Watching the trainee girl swing her axe at the boy's shield from my seat high in the stands, I wondered how much longer this farce would drag on.
Cadet 407, the boy, was calculated in his movements, carefully maintaining the distance between them while exploiting her glaring weaknesses. His strikes, though strategically placed, lacked the power to break through Cadet 55's robust defence. Still, he knew his limitations well, and the girl—so arrogantly confident in her strength—remained oblivious to the trap she was walking into.
At the edge of the arena, Cadet 55 roared, "This is the end!" She brought her axe crashing down, wedging it into the boy's shield. Triumph flickered in her eyes, but it vanished the moment she realized he was no longer behind the shield. A swift kick from Cadet 407 sent her tumbling out of the ring.
"Cadet 407! Victory!" the referee announced, much to the girl's chagrin. She punched the floor in frustration, her pride in shambles.
"Cadet 407! Will you continue or end here?"
"Continue!" he declared without hesitation.
"Very good!" The referee scanned the gathered trainees before pointing randomly. "Cadet 99! Step forward to the arena!"
Laughter erupted from behind me—a deep, resonant chuckle that carried a sharp edge. I felt the shadow's presence looming, its attention fixated on the spectacle.
"Child soldiers are always fun to watch, aren't they? All that training, yet they still have shit for brains," the shadow's voice crowed with a twisted enthusiasm.
The next bout commenced. Cadet 407 had only his spear now, while Cadet 99 donned a pair of thickly armoured gauntlets.
"Say, pisspot," the crow-like voice jabbed, demanding my attention. "I get why you taught the brat, but I'm surprised you didn't rope the others into helping. Did—"
"It was my idea," interrupted a gentler, sweeter voice from behind. "I asked him to do it alone. Our dreamer's been lost in the clouds lately. Oh, and you should've seen her earlier when she called him 'father.'"
"She what?!?" The crow burst into raucous laughter. "Ahahahaha! Why would any brat call him dad? That's rich! Oh, sparkle bug, I take it back—your ideas can be fun sometimes."
The gentler presence merely shrugged, then turned its focus to me. "Thank you for giving her that jacket for me. Will we stay until the trial ends?"
I watched as Cadet 407 claimed another victory, though he was visibly worn from the wounds Cadet 99 had inflicted.
Pondering the question, I finally answered. "We'll stay as long as you want. She's yours, after all."
"But what do you want?" the sweet voice pressed. "You didn't just train her physically. You helped shape her mind, too. And you spoil me whenever I ask for anything."
A grin tugged at my lips. "Can't deny that. Fine. We'll wait until the end."
The duels began with cadets stepping into the arena, most barely lasting two or three fights before retreating. It was a smart move—none of them knew the true purpose of this segment of the exam, only that it was the other half of their knighthood trials.
The tension shifted noticeably when two single-digit cadets faced off, Cadet 9 and Cadet 7. Their clash immediately set them apart. The air rippled with their spiritual energy, a spectacle that left the audience in awe and brought a grin to Major-General Tatelov's face.
These weren't just ordinary cadets. Despite their age, the sheer force of their attacks could challenge the Empire's infantry guard and hold their own. It was raw potential—unpolished but undeniable.
The match ended with Cadet 7 claiming victory, but he was visibly drained. He managed to win five more bouts before succumbing to exhaustion in his sixth. His opponent was Cadet 10, the first of the AKPs to step into the arena. Wielding a halberd, Cadet 10, known by the codename Zero, dispatched the weary Cadet 7 with chilling efficiency.
That's Zero, isn't it? I thought, observing his calm, methodical movements. Compared to most, he's nearly on Firefly's level. No, maybe even beyond...
Zero's momentum was unstoppable. He called for challengers one after another, breaking the previous record with nine consecutive victories. Among his opponents were four other male AKPs ranked in the twenties, each falling under the crushing weight of his halberd.
After his ninth victory, Zero stood tall, not a bead of sweat betraying his exertion. Then, with calculated precision, he turned and pointed the blunted tip of his halberd toward Cadet 1, Samuel.
"I challenge you," Zero declared, his voice like steel.
Samuel stepped forward without hesitation. Armed with twin shields bearing razor-edged blades, he tilted his head and asked, "You sure you don't want a breather first?"
"Shut it," Zero snapped.
The two began circling each other, tigers preparing to pounce. The arena seemed to hold its breath. Watching them, I felt an uncanny familiarity. Somewhere deep in my memories, the crow and the gentle presence stirred within me, leaning closer in fascination.
The fight began with an explosion of spiritual energy that rippled through the arena, stirring the air and sending waves of power that rustled even my coat. Their strikes were monstrous, a testament to strength far beyond their years. Samuel used his shields as gauntlets, forcing himself into Zero's range, cutting into him with every move. Zero retaliated with devastating swings, each blow testing the limits of Samuel's defences.
A vicious kick from Zero sent Samuel skidding back, giving him a brief window to unleash a thrust aimed directly at Samuel's chest. The force of the halberd's impact drove Samuel to his knees, but he gritted his teeth through the pain. Instead of retreating, he surged forward, charging his fist with spirit energy and slamming it into Zero's chest.
The effect was instantaneous. The vibrational energy disrupted Zero's blood flow, triggering a stroke-like reaction. Zero collapsed, unconscious before hitting the ground.
"Wow," the crow voice murmured. "How'd the brat figure out a frequency launch?"
"Samuel's ranked first for more than his combat skills," the gentle voice replied. "Still, it's impressive. Not even seasoned pilots can achieve that precision. Judging by the instructors' expressions, only Tatelov realizes what just happened."
Tatelov ordered medics to retrieve Zero as Samuel stood victorious, albeit clutching his chest in apparent pain. "Referee, continue the exam," he commanded.
