The forest was quiet, and the air was crisp. The woodland floor was plastered with flowers like dabs of a paintbrush as hares and squirrels flitted about, being watched by robins, who had perched themselves in their nests with worms in their beaks and the warmth of the sun on their feathers. The morning dew in the valley's mist was pungent, but it could not mask the odour of a nearby campfire, which may or may not have served as bait for curious foes. Lifting one foot, he stepped over a fallen tree, making no sound, and even with pounds of gear strapped to their bodies, the patrol gently marched, advancing in a single file, taking care not to break formation. Three soldiers slipped through enemy lines as their destination approached. They kept their wits about them, scouting for anything that appeared out of place in a forest, whether it was the shine of a rifle, the breaths of two-legged upright dwellers, or the scent of food.
It was the second week of their campaign, but no one seemed to know where their enemies or allies were. The fog of war was dense, and it was made denser by the lack of command. Every unit had been dispersed without coordination, and their task, to infiltrate enemy lines, seemed to be becoming more impossible the deeper they went. Always assuming that there was going to be an enemy at every turn, the leader did his best to ensure that the worst did not come of his squad. He arrived at the foot of a hill with a slight cliff face that they could not ascend without the right tools, but further along, there was an opening in the ridge that was not too steep. If he was the enemy, then he was almost certain that he would have positioned himself on its summit, and sensing that they would finally need to see battle, the commander began his ascent, signalling for his comrades to follow on. The trio stayed close to the ground as they climbed, and when they reached the summit, they lowered themselves onto the earth as they listened for movement. Sure enough, there was just enough noise to convince them that there was a squad of soldiers a few paces away.
Having taken off his conspicuous kepi, the leader of the pack peeked over the brow of the hill and fell back into cover carefully. He saw everything he needed to know, and he was certain they were the enemy. Gathering his courage, the squadron leader tapped his comrades on their shoulders and gave them an order using hand signals. They took up their positions along the hillside, but one of them seemed more nervous than usual. It was only when his commander gave him a pat on his shoulder to assure him that his breath steadied, and once he gave his nod of conviction, his squad slung their rifles on their shoulders and unsheathed their sabres. The commander held up his hand and counted down in his head before his instinct simply ushered him forward, and his comrades followed, mounting an attack over the hill. Frightened by a war cry, the enemy froze, and when they drew their swords, it was too late. Targeted by his hostile counterpart, the leader of the enemy squadron tripped backwards and felt the tip of a sword rest against his ribs, feeling as if his life had ended. But of course, that would only be so if their blades were real.
“You got us…” The cadet surrendered, opening his eyes, which had closed from the fright, under the mercy of a wooden sabre.
The weapon had the same heft as a real blade, and it had a similar silhouette, but it was no more than a twig compared to cold steel.
Panting, the victorious cadet retrieved his sabre and offered a hand to his comrade who was playing the opposition. “Sorry, did I hurt you?” Arminius apologised, his eyes filled with worry.
“No, not at all.” The defeated cadet shook his head with a chuckle and grabbed onto his helping hand.
Arminius lifted him up and saw that his enemies had surrendered, and their armbands were turned inside out to signify that they had been banished from the exercise, but one among their squad refused to admit that it was their skill, or lack thereof, that caused their defeat.
“That Ascot set us up, needin’ to fight by so many rules.” The bitter cadet leapt up with the help of his comrade, who seemed more optimistic than he was.
Patting down the dirt from his uniform, the third cadet chuckled. “Well, it should mean that the real thing’ll be a whole lot easier.” He tried to cheer the third cadet up with a friendly smack on the back.
Their squad readied for departure, slinging their rifles over their shoulders and sheathing their sabres, and they began to march south towards the main camp where punishment awaited them. With a sigh, the enemy squad leader appeared more disappointed than anyone else, but he remained calm, unlike his comrade, who childishly whined about their defeat even as they descended the ridge.
Wondering what they could have done better, he cocked back the bolt of his rifle and unloaded the round, which he never got to use. “My father always told me it’s no use fightin’ luck and I think I understand why now, but I thought I’d do better than this.” Yet when he handed Arminius his unused round and looked at him, he had a smile on his face. “Either way, if you wanna know what the quickest way ‘round is, stick south. You’ll avoid Chō that way, but I trust you know best.” He kindly offered his suggestion even though he was not meant to.
Arminius tipped his head in gratitude, and his cadet comrade returned the gesture before turning around and hurrying before his comrades could continue down the wrong path. After seeing them leave, the half-blood boy returned to his squad and sheathed his sword, swinging his rifle off his shoulder and back into his hands when they were left with two options. They could follow the southern corridor as they had done and navigate around the forest to get to their destination, or they could take the shorter, preferably faster path, but as that friendly cadet had advised, Colt had certainly positioned himself there, knowing that his enemies would do nothing better than charge headfirst into battle.
