Chapter 5: Chapter 4
I already knew that this would probably happen, but seeing his face still puts knots in my stomach. I hate him so much it's physically painful, but I need to restrain myself. I can't show my hatred.
Patience. Be patient and a chance to kill him will surely come. I can't afford to act too soon though. For now, I just have to bear with it. Even if my chance doesn't appear for years to come, it will still be there. After all, I'm going to outlast every person here.
"I'll be your combat instructor for the next few years, so I hope we can get along."
"..."
In the face of our silent reception, Crowley lets out a heavy sigh and scratches the back of his head.
"Geez, you've become some boring brats. It's not like I'm gonna eat ya or anything." He pauses for a moment before giving a carefree shrug. "Well, whatever. It's not like this is some rune knights training camp, I don't care if you respond or not, as long as you listen to what I say. If I find out you aren't paying attention it won't be a very pleasant experience for either of us. Is that clear?"
"Understood." The lot of us mumble out the affirmative. It's my first time hearing most of their voices.
"Now then, you have one week to get yourselves healthy and well-fed before hell starts back up again for you." He leans against the doorframe as he talks down to us. "If you thought that this would be easier than the test, you're sorely mistaken. The test was just to make sure that you were capable of taking care of yourselves, your training hasn't even begun. Only you all had to take the test as one of Brain's special experiments. There are other trainees here who didn't have to take it and will be starting training at the same time as you all, they just haven't been brought here yet. Although, I'm personally only responsible for teaching the 14 of you. I believe there are 66 of them, bringing the group to an even 80."
That's why the room has so many extra beds. Why didn't they have to take the test though? What makes them special?
"Quite frankly, they won't be anywhere near as tough as you all. They're all the kids of members of the various dark guilds with connections to Brain." He grins down at us. "Those shitty brats might know how to fight better than you, but they aren't hardened like you. They'll drop like flies. By next year, there will be at most 20 of you left, and I expect that you will fill at least half those spots."
Another elimination setup. Brain doesn't care if he only ends up with a couple of survivors. I guess that just goes to show that he only cares about elites. Even in the series, his Oracion Seis only had six members, but all six were cream-of-the-crop talents.
"Now, I'll tell you where the cafeteria is, so eat up, rest up, and regain your strength this week. Think about what kind of fighting style you want to practice. Without knowing what your magic is, you can't do much more than the basics and build a foundation for your future style, but at least decide if you want to fight with a weapon or hand-to-hand combat. If you want a weapon, I advise that you stop by the armory by the end of the week and pick one that suits you."
"How do we know what to pick?" The girl beside me, S047, speaks up. Her voice matches her fiery hair color, brash and aggressive.
"Think for yourself." Crowley sneers. "I'm here to teach you how to fight, not to hold your hand and change your diapers. Decide what you want to accomplish in your fights and how you want to accomplish it and pick a weapon that will let you do that. Now," He turns around and walks out the door. "I'm off to the cafeteria. If you want to learn where it is, follow me."
On the last day of our break, I stand alone in the armory, looking around once again. I have been here for a couple of hours every day now, so I already know everything that's in here. There isn't much to do to pass the time during our break other than exploring the garrison, which I've done enough to walk the place blindfolded.
I'm not sure I can even call it a garrison though. All that's here are two single-room barracks buildings for the trainees, one building for the cafeteria, a small shed that I guess passes as an armory, and a main building that has the instructors' rooms. Other than that, there's just a big training field off to the side. Not exactly a hub of activity and excitement.
Thus, I find myself in this little shed, looking at the weapons once again. I understand that most mages in Earthland just rely on their magic and their bodies to fight, but I still think it would be best to learn swordsmanship.
All three swordsmen who I can remember from the series were incredibly powerful characters. Erza Scarlet was so strong that I almost felt bad for her opponents, although that had a lot to do with the Fairy Tail guild's overpowered nature. Ikaruga felt even stronger than Erza when they met at the Tower of Heaven. I always felt that if she decided to kill Erza rather than strip her, she would have done exactly that. Last is Kagura, whose use of gravity magic along with her sword put her close to Erza's level.
Those are all S-Class level characters, and more importantly, they relied more on skill than strong magic to get to that point. There's no guarantee that I will awaken a powerful magic type, I could even turn out as useless as Warrod in a fight if I have nothing else. In the underworld of dark guilds that I'm in, that kind of lack of fighting ability would get me killed.
Also, Erza and Kagura are held back by the fact that light guild mages don't kill. A sword is fundamentally a tool made to kill things, I will have no issues using it for that purpose.
