No need to confuse things in the military, as the weapons training bouts would be done the same way as the hand-to-hand evaluations. It would begin with an in-squad round robin, then move to matchups against another recruit who had performed similarly. All squads had been assigned randomly at the start of the week. They would all be reassigned based on their performance when they completed their training anyways, so Rane didn’t know all their names by heart, but he knew the one in front of him well. Across the ring denoted by a shallow trench stood Ben, the man who fancied himself captain of their squad. Things like that weren’t decided yet, but the man was skilled enough to back it up. His father was a career military man, so he was familiar with all the basic skills he would need as a soldier. It bitterly reminded Rane of yet another thing he lacked, something he would have had if he were simply… luckier.

Trying to lighten the mood a bit, Rane spoke at the cry of the tally to begin the bout, “Hey, Ben, I would say ‘may ambient surround you,’ but I think I actually want to do well, and I need all the help I can get, so do you know any good curses?”

“May ambient abandon you in life, such as it will in death,” Ben responded as he lunged forward. He had gone with a longer greatsword that he wielded with both hands, keeping it moving with wide, flowing arcs that could never be considered slow, even if they were not nimble.

Rane’s chosen weapon was a spear only a bit shorter than himself. He took a careful step back to avoid the first arc of the weighted wooden blade, taking a quick, probing stab forward with his spear that was a bit too ambitious. Rane wasn’t incredibly familiar with its reach, and the failed strike was deflected ruthlessly as Ben brought his weapon back around in another arc that nearly ripped the spear from his hands. Rane took a quick step backwards, pulling in his spear closer to his body, preparing for the next arc of the blade.

It never came. Ben had actually lost his balance after striking the spear, sending the weapon’s tip into the densely packed dirt. He balanced on that for a moment before pulling the blade back closer to his body, placing his right hand above the crossguard.

“Ah, ambient favors me today, hehe,” chuckled Rane.

Ben’s face flashed a bit before posturing forward, focusing noticeably more than before. He was currently ranked at the top of their randomly assigned squad, and likely within the top 10 at the camp. It was only the first week, so there were still some undefeated recruits.

Ben charged forward again, swinging a wide arc that he reeled in at the last moment, choking up on the weapon to get closer and faster with jabs rather than cuts. Rane stepped back and thrusted his spear forward, but the tip was slapped aside easily. Ben stepped into the open space and the blunted tip of his greatsword found itself pressed into a rib in front of his right lung.

Rane fell to the ground attempting to breathe but unable to take a breath. He rolled face down and pulled his knees in. It had only been seconds, but time seems to move a bit slower when one finds themselves unable to breathe.

“Get up!” yelled the tally that had begun their fight. “We have another 4 rounds here in the next thirty minutes.”

Rane looked at the man with panic in his eyes and opened his mouth as if to speak. It was then he caught his breath, producing an odd gurgling noise as he inhaled and vocalized at the same time.

“Yessi–,” Rane erupted into a fit of coughing, each racking breath throwing a bit more blood onto the gray dust as he fell back down to one knee.

“Don’t reach for things you can’t get,” said Ben, looking down on him from above, indifferent to the red stains Rane had placed on his boots.

“Ugh, Dreg Ben, get him off and fetch Specialist Orin,” said the tally.

Ben grabbed him by the boot, tucking it under his arm to drag him outside the circle. Rane’s head bounced up and down a few times as he was dragged over the arena’s barrier. That wasn’t as much of a concern to him as the fact that each breath was itchy, causing a shallow cough that felt like needles in his chest being pushed up his throat. Each needle push brought with it another fine spray of red flecks, ceremoniously decorating his exit from the ring with bright red flecks. The thought brought a wry smile to his face.

“What are you smiling about, street rat? I know what part of town you’re from. I’ll go get the specialist when I feel like it,” declared Ben. “They should put you in the porter corp from the start.” He walked away with a performative swagger that betrayed his age. Mentally, Rane had been referring to him as a man, but he wasn’t. He was older, sure, but by no more than a few years. He wasn’t a grizzled veteran whose experience couldn’t be matched, nor a height whose peak couldn’t be reached.

