The battle raged on relentlessly, blowing, parrying, or laser blasts carrying across the field. The duel intensity drew the attention of every surrounding squire- eyes that once believed in the invincibility of Tier I squads saw a shift in outlook, each clash calculated strike served as undeniable proof even though they are human, they are tamable and they can be beaten even if not they can at least take away a pound of flesh got pushed to their limits proving one thing to all those watching, they can be beaten.
"Oh, this one really is interesting, another possible training partner I guess," said Aisling playful mirth swirling in her green eyes speaking to Sohan, who did not even show a hint of a smile. Nearby, a squad mate gently untangled her richly red hair from intricate celtic knots, letting the flow freely strands catching the light.
"You are fooling yourself if you think he can amount to anything more." Sohan replied his gaze locked intensely onto the training ground, his eyes scrutinizing every moment of the fighters. Meanwhile the large unflappable Askel stood by their side with a detached air.
On the training ground a change finally happened Gilbert's storm of offenses finally broke Alexander's defenses, forcing him to his knees. Without missing a beat, Gilbert surged onwards boots slamming down, onto Alexander's shield with a sickening crunch, driving it from his grasp and exposing his head. Alexander tried to re-engage his defenses but failed as Gilbert seized the chance his foot came down again with brutal precision connecting with Alexander's temple. The impact sent him sprawling onto his back, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as his head made a dull thud upon hitting the ground. Stepping onto the wrist of his hand holding the sword with another crunch raising his sword with murderous intent he aimed for Alexander's neck. The crowd held their breath with palpable tension when moving like a phantom Colonel Z'yna appeared beside him her grip a vice clamp on his wrist mid-swing halting the blade inches from his target.
"Enough," she declared her voice cutting through the tension of the battle. "Winner squire 141." The battlefield fell silent as Gilbert stood frozen, his chest weaving, still posed to strike a blow that shall not land. Alexander lay motionless eyes now devoid of their former pride. The crowd then erupted with raucous applause. Gilbert strode off the field with steady steps despite the lingering pain he felt all over. As he passed William, he leaned in closely voice lowered and sharp
"Are going to bow to them as well?" he whispered, words laced with defiance. Without waiting for a reply, Gilbert moved to the front of his squad, dropping heavily onto the ground and leaning against Kean who glanced at him and then with a raised brow delivered a swift, playful bonk to the top of his head.
"Next squire 149 versus 358," the colonel announced. Adam- squire 149- gripped only his rifle, and with a simple nod at Gilbert, he strode onto the training ground. Opposite him stood a slim young woman, squire 358, brunette hair cascading in a classic French shag that framed a face set in determination. Dual pistols gleamed at her side and a sturdy buckler was strapped to her left forearm.
"Hey there, gorgeous! I'm Vivian Warsop," she announced, a dazzling smile gracing her lips as she effortlessly drew both her pistols, her movements fluid and confident.
"Adam," he replied, his tone clipped as he took in the unexpected display.
A thick silence enveloped the field as the countdown began, each passing second steeped in a tense, electric anticipation. When the timer struck one, they sprang into action, unleashing a storm of bullets that danced through the air in a chaotic frenzy. The sound of gunfire echoed like thunder, punctuated by the sharp whizz of projectiles zipping past, each shot filled with the urgency of survival. Yet before Adam could settle into any form of tempo he was given a fright one of Vivian's pistols was ballistic forcing him into an erratic movement as he struggled to predict and counter the trajectory of her bullets. Vivian exploited the advantage of her pistol's different firing speeds with meticulous precision. Firing at staggered intervals, her timing carefully orchestrated causing Adam to find himself perpetually struggling to keep balanced. His every chance which he got to launch a counterattack was thwarted by deft movements of her buckler. Vivian's every movement was a testament to superior skill and every shot aimed to achieve complete control of pace. In a desperate gambit, Adam dived to the floor for a radical change in momentum but instead of targeting any critical area, he unleashed a barrage at her feet finally disrupting her relentless rhythm. Lifting to his knees, Adam started to return fire with a surgeon's precision. While Vivian's assault was a barrage of brilliantly placed shots his were different, a series of calculated, pinpoint rounds forcing her to execute uncomfortable, off-balanced blocks or scramble to evade in bizarre, unpracticed movements. For long agonizing minutes, their fight continued on an equal footing their exchanges punctuated by bursts of lead, lasers, and visceral splashes of blood, Yet amid their lethal exchange, Adam's ammunition dwindled to nothing forcing him to concede defeat.