I look over the blade I picked out as my weapon of choice. For now, I carry a small and crudely made tanto, barely longer than my old knife. However, as I grow, I plan to change to a Katana and focus on Iaijutsu.
I've always felt that the quickdraw was the ideal technique. One single, clean cut to end the fight. Why risk making a mistake in a lengthy battle when you can end it in a single move? I'm not naive enough to think that I will be able to take out all my enemies with a single move, but Iaijutsu also has a great defense. It's about constant awareness and battle readiness, a perfect style for a survivor.
I return to the barracks, blade in hand, ready to do what it takes to survive the coming ordeal.
I don't care how many times they want to weed out the weak, I only have to be strong. No matter what they throw at me: starvation, isolation, deathmatches, torture. I will endure. I will outlast everyone else here if I need to, even if I have to kill them all myself.
The next morning, I and the thirteen other test participants were lined up on the training field in front of Crowley.
The other trainees arrived at the barracks late last night, and they were far more talkative than any of us. We just ignored them however, they seem to think that they were on some kind of field trip. Right now, they are all separated into three groups of 22 trainees and an instructor for each group.
"It seems that some of you took my advice to heart and picked out weapons for yourselves. That's good to see." Crowley's lazy voice drawled out as he appraised us.
Apart from myself, 6 other kids choose a weapon for themselves. My bunkmate, S047 chose a spear, and one of the bigger boys, I recognize him as the one who pounded his friend's face to a pulp, chose an axe. Other than that, 3 boys and 1 girl choose simple daggers, probably due to their familiarity with knives from the test.
"Alright, for starters you're gonna run laps around the garrison. One person will stay with me and we will talk about what you want to focus on for a fighting style until someone finishes their lap, then you'll switch. That way I can find out what each of you needs individually without having the rest of you sitting around. Oh, by the way. If you choose a weapon, you have to carry it at all times during training. If I see it on the ground, you'll be punished." He points at me. "I'll start with the shrimp, S301, everyone else: get running."
Everyone wastes no time taking off at a decent pace, although I do see a look of regret on the boy with the axe. I remain and await further instruction.
"So, a tanto huh? Should have picked a scimitar, they're way cooler." His voice sounds dismissive and disinterested. "So, what have you got in mind? Don't tell me it's something boring like it being similar to your knife or anything like that."
"I wanted a katana, but my body is too small for now, so I had to settle for this."
"Oh?" He looks a little more interested. "And?"
"I want to learn Iaijutsu," I announce. "Specifically, I want to focus on a one-hit-kill fight style with a quickdraw and a wide variety of defensive techniques to fall back on."
"Hmm… I know enough about Iaijutsu to give you a pretty good base in it. However," his face looks thoughtful as if he's just seeing me for the first time. "That all-or-nothing quickdraw idea is a pretty unbalanced style. Are you sure that's what you want?"
"Yes." I've thought it through enough. It's unbalanced, but it will give me the greatest chance to survive this camp. If there are frequent fights, as I expect there to be, built-up fatigue will be fatal. Having a fighting style centered around ending the fight as quickly as possible is going to be huge in terms of preserving stamina. Especially considering I'm both smaller and weaker than anyone else here.
"Alright then. Sounds interesting." Crowley exclaims with a grin. "I'll help you out with that quickdraw style. We'll start with basic forms and defense, but I'm curious to see how it turns out. Assuming you don't go getting yourself killed, that is."
We spent the remainder of the time until the group got back and I had to start running hashing out the details of a training schedule.
All 14 of us will get 1 hour of one on one training with Crowley 3 days a week. The rest of our scheduled training is spent with a daily 9 hours of group training which includes mostly physical exercises and 3 hours of sparing. They are spaced out so that you will miss some of your sparring on the days that you have a personal session, though he warns that the sparring will be easier. Two days every week we will need to take a magic class, not to learn magic, but what types there are and how to counter and combat them.
Other than that, our time is our own. It's expected that we dedicate it to maintaining our health (eating, sleeping, and showering properly) and practicing our fighting styles. Wasting time unproductively will be met with punishment. Though he didn't specify what that punishment was.
For the spars, weapons will be replaced with wooden replicas to reduce the risk of fatal injuries, but once a month every trainee will be paired up with another for live combat. They will have a five-minute bout with real weapons where anything goes. The only way for the fight to be stopped before 5 minutes is if one of the competitors dies. If nobody is dead after the bout, they both simply return to training the next day. He didn't mention any rewards or penalties, but I highly doubt that we could get away with fighting with anything less than the intent to kill.
Regardless, for now, none of that matters. All that matters is that I sharpen my fangs as much as possible and grow strong enough to defend my life, no matter who I come up against.