Dreading the need to face one of the strongest and most cunning of their cohort, the blonde-haired cadet gathered his breath and stood up with the help of his rifle, feeling his legs quiver from fatigue. “I would not want to face Colt, but if he does not expect us, of all squadrons, to attack, we might have the advantage.” Julien stared in the direction of their target with the aid of his compass.
Leaning on his rifle, Arminius contemplated his friend’s reasonable words, but he also wanted to know if his other comrade shared the same opinion. “Zygosova?” He looked over his shoulder and asked for her input.
The girl’s golden eyes gazed intently at the treeline, vigilantly monitoring and listening for any movement, fearing they might suffer the same fate as the squadron they had captured. Alexandria Zygosova’s sandy blonde hair was braided into two tails as if she were the Goddess of Justice, but comely is an understatement of her appearance. Her stature was taller and more well-built than the average girl’s, and her skin was olive-tanned and scarred from burns around her right ear and neck, as if she had been through hell. Whatever that hell was, it clearly detached her soul from caring about anything going on around her, unless an action by someone was moving enough to sever the memories of her past agony.
Alexandria glanced over to her comrade and offered her vote to the squad leader. “Your call, Reichner.” She said, playing the role of a subordinate who did not question nor rebuke any of his decisions.
Nonetheless, every instinct in Arminius’s heart told him to take the longer but much safer route, which would guarantee him an unobstructed path to victory if the friendly cadet kept his word, but he wanted to meet Colt, his rival, in battle, who had proven to be so troublesome for his allies. No matter how he looked at it, it appeared that staying on the southern trail was the better option, but as Julien pointed out, the element of surprise was equally opportune. Arminius’s mind oscillated between the two sensible options, but his hesitancy triggered a new emotion that led him to make an irrational decision. The pride in his heart finally won the battle, and he signalled for Alexandria to position herself in the vanguard of their squadron before calling on his friend to advance. After reorganising themselves into a single file, they trailed into the woods and vanished into the fog.550Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9oSjiBh9zK
A few hours later, creeping through the forest…550Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMtn7xKlOkW
Ripples broke in the woodland creek as they waded through the currents that swept at their feet, feeling their grip loosen from the pebble riverbed. They did everything they could to keep their ammunition and rifles dry at the expense of their bodies, sluggishly trudging through the rapids that rose up to their chests under the arched shadows of a viaduct that had long fallen into disrepair, with portions having collapsed into the valley below. The structure projected the likeness of the spine of a stone titan that made for the ideal vantage point for spies, which Arminius kept a wary eye on. When his squad found themselves in shallower waters, he leapt onto land first and reached down for Julien, whose strength had run out, but they needed to march on if they were to have any chance of winning. The cadets checked their gear for wear and wetness before going deeper into the woods, but it felt like they were being watched. Fearing an ambush, Arminius tapped his comrades on the shoulder and took the lead until they heard another group that was less discreet than the earlier one. Their voices were loud, and everyone within a league was bound to hear their echoes, but knowing Colt, it could have been a trap. Arminius took a cautious position behind a tree, and his comrades scattered to his flanks, but when he peered around his cover, he saw nothing, and he realised there was only one thing he could do: advance. He wrapped one foot around the tree and walked on, Julien and Alexandria separated by dozens of paces but keeping sight of their leader. As they approached the source of the noise, the squabble appeared to intensify, sounding more like an argument than a cunning trap, as evidenced by the clashing of wooden sabres. Arminius furrowed his brow in confusion, wondering what had gotten into their enemy, keeping low as he crept into cover, but when he caught a glimpse of what was happening, everything made sense. He sighed, placed his finger over his trigger, took aim, and fired without hesitation. Smoke and the thunderous sound of rifle fire put an end to the fight between their enemies, and Arminius’s squad advanced out of the veiled woods, but they did not find a squad that was any less bothered about being captured.
A brutish cadet was struck in the face by his comrade’s raging sword, and he fell to the ground. “Great, now ya’ve got us shot in our arses ‘cause you won’t listen!” Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Gin yelled, his face and arms visibly bruised.
“You wanna be section commander? Go on right ahead, but you won’t last ten minutes with that thick skull of yours!” Colt stood over the brute and relentlessly kicked him in the ribs, knowing exactly where it would hurt most.
Standing in between the two was a third cadet who had been reserved throughout the ordeal, but fearing that Colt had gone too far, the cadet held onto his shoulder and tried to convince him to listen. “Chō, give it up. You’ll get thrown in the pit for this—”
“Cerdic, shut the fuck up—” Flicking his arm free from his comrade’s grasp, Colt turned around with a thousand-league stare, warning him to back off if he did not want to be sucked into his outburst.
