Amelia stood across from a private named Normil and prepared to strike. Normil towered over her by more than a foot and must have weighed twice as much. Thinking about attacking someone with mana enhancement was unsettling. Before today, using mana to strengthen attacks against another recruit was strictly prohibited. There weren’t enough healers around to prevent serious injuries. When she took her first strike, it would be the first time she had ever used mana against another person.
She felt conflicted. Across from her, Normil had his eyes closed, and he was whispering to himself. She recognized some words from one of the popular prayers, one to give strength and resilience. She finished cycling, feeling her core full, and moved closer to the future shield. Her hand was wrapped around the hilt of her sword in a death grip that would betray her nerves to anyone watching.
Amelia closed her eyes and took a deep breath to settle herself. Growing up, she was taught to abhor violence and always seek an alternative way. The noble families of Agorath didn’t sink so low as to dirty their own hands. She followed the teachings like a good third daughter, right until the day her future was traded away like livestock. Amelia was to wed a man twice her age, a recent widower whose wife died under mysterious circumstances. Think of the benefit to the family! Her mother had exclaimed, do your duty! They all said.
Amelia begged her mother to reconsider. None in the family would budge. Family above all, they would say. She took her future in her own hands and left the family estate late one night. Hiding out in a bakery where she used her hobbyist knowledge to get an apprenticeship, she stayed for two weeks before a customer recognized her and sold her out to her family. They locked her up and made it clear she would follow through with the marriage, willingly or not. When an army recruiter came to visit her older brother, she saw her chance to get away. Instead of letting her brother know the recruiter was there, she spoke to him instead and secured her spot in a training camp.
The Agorran army was valued above all in the fledgling country. Even her family could do nothing to get to her once she was enlisted. All she had to do was pass her training and earn the rank of private. She would be free of them. Amelia had entered the army to get away. Now, though, she wanted to become a striker. She wanted it in a way she had wanted nothing before. To be part of an elite force where she could make her own decisions and garner the power to chart her own future appealed to her.
She circulated her mana to her sword arm and opened her eyes. When the signal to begin came, she leapt into action. She swept her sword across from right to left high, trying to bait the large man into raising his shield. He didn’t take the bait and blocked it with the top of his shield. A loud clang sounded as she pulled back and adjusted. Next strike went lower, and she circled around him, trying to use her speed to her advantage. Although she got behind him a few times, the big man's unexpected swiftness enabled him to block every hit. She backed off a pace and reset the fight. This was going to be a matter of endurance. She split her mana between her legs and sword arm and lashed back out, probing for weaknesses.
A minute that felt like an hour passed and both of them were showing signs of fatigue. Normil aggressively probed out with his sword. With her opening barrage of attacks, she was left with less than half of her mana and did not know how much he had left. She adjusted her footing in the dusty practice yard and kept probing his reaction speed. She grunted in frustration as he blocked three strikes in rapid succession despite her using her mana to speed herself up. Her eyes were drawn to a cloud of dust that was kicked up by his last quick turn and smiled to herself as she came up with a plan.
She dashed in for a quick stab and let herself get pushed out by his shield. Exaggerating the contact, she went to a knee and grabbed a fistful of dirt while she levered herself back up and threw it into the face of her opponent. He backpedaled, trying to clear his eyes, and she went on the offensive, layering blow after blow. He kept his shield up for the first few, but Amelia was able to slip around and score three hits across his shoulder, back and leg. She backed off to let him recover and turned to look for Captain Alton when something smashed into her head and everything went black.
Rico bounced back and forth on his heels as he waited for the signal to begin. His core was pulsing with mana, and he was circulating to both of his legs and arms. Rico wasn’t like many other recruits, he didn’t dream of growing up a soldier. He hadn’t wandered into a recruiting station in a peaceful village hoping for a different life, or some silly idea of serving his country. He had grown up on the streets of Agorath, an orphan from an early age. His life has known little kindness and plenty of loss. He felt no compunction about using mana against other recruits. He wanted to win, and he would.
Rico grew up begging and stealing for scraps until he had grown into a pleasant physique. The lady of a whore house noticed him and brought him in. He was too young then to know any better. Once they had their hooks in him, they gave him anything he wanted as long as he performed for the customers. At first it had seemed like he had been rescued. All he had to do was wear certain outfits on certain nights and dance. Sometimes they had let him pass out drinks and food to the customers in the lounge. It had been the best time in his life, warm food during the day and a warm bed at night.
Stolen story; please report.