"Begin!" The group instructor signals the start of my first spar.
In front of me is a 10-year-old boy with blonde hair and a large frame. He wasn't on the test.
He runs to me with no real stance or defense. He's wide open.
I swing my wooden sword once he enters my range. He's too tall for me to hit his throat, so I aim for his knee. Once it makes contact I know I've won.
"Oof!" What happened?!
The wind was knocked out of my lungs and I'm lying on my back. I scramble to my knees, but a heavy impact to my side puts me back down.
The boy is approaching me from above, there is a slight limp in his step, but he looks mostly unharmed. He looks more angry than anything else.
"Shitty little brat! That hurts!" He spits. "You're just a little shrimp, so lie there and take a beating like a good boy."
I sit up and try to get to my feet, but a knee to my face puts me right back down. Before I can shake myself out of a daze, he mounts me from the top and rains down fists. I try to buck him off but am met with a familiar problem. He's too much bigger than me. I'm too weak.
I give up on escape and focus all my attention on blocking his punches. If I can't escape, I need to minimize the damage.
When the punches finally slow down and he runs out of breath, I reach my hand out and do the only thing I can think of to get him off me. I grab between his legs and squeeze with all my might.
His yelp of pain proceeds the pressure on me being released. I scurry back to my feet, grabbing my weapon on the way up. Before he gets up from his crouched-over position, I unleash as many attacks on him as I can. I target his neck or his temples with each strike, stabbing instead of swinging for maximum damage.
After nearly ten solid hits, his arm swings out and he pushes me away. My arms are purple with bruises and my grip feels weak, so I am not sure how much damage I did, but I can see his head and neck beginning to bruise so I hope it was at least something.
"Stop!" The instructor's voice rings out over the training grounds, amplified by magic so everyone can hear. "The first bout is over. Rest before we assign you a new partner."
Can I last three hours of this?
The instructor said we would fight off and on every 10 minutes. Can I survive that long?
No! It's not about whether I can or cannot.
I will! I refuse not to.
I will not die.
I may be weak right now, but I will survive long enough to grow strong. I have to.
Draw. Strike. Sheathe. Draw. Strike. Sheathe.
Over and over again, I repeat the same motion. The blisters on my palm are open and bleeding, but I pay it no mind. Break them down enough and eventually, they will turn into calluses, growing strong and hard. That is exactly what I must do.
My body breaks down and I am faced with two choices: fall apart or grow stronger. And I will be strong.
Tomorrow is the first day of live combat fights. I will survive mine no matter what.
A young girl stands opposite me. I don't focus on her features, they don't matter. For the next five minutes, we will be trying our utmost to kill each other. I don't have the luxury of being able to think about anything else.
All four instructors stand watch, scattered about the field behind them are the trainees who were called out before us. None of the trainees were permitted to leave their rooms until their fight, so the fields are fairly empty. A few corpses have been pulled off to the side, waiting to be disposed of. A medical tent has been set up near the field.
Bloodstains cover the ground between us, some still wet. My eyes meet my opponent's and my hand wraps around the hilt of my blade. She takes a martial arts stance. Her knuckles look clean and uncalloused. Is she a grappler then?
"S301 versus Julia, begin." An instructor calls for us to start, I don't know which one.
I take a low stance, my weight placed heavily on my front, right leg. One hand on the hilt of my sword and the other on the sheath. I stand unmoving, prepared to lash out and strike at a moment's notice.
Slowly, she inches forward, strafing to the side as she does. I keep facing her as she gets steadily closer to my range. Finally, she dives in and I lash out.
I feel my blade sink into her flesh, but it's no good. When she dove in she turned so that my sword would hit her shoulder head-on, and her forward momentum killed the power of my strike. It's just a flesh wound that looks bad, there's no real damage!
Before I can retake some distance, she grabs two of my fingers and bends them back until they break and my sword falls from my grip. I manage to escape her grasp, but she kicks it away, out of the battle zone. With no other choice, I raise my fists and press the attack barehanded.
I land three punches, but they deal little damage with my limited strength. She parries the fourth away and tackles me to the ground, her territory. I keep my limbs tight to my body so she can't get a grip on any and move to counter everything she tries.
However, this is the area she excels at and when I try to get back to my feet, she works behind me and grabs a chokehold.
My hands slap at her lock and try to pry her fingers back as she did to me, but I can't get a grip on them. I kick and struggle but to no avail. My head pounds and my vision fades. I never wanted to feel this again. The feeling of my life draining away.