In the moment he looked away, he felt a kick drive into his stomach and stumbled back to the sight of the brute who had gone into a frenzy. Gin charged at Colt and swung his sword with surprising strength, despite his injuries. Anyone else would have failed to deflect the blow, but Gin had no idea who his opponent was. Colt recovered from the startle and began to summon Eifer from his veins, which glowed with a bright, azure blue colour. His anger welled inside him when his sabre came to meet Gin’s. With strength alone, Gin managed to stagger his opponent, but with movement as gentle as a flick, Colt deflected the brute's sword and left him with no means of defence. Gin attempted to rally himself, but the sword in Colt’s hand unexpectedly fell towards his head, lacking the control Ascot had in his demonstration. There was killing intent behind the weight of the sabre, as if the wrath of all his ancestors had been summoned to punish the brutish cadet who stood, frozen, beneath Colt’s monstrous shadow, but when he closed his eyes, another blunt blade slipped itself over him and halted Colt’s unstoppable force. When Gin dared open his eyes again, he found that a sabre, not his, had broken the Easterner’s onslaught, and it was none other than the enemy who had captured his squad.
Gritting his teeth, knowing that even his strength would waver under the power of his friend, the leader of the other squad struggled to hold his ground. “I didn’t know you were so easily hurt with words.” Arminius jested, but he had chosen the wrong time to do so.
Colt had been known for his violent outbursts ever since Arminius first met him, but nothing could ever compare with what had befallen him in that moment. Irritated by his interference, he freed one hand from his grip and hooked a fist into the half-blood’s flank, his knuckles digging into Arminius, who coughed as he fell to his knees, leaning on his sabre, which had broken from contact. Julien flinched with goosebumps rising around his body, instinctively wanting to run into the fray, but Alexandria held him back by his shoulder, knowing that of all people, the blonde-haired boy would not be able to do anything except hurt himself. Unknowingly, the infighting had attracted another squad, but they could only stand aside and watch the battle unfold between two former classmates.
Its black-haired leader marched out of the treeline and paused when he found out who had been causing the ruckus. “What the…” Lev raised an eyebrow, standing with the spectators with a touch of concern forming on his face.
“If I had to place a guess, it would either be Gin or Colt who started it.” A shorter-than-average cadet emerged and spoke with a monotonal voice.
Emotionless, aloof, or whatever he was, the boy had a narrow range of expressions, feeling nothing whenever and wherever. His life, which was once slightly appreciative of being alive, had been sucked out of his soul. His eyes, the colour of moonstones, were telling him that he had witnessed atrocities that no one else could ever imagine, fading without sadness or joy beneath the shadow of his midnight blue hair, which was parted from the middle. He was a spirit lost in the winds, devoid of any needs, desires, or ambition. No one would ever know why he chose to become a soldier, as it was a secret that Arber Konstantin would take to his grave.
Suddenly, a giant stepped out of the forest and joined his comrades who had run ahead of him. “Both…” He bellowed like a quake.
It was one of the few words the demonic giant spoke, having spent the majority of his childhood in the mountains, isolated from the rest of society. Miklós Dragosavac was the same age as the majority of the century, but he stood an impressive six feet tall. He had grown accustomed to being referred to as a monster or a titan, as even the air had to seek his permission before flowing around him. Since becoming a cadet, no one dared offend him, which inadvertently gave the comrades he was closest with the respect they needed among their century.
The battle eventually came to an end, and Gin gradually backed away from his comrades, but everything he thought he knew about those two, whether it was their abilities or personalities, had been proven incorrect. Onlookers could tell that Arminius and Colt were not average cadets. It was as if they had already experienced bloodshed equivalent to more than a decade of soldiering, all compacted into two adolescent boys.
Twirling his sabre, his hand itching, the Easterner trod over the blood he had drawn from the brute. “Sekiya, would you mind stepping aside for now? I want to have a word with Gin over there.” Colt kindly asked, but there was nothing charming about his underlying tone.
Pretending to be unhurt, Arminius stood up with help from his sabre and glared at his former classmate with the tender eyes of an experienced killer. “I do mind, Colt, unless you wish to make enemies of everyone here.” He rebuked, unafraid of retaliation.
The squads took another step back into the shadows of the forest as the sun began to set and the skies turned blood orange. A duel was going to happen. Without live blades, perhaps, but there would be bloodshed. Flocks of birds took off from their nests, and squirrels fled from the scene as clouds quickened and life began to decay around the phenomenon that was soon to occur.
Sensing trouble, Alexandria took a few steps back and turned to her comrade, who had once tried to end the violence. “Cerdic, was it?” The girl asked, her voice making the powerless cadet flustered.
Cerdic gulped and nodded, eager to find any solution that could end this madness, while Alexandria removed her armband and gestured for him to follow on, although she did not specify where they were going. Whatever or whoever she was trying to find could have been anywhere, but she seemed to know where she needed to go. Putting his trust in the girl, Cerdic hurried onwards. They sprinted through the woods and disappeared into the darkness as their comrades watched Arminius and Colt clash, the meeting of swords echoing across the battlefield.550Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ58OM8A5nB6
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