Cyne stood outside the training yard of the New Belzan Security Force and watched the recruits with a scathing eye. It was a part-time occupation he picked up in between expeditions and hunts. His job was to whip up recruits into shape, it sounded easy enough in practice, but the job was proving to be much harder than he had originally expected.

Although the young men and women busy battling it out on the muddy yard were the best the city had to offer, they weren’t much to look at. Hopefully by the time he had run his course through them they’d be in tip-top condition.

“So how are they shaping up, instructor?”

Cyne turned to face the speaker. It was Captain Cerrol, the man in charge of all security matters in New Belzan. He was the one who had reached out to Cyne for the job. Although Cyne was hardly an expert swordsman, he was renowned locally and held the respect of the younger generation. So naturally, Cyne was the perfect candidate for bringing up a new generation of soldiers.

Cyne sighed, looking apologetic. “Looks like most of these kids have never held a sword or a rifle before, at least not in real combat,” he said. “They’re fit enough, but it’ll take a while for me to mold them into real fighters.”

The Captain looked a little disappointed, but he quickly wiped the disappointment away with a grin. “I think your little students are having a spat,” he noted, pointing to a pair of recruits locked in a heated debate.

The fight was between a stocky, balding man and a pale, albino girl. No, she wasn’t entirely human, her crimson eyes and snowy white hair gave it away. She was Icai. Cyne had only heard brief tidbits about their kind from Libra. A warrior race prioritizing strength above all else, they were fierce in personality and even fiercer in battle.

“You’re the instructor right, tell this alien bitch to get off our field,” the balding man spat, flailing his hands about wildly.

Cyne frowned. “Alien or not, as long as you can swing a sword half-decent, you’re in.”

“Well then, I’ll just have to make it so that she can’t swing her sword, right?” the bald man said with a wolfish grin.

Cyne’s frown grew even more severe. “I think you should sit out on this-”

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“You do not need to worry about my well-being,” the Icai said, unperturbed in the face of the bald man’s threats.

“Careful.” The Icai warned. “I will not hold back my blows. Take care not to let your guard drop, I would hate having to break your shoulder.”

The bald man shrugged. “Occupational hazard,” he said, swinging his practice blade at the Icai in a wide overhand blow.

She did not even attempt to block. She leaped out of the blade’s path, her practice blade pointing to the ground in an odd stance.

The bald man seemed to take it as a taunt and with a guttural grow he rushed forward, his blade swinging in wide, predictable arcs. The Icai did not falter or panic, instead she continued to let herself be pushed back, only parrying blows that seemed fatal.

It was as if she liked— no, relished the idea of being put on the defensive. Of having to scratch and claw her way to victory. She was dangerous. While she might’ve made a fine duelist, that was no mindset for a proper guard.

The bald man howled angrily, charging up his sword for a heavy blow to the side of her head. She ducked underneath his slash, waited for the momentum to carry him too far, and then raked her blade across his ribs.

“You little bitch!” he howled, stumbling to the floor. With labored breathing, the bald man struggled to his feet.

Cyne had set the practice swords to the highest possible setting. It didn’t have enough power to kill a man but it would still give the recruits a vague idea of an electro-sword’s bite.

The Icai woman gave a slight bow and offered the bald man a hand. He slapped her hand away and stormed off the yard, spewing all sorts of obscenities and hurling his borrowed sword to the muddy ground.

The bald man’s tantrum had put everyone else on edge but with a clap of Cyne’s hands, they quickly paired up and got back to the sparring. Cyne made his way through the yard, singling out the now partner-less Icai recruit.

She was an interesting person. Interesting enough for Cyne to be the one to make the first move. “Your name? I don’t think I caught it earlier,” he said, giving her an impressed smile.

“I thought it was common courtesy among your kind to give your own before you ask others.”

“Cyne.”

She stuck out her hand. “Handshake.”

Cyne shook it with a slightly bemused grin. She was an odd one for sure but something was charming about her overly formal awkwardness.

“Nice to meet you, Cyne. My name is Saga.”

“No surname?”

“My people do not give surnames to uninitiated such as myself.”

“So I guess we’re in the same boat.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.”

“You handled yourself pretty well in that fight,” Cyne said, picking up the bald man’s fallen sword. After wiping the mud off the grip, he raised it at Saga.

“Do you mind a spar?”