Gong!
The bell cut through the lunch break. The old lady, Mai, called out, "Candidates, to the combat building!"
One by one, they tossed their banana leaves away and trudged out of the mess hall.
'Combat class again. I can only hope this body survives the torture,' Ashan thought, a flicker of desperate hope in his mind.
They filed back into the spacious combat hall and formed their lines. Head Instructor Rees Aklim stood with another man, who wore a crimson cloak draped over his right shoulder.
"Your training will be intense until the dinner bell," Rees announced, his voice echoing. "That's six or seven hours. You'll get a few five-minute breaks, nothing more." He gestured to the other instructor. "This is Asrein Dharen, from the Goat faction of the House of Lust."
"Yessa handles hand-to-hand combat. In this session, you will battle each other and train with weapons. First, each of you will grab a wooden sword and return to formation."
Hundreds of practice swords lay stacked on a counter. The candidates swarmed forward to claim one.
'A sword. A first for me, in both my lives. It's just wood, but it's a weapon all the same.' Ashan wrapped his fingers around the hilt, feeling its unfamiliar weight as he gave it a few experimental swings.
"Back in formation! Now!" Rees's command boomed.
They scrambled back, this time spacing themselves a sword's length apart. Rees stood at the center, holding his own wooden sword high for all to see. Instructor Asrein prowled the edges, his eyes missing nothing.
"The sword is the 'King of Weapons'," Rees began. "It can thrust, slash, and bludgeon. Its versatility makes it essential. We will cover the basics of the sword, the spear, and the bow. Later, you may choose a weapon that truly suits you. Now, watch my movements carefully!"
He demonstrated a simple combination: a forward thrust, followed by an upper slash, finishing with a powerful downward chop. It looked simple, but the precision required was immense.
'Breathe. Keep your breathing steady. I don't remember who said the calm one wins, but it sounds right.' Ashan focused, mirroring the instructor's motions as best he could.
The hall filled with the rhythmic whoosh of wood cutting air. Any candidate who slowed or stopped earned a sharp thwack on the back from Asrein.
'How long can this last? My arm is screaming in pain. But if I let the pain stop me, my dream of immortality is a joke. No. I have to endure. Perseverance is the only tool I have right now.' Gritting his teeth, Ashan forced his burning muscles to keep moving.
"Stop! Five-minute rest!" Rees finally commanded.
The sound of swinging ceased, replaced by gasps and thuds as candidates collapsed. Some fell to the ground; others leaned heavily on their swords for support. Ashan sat, his breath coming in ragged huffs. His whole team was in a similar state around him.
"Everything hurts," Helma winced, gingerly touching her sword arm.
"Back on your feet! Gather with your teams!" Rees ordered before they could recover.
They staggered up, grouping together.
"Now for duels!" Rees announced. "Teams 1 through 15 will duel under my supervision. Teams 16 through 30, with Instructor Asrein. Team 7! You're against Team 13. It's seven versus seven. Each of you will fight one match. You lose if you are disarmed and your sword hits the ground. Begin!"
On the other side of the hall, the same process started for the other teams.
"I can't wait to get out there and smash someone's stupid face in," Dris grinned, cracking his neck.
"Numbskull. Is fighting the only thing you know?" Roderic scoffed.
"Why? Should I ask your mom? I showed her plenty of other things," Dris shot back with a nasty smirk.
Roderic's face twitched with anger. Ballio looked shocked. Imla shook her head in dismay. Helma feigned a yawn, bored. Damara just rolled her eyes.
'Boys. Always thinking with their third leg.'
"Sigh." Ashan let out an exasperated breath. "Did you learn nothing from Instructor Vehl? Keep quiet, or who knows what Instructor Aklim will do to you two."
The mention of the stern woman and the potential punishment wiped the smirks off their faces. They fell silent.
"Ashan," Ballio asked, "any tips on how to win?"
Helma stopped pretending to yawn. "Do we really have to fight? I don't want to get hit."
"If the instructor says so, we fight. If you're afraid of pain, you might as well lie down and die now," Dris rebuked her harshly.
The team devolved into worried whispers about the impending fights.
'The Order of Arishadvarga, now the House of Sins. A simple name change, or something deeper? The instructors wear different colors, representing different houses and factions. Before, they might have worked independently. Now, they're united, which is why they're forcing us into mixed teams. Teamwork isn't a suggestion; it's a necessity for survival here.'
"Ashan, Ballio asked you a question." Damara shook his arm, pulling him from his thoughts.
"Hmm? Yeah, I heard." Ashan looked at their anxious faces. "I'll be honest. I'm no expert. I can't give you a secret technique. All I can say is this: keep your senses sharp, and fight every swing with the intent to kill."
"Well, look at that," Dris said, smacking Ashan's back a little too hard. "Now you're seeing things my way. Kill or be killed."
'Fucker!' Ashan barely stopped the curse from leaving his lips.
"My perspective on battle is the accumulation of all the things you all said," he clarified.
"An... accumulation?" Imla asked, confused. The others wore similar puzzled expressions.
"Don't worry about it now. You'll understand in time. Just know this: if we stick together and work as one, we survive. It's a mutual benefit." He held their gazes, letting the message sink in.
'Cooperation is the only shield for the weak. The strong might not need it, but for us, it's everything.'
The others slowly digested his words.
'He wants cooperation. Does he know everyone's secrets like he knows mine? What's his real game? He needs us to achieve his goals. He always talks about survival, but I feel there's more.' - Dris.
'Survival and cooperation? He somehow got Dris in line. Ashan is playing a long game.' - Roderic.
Ballio, Damara, Imla, and Helma were also deep in thought, weighing their few, grim options.
'Good. Very good. I'd be disappointed if they were just stupid kids who believed anything. Their wariness is healthy. It means they're thinking.' Ashan was pleased.
On the training floor, the duel between Teams 1 and 9 concluded with Team 9 the victor.
"Next duel! Team 7 and Team 13! First fighters, step forward!" Rees shouted.
The team looked at each other. "I'm going first!" Dris declared, stepping forward.
"Wait, Dris. Let me go. I want to try something. Watch carefully," Ashan said, stopping him.
Dris thought for a moment, then nodded. "Fine. I'll take the second match."
Ashan stepped forward, wooden sword gripped tight in his right hand. His opponent from Team 13 was a tall boy with olive skin, towering over him.
'Damn. He's got to be at least 5'10". And his face... looks like a bear. What grave sin did his mother commit? A furry lover in another world, I guess.'