Soon after Walker 247’s fearful entry into the designated area, two more figures arrived. They were both of the Dagger Rank and their expressions immediately turned grim when they saw the pale figure of Arren standing near the crimson flag.
They both stared upon each other, hesitation evident in their gazes. Yet what was there to be done? Refuse to fight all together? Doing so would merely qualify them for ruthless reprimanding from the Record Keepers.
They sighed in their hearts and stepped forward. It was only now that their focus turned to a depressed looking Walker 247, who was situated on the farthest point of the designated area which was in the shape of a wide circle.
They sympathized with him and were about to approach him when they noticed that his depressed gaze turned even more dejected when shifting away from Walker 248. They followed this gaze and immediately their hearts jumped onto their throats.
“Is.. Is that the First Sword?!”
One exclaimed in shock. The other nodded grimly.
“It looks like we have terrible luck…”
Standing nearest to the arena wall with all the available armory was the imposing figure of the First Sword. That alone made them fall into despair, any glimpse of triumphing upon this test escaping from their minds.
Dagger 102 and Dagger 134 gained the same depressed look as Walker 247.
As the commotion throughout the arena gradually settled, soon each slave had arrived at their area. Only then did the figures cladded in gray robes approach them. The arrival of the Record Keepers signaled that the test would soon commence in earnest.
However, before it could, they would all be given the chance to adequately prepare. This was not a test of martial prowess alone after all, combat strength encompassed everything, even their mastery over the seven sword-art sword-styles.
Within the vast world there were naturally many means in which others used to strengthen themselves. The wielding of magic was such a means, using the many forms of Mana to obtain powerful abilities. However, magic did not strengthen the body in any significant way, that was the characteristic of harnessing one’s Auras.
Such was how the path of combat was first paved many ages ago. From it the art of the sword could be found, one which is divided into seven styles. Those are the Fire Sword-Style, Water Sword-Style, Wind Sword-Style, Earth Sword-Style, Binary Sword-Style, Artifice Sword-Style, and Iron-Body Sword-Style.
Each style focuses upon different principles which distinguish them. That is what each slave present spent years mastering within the second stage of the soldier role. Naturally they lacked the knowledge to wield their Auras and truly tap into the potential which they have sown. The Sounra Kingdom is not such a trusting entity, nor are they foolish. They would never allow such potential strength to be harnessed by those yet to truly be bound by true slave-crests.
“Prepare for the exercise!”
Suddenly the loud voices of different Record Keepers echoed throughout one after the other. Upon hearing their voices, none hesitated and all hastily made their way towards the assigned weaponry. Although every part of the wall had shelves hosting a multitude of weapons and armor, the slaves were all limited by their designated area.
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This meant that they felt urgency over the potential of having their preferred equipment be snatched away. Three out of the five in Arren’s group felt the same and they quickly ran forth towards the Arena’s wall. The only two which did not rush were Arren himself and of course the First Sword.
They calmly made their way over. The First Sword did not hesitate to walk towards the direction where the weapons hung, however Arren chose the opposite. He set his sight upon the different armors available to him.
Soon his lips curled.
My favorite type is here, how lucky.
Before him was a particular set of armor that he liked. Without hesitation he reached out and took hold of it. A minute had passed when he was finished donning it. Arren's whole body was now under a layer of thin padded black cloth armor. Beyond that he also hosted a chest plate, shoulder plates, greaves and a set of thin vambraces. They were all rust-colored and did not exert much weight on his body.
Arren nodded to himself, satisfied with his favorite set of armor. Arren was a practitioner of the Fire Sword-Style and Wind Sword-Style, as such he valued agility and speed. After all, the Fire Sword-Style believed in absolute offence, and speed blitzing others to land the first strike was a key part of its principles. A user of this style would never wait for the enemy to come to them, they would instead aim to strike hard and true. So deeply ingrained was this to the style that it lacked any defensive moves, a user must simply be fast enough to dodge incoming attacks or, ideally, end the fight in one devastating strike.
Naturally its lack of defense was what encouraged Arren to also master the Wind Sword-Style. The wind style centers around learning the dance of battle, one must enact quick strikes, and just as quick counters. Additionally it’s graceful nature leads to its teaching of single hand weapon mastery.
Both styles mix well when used skillfully, after all both encourage constant movement within the battlefield. It also allowed Arren to not always be the aggressor as the wind style did not rely on the wielder being the first to strike.
When he was done equipping his armor, he turned and walked steadily towards the weapons area. At the same time, the other three had finished upon that side and walked towards the armory area. Three figures ran hastily while one lagged behind.
Soon dark eyes met against crimson ones. The First Sword quickly examined what Arren wore then smirked.
“I advise heavier armor.”
He said amusedly, then continued on his way. Arren did not bother to respond. He arrived at the weapon’s section then after a few minutes of inspection, he took hold of a thin long-sword with a triangular design and simple cross guard.
He swung the weapon a few times then nodded to himself, satisfied with it.
Finally he was ready for the bloody clash to come. His crimson eyes then turned to watch the figure not too far from him. The First Sword’s lean muscular body was now wearing maroon undergarments which were complemented by heavy steel boots, thick gauntlets, and a sturdy chest plate. His abdomen, knee, elbows, and shoulders also had thick leather plates strapped to them, adding to the formidable defenses.
Like Arren, he did not choose to equip a helmet, perhaps finding it unnecessary. Strapped upon his back were two short swords comfortably waiting within their scabbards. Additionally his muscular hands held tightly two Warhammers.
The sight was truly frightening, made more so by the vicious glint of excitement which hung within his eyes. As if sensing his gaze, the First Sword turned towards Arren and their gazes clashed. One was cold yet calm while the other was exhilarated yet ferocious.
The First Sword raised one of his Warhammers to Arren as his lips curled.
“This is it Walker 248! Are you as excited to spill blood as I am?!”
The other three between the two shivered upon hearing that sharp voice, however Arren merely began stretching his neck casually.
“Hmm, I’m quite ready to spill yours, although I don’t exactly feel excited over it. Such a disgusting thing should be kept behind its ugly container.”
The First Sword chuckled sinisterly.
“The Record Keepers won’t let us fall before the final Battle-Grade Day, however I’m sure they won’t mind if I rip off that silver tongue of yours within this trial.”
The murderous air between the two was only rising. The two Daggers and Walker 247 felt so tense that they struggled to breathe. Each one of them had hidden behind a full set of all steel armor, furthermore they had shields equipped, yet the three had a sinking premonition that even such considerable defenses were inadequate.
Before the two tigers could unleash themselves, a figure in gray robes approached. The Record Keeper then ordered that they take their positions. The clash would finally commence.