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Rane still felt irritated. He was not unfamiliar with what the people of Auryck thought of the Southeast district, but it remained frustrating nonetheless. He wasn’t even from Auryck. That wouldn’t matter much, however, as much of the Southeast district would be composed of people ‘not from Auryck.’ Refugees and fallen opportunity seekers were no strangers to the seedy district. He and his own mother could fall into either of those categories. If one looked hard enough under the hoods and cowls of every vendor in every ally, you could even find some demis tucked away. Axtls, mostly, and from what he knew, they weren’t even real axtls. Real axtls were supposedly giant, but all the ones he remembered seeing in Auryck were dead, and much closer physically to himself than someone like Staal. He’d heard that axtls born too small were left for dead. What a barbaric society.

He didn’t know how long it had been, but a couple more matches played out while he was waiting. Ben didn’t injure anyone else. He gave some the opportunity to yield, or just knocked them out of the ring. Puddles fought a bout in this ring as well. He was not nearly as gifted with weapons as he was with his body, and despite electing to use the same two handed zweihander as Ben, he did not move it with the speed nor grace of the other boy. Rane had been watching, a bit of envy growing in him until he saw his new friend lose handily to one of Ben’s lackeys. Surely everyone couldn’t be bigger, stronger, and more talented than himself. He knew he should have wished the best for his newfound friend, but the large boy’s shortcomings brought him some small comfort as he lay there, wheezing against a rock well outside the ring. The specialist had to be on his way eventually, right?

Rane was right, and Specialist Orin came around shortly. It didn’t seem that Ben had gone to get him at all, and that the man was just on a normal stroll, as was part of his job. Injuries were not uncommon in weapons training. He noticed Rane and began to walk towards him. The ambient shifted as he grew a bit closer. A shiver went down his spine, reminding him of the pain in his chest while it was at it. His area of direct control was not as large as the tally, but Rane knew. The specialist was significantly stronger - brazient class.

Despite the heavy atmosphere caused by his very presence, the man had a smile on his face as he approached.

“What seems to be your ailment, young man?”

Rane attempted to respond, but only let out a short cough that put a viscous mix of blood and saliva dribbling down his chin. It would have been quite embarrassing if he weren’t in too much pain to really care.

“Ah, it hurts to speak?” Rane nodded. “Well, don’t do that,” the specialist responded, clearly finding himself more entertained than his patient.

“Hold still,” he said as he knelt down, placing a hand firmly on his chest.

Rane winced a bit from the pain, but remained largely unmoving, the presence of the man helping to give his mind compelling reasons to force his body into submission.

Specialist Orin frowned a bit, “Still your ambient too. This is easier when you aren’t conscious.”

Rane didn’t know how to ‘still’ his ambient. What level of control did one need to even do that? Did he mean to slow it down, move it predictably, or try and coalesce it all to one place? Rane didn’t know, and in his confusion, did nothing.

“Ok, sorry dreg, you are going to experience some discomfort.,” the specialist said as he took a deep breath and tensed his hand.

In the next instance, Rane felt his connection with the ambient outside his body cut off. It was painless, but like losing a limb, being in a dark room, and losing the ability to breathe all at once. Unfortunately, that was just the beginning. At that point, he still vividly felt the ambient within him swirling about, giving him constant unconscious feedback about himself. Before, he knew that one of his ribs was scraping against his lung. He knew that the pain in his legs and arms was nothing serious, that there was nothing out of place. Then suddenly, he knew… nothing.

The hand on his chest may as well have been clasped around his throat, strangling him. Its weight could have been tons. There was worse still to come. Now, ambient began to move around his chest, burrowing around, probing, shifting, and poking around. Yes, ‘discomfort’ was an appropriate word for this sensation, but it did not come close to expressing the extent and form of such discomfort. Previously, he was aware of things, felt things. Then he did not. His life was in the hands of Specialist Orin. He could simply stop his heart, if he so wished. Rane knew it.

Then, he felt his ribs move back into place, the small fissure in them mending together quickly, as if there were glue running through the cracks and hardening immediately. He felt as the scrape on his lung filled with blood, then congealed, then faded away, leaving him… intact. Rane lacked the medical knowledge to truly understand what had been done to him, and wasn’t close to the degree of control needed to perform such a task himself.

Rane felt sensation flood back into himself, then back out into the world. He tried to stand, but the return of his sense for ambient was like a blinding light and a deafening ring. He fell off the rock, only succeeded in sliding himself back about a meter from the specialist, who, in Rane’s mind, had grown horns and sharp canines.

“Hmm, no ‘thank you?’ Dregs are so unappreciative,” remarked Specialist Orin.

“Take care of yourself,” he said as he sighed and walked away.

Rane would try. Rane would try desperately to take care of himself.