Combat

Six months carved Ren into something new. The sparse meals, combined with relentless physical exertion, had stripped away any remaining softness, leaving behind lean, densely packed muscle over a frame that had shot up several inches since his arrival. His hands were rough, calloused from labor and gripping practice weapons, his feet similarly hardened. Minor scars, a thin white line on his thigh from the wolf's teeth, now fully healed, various nicks and scrapes from the obstacle course or training mishap showed the passage of time. 

One day after the midday meal, instead of heading to labor details or the muddy field, the entire remaining group, Ren counted thirty-five, including himself and Liam, was assembled on the main paved courtyard.

The senior instructor stood before them, Vorl and Grak positioned slightly behind him, their faces impassive. The lean specialist instructor was also present, standing off to one side, watching with his usual unnerving stillness.

"Your initial conditioning is deemed sufficient," the senior instructor announced, his voice cutting through the air. "Your basic forms are adequate. It is time for assessment. Your next Test begins tomorrow: Unarmed Combat."

A low murmur, instantly suppressed, ran through the ranks.

"Format," the instructor continued, ignoring the reaction. "Round-robin. Each cadet will face every other cadet in this group. One bout each. Unarmed. No weapons. No killing blows."

He paused, letting his gaze sweep over them. "Bouts will take place in the Arena. Victory is determined by the instructors based on clear dominance, effective technique application, or ensuring cadet viability for continued training. Stupidity or uncontrolled aggression leading to unnecessary injury will be noted."

He gestured towards Vorl, Grak, and the lean instructor. "Instructors Vorl, Grak, and your combat specialist will evaluate every bout. Both participants in each bout will receive a score from each instructor, one to ten. Criteria, Technical execution, control, appropriate aggression or defense, adaptability, endurance. Your final rank will be determined by your total accumulated points across all thirty-four bouts."

"Performance will be rewarded," the senior instructor stated. "Ranks four through ten will receive favorable notation, one gear exchange token, and one month increased rations. Ranks two and three will receive notation, two gear exchange tokens, two months increased rations, and will be assigned specialized unarmed combat tutoring under instructor designation for the remainder of your time here." His gaze sharpened. "Rank one will receive notation, priority gear upgrades, three months increased rations, priority choice of specialization path later, a personal practice weapon… and will join ranks two and three in specialized tutoring."

"Prepare yourselves," the senior instructor concluded. "First bouts commence tomorrow after morning conditioning. Dismissed."

The first day of the Unarmed Combat Assessment began under the same cold, clear sky as the days before, but the air in the paved courtyard crackled with a different energy. After the morning conditioning, the thirty-five cadets of Ren's year group were assembled around the edges of a wide circle marked out in packed earth at the courtyard's center.

The lean instructor stood calmly within the circle, acting as officiator. Vorl and Grak positioned themselves near the edge, holding small slates and styluses, their faces impassive. The senior instructor was also present, observing silently from slightly further back.

"First bout," the lean instructor called out, his voice quiet but cutting across the yard. "019. 077."

Two cadets stepped into the circle. They faced each other, assumed the basic guard stance. "Begin," the instructor stated. The fight was short, a flurry of basic strikes and blocks ending when 019 landed a solid palm heel that staggered 077, prompting the instructor to immediately call,

"Halt!" The instructors made notes on their slates. "Next pair. 048. 112."

So it went. One bout after another. Some were over in seconds, others were attrition based, cadets blocking and parrying, neither able to gain a clear advantage until the instructor stopped it based on time or stalemate. Ren watched intently, observing styles, noting weaknesses, filing away information. Liam stood nearby, equally focused.

"007. 105."

Ren's number. He stepped forward, moving into the circle. Across from him stood Cadet 105, one of the larger cadets Ren had noted during labor details. 105 settled into a slightly unbalanced stance and Liam gave Ren a barely perceptible nod from the edge of the circle.

"Begin," the lean instructor commanded.

105 charged immediately, a crude rush aimed at overwhelming Ren with size and momentum. Ren didn't meet it head-on. He pivoted smoothly off the line of attack, letting 105 rush past. The larger cadet stumbled slightly, recovering his balance with a grunt.

105 came again, this time swinging a heavy, looping punch. Ren blocked it easily with a practiced outside forearm block, deflecting the force, again using footwork to maintain distance. He parried another clumsy strike, then another. 105 was predictable, relying on power alone. Stupid.

Ren waited, watching 105's feet, his balance. The larger cadet lunged forward again with a straight punch, slightly overextending in his frustration. Ren saw the opening. As he blocked the punch, he stepped forward and slightly past 105's lead leg, his own leg positioned behind his opponent's supporting ankle. Breaking 105's posture forward with a controlled push and pull on his upper body while simultaneously hooking the supporting leg. Already off balance from his lunge, 105 had his support swept out from under him. He crashed heavily onto the packed earth circle with a surprised grunt. Ren immediately stepped back into a ready stance.

"Halt!" the lean instructor called instantly.

Ren stood, catching his breath, heart pounding but movements controlled. 105 pushed himself up slowly, dusting himself off, avoiding Ren's gaze. The three scoring instructors made marks on their slates, their faces revealing nothing.

"Next pair," the lean instructor called. "011. 088."

Ren stepped out of the circle as Liam stepped in. He found his place among the watching cadets, his eyes now fixed on Liam's bout.