That all changed when Rico turned fifteen and the ladies of the house began giving him sleeproot every night. The first night it happened, he woke up the next morning sore and bleeding. He cried to one of the ladies and begged her to explain what had happened, but she only held him and cried with him. After it happened a few more times, he got suspicious and waited for the next night he noticed the taste in his night time tea.
He stopped drinking the tea as soon as he tasted it and discreetly dumped it out of his bedroom window. He pretended to be asleep and waited to see what would happen. After an hour, he heard the matron of the house out in the hall talking with what sounded like a man. He gripped the sheets in his hand and listened as his door creaked open and one of the city guards that had always been friendly to Rico slipped in. The guard said a few words to see if he was awake, but Rico didn’t answer, still pretending to sleep. The guard moved over his bed and undressed as Rico’s heart began to race, and he panicked. When the guard went to pull Rico’s covers off, he sat up in a panic and scrambled away from him.
“He’s awake! You said you gave him the sleeproot!” The guard bellowed with rage at the Matron.
“I did! Look, the cup is empty! It builds a tolerance! Please don’t be angry, I didn’t know!” The matron pleaded. She threw herself at the guard, trying to placate him, her thin night dress slipping off her shoulders.
“Bah. I like them awake anyway. Get off me, you whore.” The guard said, an evil glimmer in his eyes.
All Rico remembered about what happened next was pain and confusion. The matron begged him to stop. Rico wasn’t sure if he begged or not. He remembered crying and then feeling nothing until a warmth spread through his chest. As he opened his eyes, he discovered a world bathed in gentle blue light. He had been scared, confused at first, as the blue light seemed to flow through him like water.
The ladies that ran the house found him the next morning, covered in blood and staring off at the wall. The bodies of the Matron and the guard lying on the floor, both strangled. They had made the best decision for themselves and their business and reported him to the guard. He was arrested and placed in a dark cell for days until one of the army recruiters came to him and gave him a chance to enlist or be hanged. He hadn’t fully processed that he even committed a crime and jumped at the chance to join the army. Hot food and a warm bed again, this time different strings attached. His goal was to become as powerful as possible. No one was going to hurt him like that again.
As soon as Captain Alton gave the signal, he whipped himself across the distance with his sword and hammered into the awaiting shield. Trading subtlety for raw aggression, he hammered the shield again and again. The shield user, Edress, slipped, trying to back away from the relentless swordsman, and Rico circulated his mana in full force to his arms and battered him down to his back. He tried futilely to block, but Rico simply tapped him three times on his leg and then walked back a dozen feet to wait for the sergeant to call the fight.
Alton watched as Rico crushed his opponent in a short amount of time. The shield has lost his nerve and slipped trying to retreat, a fatal mistake for a defender. He nodded to Rico and inclined his head toward the bleachers, which the young man understood, and took a seat. That one was impressive. He showed no hesitation in attacking and pressed his advantage without pause.
Alton turned to watch the fight with Amelia and watched her circle around, probing for a weakness. Her technique was strong, but she was hesitant to commit. He suspected she was alternating between circulating mana to her legs and her sword arm, but not all three. She was planning for a longer fight, hoping to outlast the defender.
He saw her go down from a shove that shouldn’t have moved her so far and smiled as he saw her grab a handful of dirt. The dusty, dry practice yard was a poor analogy for most of the terrain his team would fight in, but he would never begrudge someone for using the environment to their advantage. He watched on as she threw the dirt in the poor kid’s face and hammered away at him, scoring three hits. She held out her hand to help him up, but he slapped it away angrily. She shrugged and turned, walking toward the bleachers. When she turned her back, the kid jumped up with anger written all over his face. He grabbed his shield like a bludgeon and slammed it down on Amelia’s head.
Alton was there in less than a full second as he surged. He ripped the shield away from the private and threw it off to the side, punching the kid right in the jaw hard enough to break it. He looked down at the young private with disgust. Sore losers had no place in the special teams. His emotional profile was marked for being prone to anger. Alton shook his head and fished out a healing potion from his jacket pocket.
“Healer.” He shouted and knelt down towards Amelia. She was unconscious but breathing, hopefully no permanent damage had been done.
He checked in on the other two fights after the healer arrived. Miser and Nelson, the two shields, were still blocking the remaining two blades. Neither looked tired, while the blades were showing clear signs of fatigue. Alton waited another minute or two to give the blades a chance before he gave a loud whistle to end the bouts.
“Well done, everyone. Fighting someone of an even skill level can be an exhausting task, requiring you to dig deep and use the full breadth of your training and knowledge. Spend the rest of the day cycling and discharging your mana as you train. Sergeant Yuri will lead you through the rest of your training for today.” He watched Yuri take over and wandered off to find a nice, stiff drink.