No, not yet! Not like this! I will not die! I'm a survivor damn it! A survivor!
My hands reach around behind me and find her face. I slide my thumbs into her eye sockets and squeeze for all I'm worth.
A cry of pain and she pulls away before I can crush her eyeballs. Air fills back into my lungs and the headache starts to recede.
"Enough, that was five minutes." A voice calls out, sounding quite fed up. "What a damned embarrassment that was." I look over and see Crowley approaching me with my sword in his hands. "Show me your left hand."
I don't understand why, but I know better than to question orders at this point. I reach out my uninjured hand and he runs my sword straight through the center of my palm.
Pain. Incredible pain rushes to my brain and I let out a shout before gritting my teeth and struggling to stay silent.
"Do you think this is a joke?" Crowley's pissed. "That you're just here to mess around? Since you let go of your sword so damn easy, I'll cripple your off-hand so it's not so easy to get away with that next time. This is a fight to the death brat, and if your opponent wasn't such a joke, you'd be dead."
He's right. If I were fighting any of the other test subjects, I would have died the moment I lost my weapon. No, I would have been dead the moment my first attack wasn't fatal.
"I guess I'll have to directly teach your body what happens when you fuck around because your brain doesn't get it." Crowley ends his sentence by pulling the sword out of my hand and kicking me to the ground.
What followed next was the most brutal beating of my life. I don't know how long it lasted, but as I faded in and out of consciousness over and over again, I could only endure it.
Never again, I told myself. I will never put my survival up to chance like that ever again.
A month later, my blade slashes through my opponent's neck on our first pass, seconds after the start was announced.
I stand on the field of battle for the last time of the year. Ever since the naivety was beaten out of me by Crowley, I put my everything into killing my opponents on the first strike and have done just that for the last ten live combat fights in a row. I now fully understand the importance of that first strike for someone with as many disadvantages as I have. It's the reason I chose this style in the first place.
Across from me is the only person left who I didn't want to fight. The axe-wielding boy from the test, S179.
There are only 3 fights today, and 6 trainees left. Everyone else has either died or awakened their magic like my bunkmate, S047, and begun working in the guild. Incidentally, she awakened with fire magic during last month's combat.
I shake the distractions out of my head and run through what I know about my opponent.
He's bigger than me by a lot and stronger than me by even more. This is normal, but the problem is he's faster than me as well. Couple that with a similar fighting style focused on one-strike kills, and it makes an opponent that I don't want to fight.
We've spared together a lot, and I've never won a single time. This is also normal though, as I rarely win my spars. Spars and deathmatches are much different after all.
I know what he will do, and he knows what I will do. In that case, the faster one should win. That's definitely what he's thinking, and normally he'd be right. However, no matter what, I have no intention of dying.
"S179 versus S301, begin."
I'm already in my stance and my opponent charges at me with his axe ready to hack down. When he enters my range and swings his axe down, I don't strike. Instead, shift to the right, just a bit, then attack.
His axe cleaves into my flesh deeper and deeper until it goes all the way through and hits the ground. His eyes widen and he chokes on his blood as his throat is slit by my quickdraw. He falls to the floor and lifeless eyes stare at my left arm, lying there alongside him.
"Damn it! What the hell are you doing?" Crowley quickly picks up my arm and ushers me to the medical tent. "Hey! Shitty medic!" He barges in. "Can you put this idiot's arm back on?"
The medic looks flustered at the sudden entrance, but he quickly regains his composure and looks between me and my arm.
"No way, I don't think even that woman, Porlyusica, could reattach a limb. Not when the cut is that ugly." He feels his hand around my wound while I grit my teeth. "He even cut off some of his collarbone, there's nothing I can do about that."
Crowley lets out a heavy sigh. "Welp, that's how it goes then. Sorry kid, you can only blame yourself. After all, what use is a broken weapon?"
What's he talking about?
I turn to look at Crowley and a sharp pain fills my chest. Crowley has run his saber straight through me. Straight through my heart.
"... But *cough* I… won…" I struggle to look up at his face, only to see that he's already turned to leave.
"That's just how it goes kid."
Collapsing in a heap on the ground, my world fades away.
Not like this! I can't die. I won't.
I crawl forwards, slowly dragging my body to who knows where. All I know is that I have to keep moving.
I'm a survivor. I will live longer than anyone else. That's what I promised.
If I can't do that, what did all those kids die for?
What kind of fate awaits the type of person who would kill so many children when judgment is passed on him?
My body goes cold and I don't get any more time to regret my pitiful second life. Darkness takes over.
I'm scared.
WRITTEN BY UPPER MOON'S EYE
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