"Alright, maggots," I shouted, smacking the chalkboard like it owed me money. "Today we're covering battlefield formations and why most of you would die horribly if left to your own devices."
Groans echoed across the room.
Leo slumped over his desk. "Can't we go back to dueling? At least then I get to be unconscious and not have to think."
"Tempting," I said, "but sadly, my job description includes turning you into functioning war assets instead of flammable liabilities."
Julien raised his hand. "Define 'functioning.'"
"Define 'assets,'" Wallace added, tightening a screw on some half-assembled contraption under his desk.
"I'll define beating you with a chair if you keep interrupting."
"Sorry, Professor."
"Not sorry," Wallace muttered.
I ignored it.
I drew a circle on the board.
"This," I said, tapping it, "is your formation. It's called the Bladed Wheel. Elegant. Efficient. Requires at least a basic understanding of coordination."
