his ear as she tripped. As her fist flew by, his instincts alerted him of several red flags, mainly the one posed by getting punched.

There was a visceral fear that followed, as a high-pitched gust followed her fist, and when she realized her punch hadn’t connected, she shifted her weight and used the momentum to push back up to a standing position. Vincent realized his mistake instantly – the force of her punch hitting the ground (albeit with about half of the force of her initial intent) cracked the stone they were standing on and created a crater beneath them.

Vincent was caught off-guard by the sudden change in footing, and nearly tripped himself. Hazkura took the opportunity to throw a kick with her balancing leg, connecting with Vincent’s left side, which gave in a little bit with a loud crack.

Within the first thirty seconds, both had fallen to the ground, though Hazkura was able to stand up with minor scratches, while Vincent had to take a moment to catch his breath and try to ignore his cracked rib. Humility washed over him as he remembered doubting Regnah and Simon about a Czeathe’s strength – the pain was sharp and centered, and definitely the worst pain he’d felt since fighting in the SSM. Kozari had clearly learned a thing or two from fighting Liane as well, but how did she not deal this kind of damage earlier?

“You’re okay?” Hazkura asked, standing over him still in a fighting stance. “Want to stop?”

Though Vincent couldn’t see them, all seven of the bystanders had reacted to the crack heard about ten meters away. Barolo and Liane had the least obvious reactions, though they couldn’t help but wince at Vincent’s pain. He stood up slowly, careful not to aggravate the wound.

Simon shared a look of worry with Rinkyu as the two squared off once more.

“One more time,” he said defiantly.

There was no countdown this time, no buzzer. As soon as each appeared ready, they dove at each other. Hazkura threw a punch that Vincent again dodged – this time, however, he kept an eye on her opposite leg, which (as he predicted) started to disconnect from the ground as she realized her punch missed. He put an arm down to block the kick and struck her in the gut – the only place he could reach with his limited range and options. Her abdominal muscles were hard as stone, but Vincent’s fist was able to cause some damage as he heard her gag from the hit.

As soon as it had started, it had ended with a swift but mighty blow. Vincent felt a tinge of guilt for hitting her so hard, but she stood up after a couple seconds, rubbing her stomach.

“Nice hit,” she said without any loss of zestfulness. “You hit hard for a Hjina.”

Vincent raised his left arm, which he was shaking to alleviate the numbness from blocking her kick. “I’ve never seen Czeathian force, so it was an honor to be struck with your power.”

The two shook hands with a sense of purpose. Vincent accepted this draw – though he noted that if they had gone for a third round, he would have lost. Czeathe or not, Hazkura’s strength was nothing to take lightly, and he would not do it again.

“I think we have our four members,” he said, turning to the nonparticipants.