Classes(II)

That day squad 9 was pushed to limits as Kean and Wolfgang both kept failing to hold it even Adam faltered once, with the moon casting a faint glow along their path they dragged their tired bodies back to their quarters to see Anastasia lounging across the sofa using her halo watch to scroll on a random site meanwhile Chen Mei sat beside her flipping a book with a calm demeanor a stark contrast to their weary outlook.

"It took you guys long enough we've been waiting for hours to get something to eat, the cafeteria won't let us in without our entire squad," said Anastasia yawning tiredly

"Are you guys okay?" Chen Mei asked getting up to to look closely at each of them seeing that they were unharmed and tired.

"Thank you Chen Mei we are fine we will just need some time to get ready," said Gilbert walking towards his room, Kean and Adam supporting each other hobbled to room 2 a room which they shared with William and Kean.

"Good evening ladies, please give me a few minutes to prepare." Said William failing to give a small bow. An hour later the entire squad made their way towards one of the cafeterias located in the citadel, stepping inside it was already filled with squire squads who like them were training the entire day. After collecting food it was a large helping of food as they sat down to eat they joined the cacophony of knives and forks

"Heh. some people received an honored place, yet they cannot hold it," said Alexander's voice cut sharply through the air, a ripple of laughter spread from the tier I squads.

"It never ceases to disgust me—those so-called elites from those ostentatious Tier I cities, wrapped in their self-important delusions, can't even manage a simple task. They squander resources like common waste, a pathetic testament to their ineptitude. What's your take, Kean? "Gilbert's voice dripped with disdain. Silence hung amongst the cafeteria making those not among the elite feel as if the grim reaper walked among them, even Kean the one who is usually up for the antics could not fathom what he just heard.

"Impudent!" shouted Alexander storming from his seat

"I like this one," Aisling murmured with a small chuckle, watching with keen interest.

"Someone needs to remind the inferiors where they belong," said Sohan sneered, lounging comfortably as a squad mate dutifully fed him.

"At least they're not all spineless," said Askel while eating an entire leg of some beast unfazed by the happenings mouth dripping with oil. Alexander was just about to march towards him fury etched on his face but then the drones overhead began moving- more erratic, more alert. This change caught the attention of everyone especially Alexander who felt a cold splash of reality before his rage could fully ignite.

His jaw tightened "Just you wait," he muttered marching out of the cafeteria.

The night stretched on in quiet stillness, squires lay in deep slumber breaths steadily lost in exhaustion then without warning, their watches blared in raucous chimes. They awoke to still early hours of the morning, the world draped in the eerie half darkness the moon having not yet crested the horizon, leaving the sky a sprawling canvas of stars. Waking groggily Gilbert made his way towards the training ground combating the cold of the morning, there on the training ground stood the solitary Colonel Z'yna her presence seemingly able to freeze the morning dew with a gaze sharp enough to cut through the lingering haze of sleeping clinging onto the squires behind her were weapons both cold and hot.

"Today you shall choose your weapons of choice, then combat training both marksmanship and close combat, afterwards squads will be facing off against each other," said Colonel Z'yna. Gilbert then went ahead and took up a standard energy rifle and electro sword a combination gotten used to from the march. Colonel Z'yna wasted no time. After everyone chose their preferred weapon She stalked through the ranks, drilling each squire on the fundamentals of their chosen weapons. Whether their path lay in the precision of long-range combat or the brutal intimacy of close-quarters battle, there would be no mercy in this training. Every lesson was swift, calculated, and utterly unforgiving.

Then, hell began.

Gilbert's sword carved through the air with relentless force, over and over until his arms no longer felt like his own—just extensions of motion and exhaustion. His lungs burned with each swing, the fiery ache clawing through his body. But enhancements pulsed through his system, reinforcing muscle memory, and accelerating adaptation. He absorbed the Colonel's brutal teachings like a conduit, body, and mind forced into alignment with survival.

They barely had time to process the agony before the cycle shifted. The close-combat fighters stepped aside, swapping places with the marksmen. Precision became the law of survival now—every shot had to count, every stance had to be honed under the Colonel's merciless gaze.

