A third of an hour later, elsewhere…523Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡo2whY2LXwJ
A cigarette’s flame brightened and dimmed, its end reduced to ash that, with a tap, crumbled into the wind. As the young man sat on the viaduct, his legs dangling over the edge, he huffed out a cloud of smoke and gazed out into the horizon, detached from the exercise he was supposed to supervise, but since it had become a site of underdeveloped tactics, he had mostly ignored his cadets’ actions.
Beneath him was an open field on the bank of a creek, bordered by a forest that reached the valley's outskirts, where squads of cadets had banded together and engaged their enemy in battle. Dozens of cadets were spaced a mere hundred paces apart. However, the outnumbered force, unconcerned about the larger enemy, opened fire on their terms, with no signs of leadership. A fog of gunpowder hung over the pitch as the cadets unsheathed their sabres and cried out as they charged, their blades crashing in a carnage-filled battle. The weaker force fought as if their lives were at stake, and uncontrolled violence ensued.
The sight might have been fascinating to a war tourist, but the lieutenant had seen more than enough, and he let out a sigh, fearing he would have to step in soon. His uniform was soiled with mud, and the buttons on his jacket had been undone. Improperly dressed, like that of a delinquent, the instructor calmed his head with the fumes of tobacco, scratching his long sideburns and fixing the hairband that held back his dirty gold hair. The beard on his chin was fashioned like a strap that tried to cover parts of his face, which was littered with scars, but his nature did not seem to have inherited his character. He was humble, never imposing, his physique not overbearingly brawny. Despite his resemblance to Apollo, the man of few stresses preferred to assume the role of the god’s slothful brother, but hardly anything ever went his way.
He detected a faint whiff of blood, unlike the smell emanating from below, and quickly realised it was the sweetness of Eifer stirring in the air. When he realised a catastrophic battle was brewing, he looked up and watched the clouds sail by before wondering who those troublemaking cadets could have been. Soaking in his smoke, the ember sprinted down the cigarette before the lieutenant flicked it off the viaduct and stood up, two regular tape measures swinging from his belt. Shaking his head and cracking his neck to relieve the pressure in his spine, he was ready for action, no matter how unwilling he was, but he was soon distracted by a pair of footsteps sprinting towards him down the worn road. He turned his head, surprised to see a girl approaching him. The cadet who had accompanied her stood at the end of the bridge, unsure of his ability to leap across the crumbled gap.
“Lieutenant!” Alexandria called out to the instructor and came to a halt when she reached him, her breath as still as it would have been if she were resting. “Reichner and Chō are—” She mentioned the names of the suspected troublemakers, but she paused when the lieutenant raised his hand.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, the young man waved his hand for the cadet to calm herself. “I know, I know.” He assured her he was on his way, as if he had known all along that it could not have been any other candidate.
Sighing, it made sense to him that it would be Arminius and Colt, but he had not expected that they would have to reveal their powers so soon unless they had been forced to fight. From the moment of the induction ceremony, Lieutenant Adam Skowroński had noticed that some did not quite belong in their cohort, and this only confirmed his suspicions that his cadets may have already seen the hellish landscape that is the battlefield. The instructor jogged off at a leisurely pace, gesturing for the girl to follow on as if he was in no hurry, but he knew he had to prevent his cadets from unleashing something they would regret.
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In the opening of the forest…
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Although the two cadets were no more enemies than the League’s allies, there was no sign of comradeship. The champion of fairness faced the power of authority. Although the person who instigated the duel had already forgiven Colt, Gin was unable to accept what he was witnessing. Awestruck by the spectacle, everyone once assumed Arminius and Colt were mere cadets like themselves, but their swords did not move in a novice manner. Colt’s movements were reminiscent of a dance, with each strike seamlessly transitioning into the next, which Arminius could not defend against forever, so he finally launched an assault. Their sabres sanded against each other and began to chip away, splinters peeling from the blade as the wooden swords could no longer withstand the impact. Their cores began to weaken, and they realised the battle had to end with a single decisive move or both their swords would snap.
The black-haired cadet, vigilant for any indications of unforgiving instructors, crossed his arms and faced his squad. “Bets?” Lev joked with a nervous chuckle, hoping that he could relieve some of the tension in the air.
Confident that none of them would succeed in their duel, his shorter comrade spun around and distanced himself from the forest opening, hoping that if everyone was caught breaking the rules of the exercise, he would be able to flee the scene promptly. “Both of them will be tossed into the pit.” Arber soured the mood, but he spoke realistically.