"Winner squire 358," announced Colonel Z'yna
"Great match, beautiful!" Vivian exclaimed, beaming at him with a bright smile. Adam, hearing her compliment as he walked off the field, waved back without turning around. She happily returned to her squad, unfazed by their sideways glances. Meanwhile, Adam rejoined his teammates, receiving friendly pats on the back from both Kean and Gilbert, who had been rooting for him from the sidelines.
"You almost had her, train harder next time," said Gilbert
The Colonel's voice rang out.
"Next squire 732 versus squire 362."
"It's time for me to demonstrate the clear difference between us.," said Wolfgang stepping onto the field with confident strides, shotgun gripped tightly, his short sword strapped to his right shoulder with the handle reaching his ears. His opponent followed- a towering figure, second only to Askel in sheer size, carry a sub machine gun in one hand and carrying a massive rectangular shield in the other.
"Good luck trying show a difference," said Kean not one to be outdone flipping a coin lazily.
"It would be best if you concede now, you commoners and peasants need to pay for what you did to our leader," said Squire 362."Want something given to Go ask your mom," Said Wolfgang copying Gilbert's demeanor.
The match started with tempestuous momentum, squire 362 unleashed a relentless barrage stream of fire from his submachine gun forcing Wolfgang helter-skelter across the field. Wolfgang bob and weaved unable to lift his head long enough to retaliate. Every attempt to close the distance was met with the shield, a simple yet devastating barrier that blocked his shotgun blast with ease. But Wolfgang was determined. Seizing an opening, he charged forward, his hand reaching for the hilt of his short sword. Before the blade could clear its sheath, a large shield slammed into him with overwhelming force, flattening him out onto his back. The impact left him gasping for air. From the ground, Wolfgang fired his shotgun at his opponent's shin the shots mutilating his flesh. Yet, squire 362 remained unfazed, his sheer indifference to his wounds giving everyone around the field a chill down their spine. With a beastly roar, he raised his foot and stomped down onto Wolfgang's stomach, the force driving blood from his mouth into a violent cough. Even then, Wolfgang refused to yield. Finally unsheathing his sword, he drove it into his opponent's calf, the blade sinking deep he then gave it a brutal twist. But before he could capitalize on the strike, the nozzle of the submachine gun swung down, delivering a monumental blow to his temple making Wolfgang's world go dark."Winner squire 362," said Colonel Z'ynautterly unfazed by the brutality that had just unfolded. The battlefield fell silent, the brutal clash leaving an indelible mark on all the spectators settling over them like a shroud. Squire 362 limped off the field with deliberate, measured steps, each one leaving a trail of droplets of blood marching behind him. Kean and Adam moved quickly to assist William in carrying the battered and bloodied Wolfgang from the field. His body hung limp between them, his breath shallow and labored. At some point, Wolfgang woke up his hands weakly gripping Kean's wrist. Without opening his eyes, he rasped a single word barely audible
"Different-" before he slipped back into unconsciousness.
"Next Squire 147 versus Squire 314." Colonel Zyna announced once the field was clear, the cycle of battle continued with missing a beat to its rhythm.
Preparing himself after the brutal spectacle he had just witnessed, Kean advanced onto the field with deliberate steps. His face set in a determined mask as he gripped a pistol in his hand with a dagger in the other. Squire 314 a short, lean young man with jet black hair and piercing black eyes glinting against his pale complexion outfitted in a similar array of weapons,
"I would hope that you've learned something from the last matches," Squire 314 intoned, his tone laced with disdain. "You guys are nothing special just mere factory workers at best, and those who fancy themselves a cut above the rest are nothing more than factory owners. So why not act your station?" Standing steadily with eyes scanning Wolfgang's every movement whether it be his small twitches or facial expressions.
"You know all you guys from higher tier cities are starting to sound the same, broken record if I must say, why don't you just your mouths for once," replied Kean with tightened jaw, causing a ripple of laughter throughout the training grounds. There was one thing Kean knew for sure he was determined to not be outdone by Wolfgang. If Wolfgang could take a pound of flesh he could take even more.