Samuel smirked as the referee turned to him. "Pick your next opponent."
Scanning the crowd, Samuel's gaze fixed on a lone figure. His hand stopped trembling as he pointed to her. "Cadet 903, Firefly. I challenge you."
The crowd erupted in murmurs. Confusion and disbelief swept through the cadets.
"What's the point of that?"
"Why challenge the failure?"
"This is just bullying."
From the shadows, Firefly emerged, walking calmly down the stairs. When asked her weapon of choice, she requested dual swords. The instructor handed them over, and she took her place across from Samuel, her grip firm, her gaze unyielding.
Samuel grinned. "Time to show them you've changed, huh?" he whispered as she passed. Firefly responded with a faint smile.
The fight began, and the arena gasped as Firefly deflected Samuel's initial strike. Countering with precision, she forced him back with a knee to the face. Samuel retaliated with a grazing kick, but it was clear—Firefly was holding her own.
Here's a revised and enhanced version of the passage, with improved flow, richer descriptions, and a more immersive narrative:
Many were stunned—not just by Firefly's speed, but by the fact that she could hold her ground against the top-ranked cadet. Whispers and mutterings rippled through the crowd, and soon enough, curious eyes turned toward me.
"How'd he turn a failure into such a talent?" sneered a girl nearby, her voice dripping with venom.
I didn't bother answering. I only grinned, reclining in my seat as the fight continued. Inside, I could feel silent cheers from the two presences in the back of my mind. They were as captivated as I was. To the untrained eye, the fight seemed evenly matched, but Firefly was steadily forcing Samuel onto the defensive.
Without hesitation, she pressed on, her twin blades relentless. Each strike chipped away at Samuel's control, her movements brutally efficient. She slipped beneath his guard, slicing the straps of his left-arm shield, sending it clattering to the floor. Desperation flashed in Samuel's eyes. He lunged, catching Firefly's arm and twisting it, forcing her to drop one of her swords.
It wasn't enough.
Firefly answered his grapple with a headbutt, the dull crack echoing across the arena. Samuel stumbled back, clutching his forehead. Firefly dipped, retrieving her fallen sword in one smooth motion before kicking his discarded shield off the stage with deliberate defiance.
Samuel coughed, removing his hand from his bruised forehead. He watched Firefly carefully, his chest rising and falling as if he were measuring her next move. But just as she stepped forward to press her advantage, he raised both hands.
"I forfeit," he said.
Firefly blinked, lowering her twin swords to her sides. "What?" she asked, her tone sharp with disbelief.
Even the referee hesitated, clearly puzzled. "Do you have a reason for forfeiting?" he asked, looking Samuel over. The cadet's injuries were minor at best, with the headbutt being the worst he'd taken.
"Internal injury," Samuel said smoothly, gesturing vaguely at his chest. "Zero got me earlier. Might've cracked something." He coughed, selling the act.
Major-General Tatelov sighed and waved his hand, dismissing the inquiry. "Let him go. Referee, proceed."
The referee nodded. "Cadet 903! Victory! Select your next challenger."
As Samuel walked off the stage, he passed Firefly, who glared at him with a mix of frustration and disappointment. "Next time, I hope you won't leave like this," she muttered.
Samuel smirked. "What? The goal is to impress, not exhaust yourself." He swaggered toward the medic with a limp in his step. Despite the pain etched in his movements, I caught the hint of satisfaction in his expression. He was proud of himself—not for the fight, but for whatever quiet statement he'd just made.
Firefly, however, wasted no time. Her eyes locked onto Cadet 73, a sneering girl from earlier. "Cadet 73," she called, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "Get up here."
The blood drained from Cadet 73's face. She glanced frantically at the cadets around her, but her comrades—her supposed sisters—averted their gazes. Even they weren't willing to intervene.
"You all..." Cadet 73 hissed under her breath, betrayed and abandoned.
"Cadet 73! Step onto the arena!" the referee barked. Reluctantly, she obeyed, clutching her ring blade like a lifeline. Her hands trembled as she faced Firefly, whose cold, predatory stare pinned her in place. The frustration from her previous match boiled over in her posture, a sharp edge of bloodlust radiating from her.
"Cadets ready?" the referee asked.
Firefly gave a curt nod. Cadet 73 hesitated, then followed suit, her movements slow and unsteady.
"Begin!"
The fight lasted barely two seconds. Firefly closed the distance in a blur, wrenching the ring blade from Cadet 73's grip and driving a kick deep into her stomach. The impact sent Cadet 73 sprawling onto the concrete floor. Before she could even cry out, Firefly stabbed her sword through the girl's palm, pinning her hand to the ground.
"Ahhh!" Cadet 73 screamed, tears streaming down her face.
Firefly leaned in, her foot pressing mercilessly into her opponent's gut. "Give up," she growled.
"I give up! I give up! I'm sorry!" Cadet 73 wailed, her voice cracking.
Satisfied, Firefly yanked her sword free, ignoring the fresh spray of blood as she turned to face the crowd. Her eyes sought her next target. "Cadet 12. You're next."
The arena was silent, save for the occasional murmur of disbelief. One by one, Firefly dismantled her opponents with cold precision, her strikes brutal and deliberate. She targeted her four AKP sisters first, making each one cry in defeat, then moved on to others she clearly held grudges against. By her ninth victory, she had reduced nearly a dozen cadets to trembling wrecks.
"Cadet 903, do you wish to continue?" the referee asked.
Firefly sheathed her blades, her expression neutral. "I give up," she said, her voice devoid of emotion.
A collective sigh of relief swept through the cadets. Their nightmare was over—for now.
As I rose from my seat, Firefly's gaze found mine. She waved, her lips curving into a bittersweet smile. I returned the gesture with a two-fingered salute before leaving the hall, shadows and trailing light following in my wake.