Battered by his old classmate’s unrelenting storm, Arminius’s movements slowed, his stamina unlike Colt’s, whose consistent indulgence in the martial arts made him untirable. The thoughts in his head flitted between continuation and surrender, yet there was a hint of hesitation. Arminius did not wish to reveal any more of his abilities that might alienate him from his comrades, but he could not fight with reservation, especially when he knew for certain that Colt was the better swordsman. When he began to stumble, he launched one foot into the ground to stiffly anchor himself, but he had to forsake his agility. Colt’s wooden sabre found a gap in Arminius’s defence, and it was swung into his leg, its joints spraining from the force. His knee had nearly been knocked out of its socket, and it pained him to even stand straight. He had to withdraw, limping backward, their stalemate having been shattered.
Colt glared at Arminius, as if he knew why his opponent lost the fight. Their many sparring matches said enough. “Still refusing to fight?” The Easterner approached him cautiously.
Arminius dashed and thrust his sabre forward, piercing the silent breeze before striking his foe on the chest. Colt’s heartbeat was briefly stopped, and his cough sounded as if his lungs had been punctured as he dropped to his knees, but before Arminius could swing again, Colt intensified his gaze and whipped his sabre into the half-blood’s ribs. Arminius staggered backward, holding onto his flank but remaining alert as he watched the sweat evaporate from Colt’s skin. The grass around the Easterner began to brown and shrivel from the heat of the boiling blood in his veins, and his steam formed a thick layer of mist around him. Arminius could read his intent. His leg was immobile, and half of his body was falling apart, but he had to defend himself, or his former classmate’s rage would consume him. The observers backed away from the forest opening as the heat of what they later discovered was Eifer crept closer to them. Thunder crackled as a streak of lightning flashed across Arminius’s eyes, his Eifer whispering and his extremities numbing until his every limb was controlled solely by spirit, wielding his sabre like an Eastern curved longsword. He staggered to bait his opponent into an attack, but Colt did the same, and Arminius was intimidated into hesitation when the Easterner, dressed in azure blue embers, sprang into action. Then, something dashed towards them with incredible speed, whipping through the forest like a brisk gale, breaking the mist and smoke. A figure stepped in to stand between them, calming Arminius’s thunder and quenching Colt’s flames.
Unsheathing his tape measures from his belt, he pointed at his two troublesome cadets. “Had ‘nough yet?” The instructor asked them only once.
The cadets who had gathered around the forest opening were amazed by the instructor’s agility, but they were more confused by the fight they had witnessed. Skowroński flicked his wrists and extended his tapes, which he flung towards Arminius and Colt, whose collars were hooked on by their tongues before they were launched with the ferocious whip-like tools across the opening, their backs being pounded against two trees that stopped them from being tossed out of the woodland. They released their swords out of shock and pain and collapsed, face first, onto the earth again, unable to wreak further havoc. The cadets lay defeated, realising only then that their bodies had reached their limits when Alexandria and Cerdic finally returned to their squads, out of breath from foolishly attempting to match Skowroński's inhuman pace. Glad that his war had come to a close, Gin slumped down by a tree. As the other squads approached the battlefield, Julien ran to Arminius.
Fixing his hair, having averted a crisis, Skowroński looked around and warned his cadets without showing any signs of agitation. “The rest o’ youse, not a word.” He turned to the two cadets whose Eifers made him uneasy, but the lieutenant could not deny that their abilities would be useful on the battlefield. “As fer the two of ya, you’ve earn’d yerselves a week in the pit.” The instructor decided on their punishment, but the boys had no idea he was being lenient, as what they had done would normally see them with a dishonourable discharge.
When Alexandria and Cerdic helped Colt up, they felt his skin was searing, and the heat of his body was forming a coat of vapour around him. Staring at the sky with his breath beaten out of him, pain creeping into his bones from the slightest movements, Arminius was in a blur, only making out Julien among his comrades who were looking over him, calling his name, but every sound had been muted. In a state of conscious coma, Arminius closed his eyes, numbed and paralysed, and his comrades quieted down when they sat him up, his arm wrapped around Julien. His sword, which he had relinquished, lay buried in the grass a few paces away, its wooden body blackened from their clash and its grip smudged in dirt. The blunt edge of the blade had been dented, and the core had snapped from the intensity of his Eifer, which was never unleashed. Leaves covered the sword, which nature seemed to want to discard, forgoing further careless destruction it could cause.523Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUr3qbeCvMF
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