And she did not relent.

Hell came in waves. Physical endurance was just the first trial. Next was the stripping away of doubt, of hesitation, of limits they once believed existed. The Colonel drove them past exhaustion, past reason, molding them into something beyond human frailty.

By the time the session ended, they weren't just trained—they were reforged.

"Stand at ease you all have 15 minutes." She said even at this pause she gave them no pause if a squire failed to hold the position they were forced to run laps with their entire squad losing their chance of rest by the 15-minute mark only their only chance to rest.

"Next Squad 3 versus Squad 26," barked the Colonel as the members of each squad walked onto the training ground the members of Squad 3 looked at ease while those of Squad 26 looked as if they were ready to face execution.

"This will be a one vs one 5 matchups each win gives 3 merits towards your squad, there are no draws and each lost minus 2 at the end of the 5 matches the team with more merits wins and the losing side gets to keep half their merit," The first match went about more quickly than expected as Aisling took down squad 26 leaders with ease, the matches ten passed with a clean sweep from squad 3. Time marched on as the matches afterwards passed quickly with tier I squads showing their dominance. Finally, it was squads 9's turn, Gilbert could have sworn he caught the hint of a fleeting smirk when Colonel announced their opponents: Squad 5

"First match up Squire 141 versus Squire 356," the colonel announced causing tension to ripple through the air.

Gilbert and Alexander strode onto the field a place littered with lost weapons, blood and pits from areas damaged from laser blasts from previous bouts, gripping his sword in his left hand and rifle in his left Gilbert stood across from Alexander who held a medium kite shield, sword in hand and a pistol strapped to his waist.

"I have been waiting for this moment," Alexander sneered grinning as he made a few practice swings with his sword "Times to place you in your place bug," said Alexander

"Do they teach talkonometry in tier I cities?" Gilbert said not missing a beat. The countdown blared out from their watches, and in the same breath, the fight erupted. Gilbert moved swiftly, firing bursts from his rifle while to keep Alexander at bay, aiming to wear down his defenses. But Alexander surged forward at him blocking his shots with his shield. His pistol barked in return, trying to throw Gilbert's tempo into disarray, yet try as he may Gilbert was capable of blocking his shots with his swords something not of the other squires had accomplished until a pit. Focused on the battle Gilbert's foot snagged in the uneven ground, sending him tumbling. Alexander saw his chance and like a predator marched down on him with menacing momentum lifting his shield he drove the pointed end towards Gilbert. Rolling instinctively Gilbert narrowly evaded the strike, the pointed edge burrowing into the dirt inches from his body. But Alexander was relentless, his attacks a raging storm- a brutal melody of shield, sword, and unforgiving kicks meant to keep Gilbert grounded. Dodging and rolling across the battlefield, Gilbert managed to seize an opening his rifle locking into Alexander's face. A quick burst of fire forced Alexander to instinctively use his shield to block using this chance he launched himself from the ground. His sword drove at Alexander with no technique just raw force but was met with Alexander's shield a clash of metal resounding throughout the arena. They each stepped back taking a short pause to catch their breath before lunging at each other again into close quarters. Their clash ferocious Alexander's movements were honed, the refined grace of years of training giving him a small edge. Gilbert, on the other hand, relied on raw instinct- primal ferocity bolstered by his enhancements and basic techniques. His strikes were rapid, landing at a higher frequency than Alexander's. But each of Alexander's blows carried devastating power, gradually forcing Gilbert to relinquish his rifle. Their battle became a blur of strikes and counters, both accumulating injuries painting them in blood, scorch marks, and bruises. As their clash deepened each breath was battle, every movement a gamble. At one point Gilbert grabbed a broken sword from the field now attacking with both weapons in hand. Now with both swords in hand, Gilbert became even less technique more a storm of fury and instinct blocking every avenue of Alexanders attempt towards victory. In the chaos, Gilbert's eyes blazed with a fierce determination, revealing an unwavering resolve to dominate his surroundings. He was prepared to fight tooth and nail until he etched his victory against those who had looked down upon him and the community from which he hailed. His every glance spoke of defiance, a promise that he would not be underestimated or overlooked any longer.