The Gauntlet of Battles

With the first battle behind them, Team 12 stood at the edge of the combat zone, watching as other teams engaged in their own skirmishes. The echoes of training rifles, the sharp clashing of batons, and the occasional bark of an instructor rang through the enclosed battlefield.

The tournament was far from over.

Sixteen spots. Thirty-nine teams still standing.

The elimination rounds continued, with matches running back-to-back. Every victory was met with roaring approval, every loss a painful reminder that only the best could advance. Some cadets left the arena limping, battered but not broken. Others, humiliated by swift defeats, slumped off the field in silence.

Bao wasn't interested in any of them.

His focus remained on two specific teams.

Team 3. Predictable, brute-force fighters with sheer overwhelming strength.

And Team 8. The team that had won their match with ruthless efficiency, taking down their opponents in under a minute.

Bao could feel it. These were the real threats.

Vivian nudged him. "You see Team 8 just now?"

Bao nodded. "They don't waste time. Every move is precise."

Jiro adjusted his visor, reviewing the tactical data. "If we run into them, we need to break their formation before they can dictate the battle. They fight like a machine—surgical, efficient, and without hesitation."

Aiden stretched. "So basically, we either blitz them before they can think, or we force them to make a mistake."

Desmond scoffed. "Let's worry about getting to them first. We've still got fights ahead of us."

Their next match was called.

This time, their opponents were Team 21—a squad that had placed second in the last academy-wide strategy drills. They weren't as physically dominant as Team 3 or as ruthlessly efficient as Team 8, but they were calculators—thinkers who would never move without analyzing the battlefield first.

As they stepped into the arena, Bao felt the shift in strategy. This wasn't brute-force combat. This was a chess match.

The buzzer rang.

And nobody moved.

For the first time in the tournament, an eerie silence settled over the battlefield. Team 21 wasn't charging blindly—they were waiting. Watching. Letting Team 12 make the first mistake.

Jiro cursed. "They're playing defensive. They want us to expose ourselves first."

Vivian's grin widened. "Cute. Let's see if they can keep up."

Bao's mind calculated. They expect us to attack first. So we won't.

He signaled a false advance.

Vivian and Desmond pretended to move, making it seem like they were pushing forward—just enough to bait the enemy.

Team 21 took the bait.

Their sniper fired first, trying to eliminate what they assumed was an aggressive push. In that split second, Bao and Aiden struck from the side, cutting off their escape route.

Jiro fired a precision shot, clipping one of Team 21's flanking members before they could reposition.

By the time Team 21 realized their mistake, it was over. One Hit meant out.

Team 12 had outplayed the thinkers.

"Winner: Team 12."

Jiro exhaled. "That was exhausting."

Vivian laughed, flicking a speck of dust off her shoulder. "What, you're not used to winning yet?"

Aiden grinned. "That was beautiful, though. They had no clue what hit 'em."

Bao remained quiet. He wasn't celebrating. There were still harder fights ahead.

And the strongest teams were still standing.

The announcement came fast.

"Next match: Team 12 vs. Team 3."

Aiden grinned. "Finally, we get to put this dumbass in his place."

Desmond cracked his knuckles. "Markus is going to charge in like a damn freight train. We need to stay light and move fast."

Vivian twirled her knife. "Don't give him the satisfaction of a direct fight. He's got too much muscle, not enough brain."

Jiro nodded. "Bao, your call."

Bao was already thinking. Markus wasn't just strong—he was persistent. If they didn't put him down fast, he would wear them down with sheer aggression.

Bao's eyes flickered up toward the observation platform where the academy officials watched.

And where Elias was likely being watched too.

He couldn't afford to lose.

The buzzer rang.

Markus charged.

Bao was already moving.

Vivian and Aiden split left, dodging the first incoming attack as Markus swung wildly with his baton. Desmond intercepted one of Markus' teammates, tripping him mid-sprint and delivering a precise strike to knock him down.

Jiro fired precision shots, forcing the rest of Team 3 to break formation.

Bao closed the distance.

Markus turned, eyes locking onto him, rage written across his face. "You think you can take me?"

Bao's answer was a flash of motion.

He ducked under Markus' swing, pivoted on his heel, and struck behind Markus' knee with a sharp kick.

Markus stumbled.

Vivian followed up with a well-placed stun round.

Desmond finished the fight with a baton strike to the chest.

Markus was down.

The fight had lasted less than forty-five seconds.

"Winner: Team 12."

The arena exploded with reactions.

Markus' loss was a statement. The strongest brute had been defeated by precision, by strategy, by skill.

Bao exhaled, stepping away from the unconscious Markus.

Aiden chuckled. "Well. That felt good."

Jiro sighed. "We should prepare"

The combat trials were over. Sixteen teams remained, but the real challenge had only just begun.

The academy's underground simulation complex was unlike any standard training ground. It was a massive, self-contained war theater—an interconnected network of urban structures, artificial landscapes, and dynamically shifting environments controlled by a state-of-the-art AI system. The cadets who had survived Phase One were now about to step into an entirely different battlefield—one where brute strength meant nothing without tactical precision.

Colonel Duvall stood before the remaining competitors, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. "You fought well to get here. But combat ability alone does not make a soldier. Strategy, adaptability, and decision-making under pressure are the hallmarks of those worthy of advancement. In Phase Two, you will be tested not only as warriors but as commanders."

The holographic map of the simulation chamber appeared behind him, displaying a large city-like battlefield, with designated strongholds, infiltration points, and randomized variables.

"Each match will be a tactical operation. Your team will be assigned an objective—either defense, assault, or extraction. Your opponents will have an opposing objective. Victory is determined by mission completion, not just elimination. If you cannot think, you will fail."

Jiro adjusted his gloves, already analyzing the layout. "This is our element."

Bao nodded. "But so is it for the others. The survivors from the other brackets aren't just fighters—they're strategists. They made it here for a reason."

Vivian grinned. "And that just makes beating them even more fun."

Aiden cracked his neck. "Who's our first victim?"

The digital screen flickered, displaying the first matchups of Phase Two.

Desmond exhaled. "Callahan's squad… I've heard about them. Defensive specialists. They don't lose territory easily."

Jiro hummed in thought. "Then we make sure they don't have anything left to defend."

Bao's eyes flickered with cold determination. He didn't just want to win this tournament. He needed to win. Whatever was at the heart of this special operations program—it was tied to Elias. And if Bao wanted to uncover the truth, he had to get closer.

"Then let's tear them apart."

The gates to the simulation arena opened, revealing the battleground ahead. Their mission was about to begin.

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