The first team stepped into the ring, four nervous faces locking onto Instructor Blade.
They spread out, boots crunching against the dirt. Their shoulders were stiff, their movements uneven — no rhythm, no trust. Just four students thrown together, desperately trying to look like a unit.
Two edged toward the front, raising their fists like they'd seen fighters do in training manuals. The other two flanked wide, circling Blade's sides. A crude formation. Predictable.
Blade stood calmly at the center, his arms relaxed at his sides. His eyes narrowed in faint amusement, like a wolf watching lambs try to circle it.
One heartbeat. Two.
Then the students moved.
They lunged all at once — a messy rush of fists and kicks, their timing just barely aligned. The air cracked with their shouts, but their strikes never landed.
Blade's body blurred.
A step. A twist. A sweep of his leg.
In the blink of an eye, the first two were airborne, hitting the ground with a dull thud, dust rising around their crumpled bodies.
The other two didn't even have time to panic before Blade's open palms slammed into their chests, sending them stumbling back like ragdolls. One collapsed, coughing. The other hit the edge of the drawn circle and slid across the dirt, groaning.
It had taken less than three seconds.
Blade brushed the dust off his hands and sneered.
"Pathetic."
The students groaned where they landed, and the rest of the class watched in silence.
They had underestimated him.
And now, they knew exactly what kind of monster they were standing against.
---
The first team's bodies were dragged out of the circle, groaning in pain. Blade didn't even give them a second glance.
He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and looked at the rest of us.
"Next."
The second team stepped forward. They looked sharper than the first — at least their stances weren't completely laughable. Their awakened member, a tall boy with spiked hair, barked orders and the others followed quickly, trying to form a tighter square around Blade.
For a moment, they almost looked like a team.
Then Blade moved.
A blur.
A strike.
A kick to the gut so fast the awakened leader's eyes barely had time to widen before he crumpled.
The formation shattered instantly. The other three panicked, throwing desperate punches and kicks. Blade didn't even block. He slipped past them, weaving through their strikes with frightening ease.
Then—THUD. THUD. THUD.
Three precise counters. Elbows. Knees. Shoulders.
All three were on the floor before their leader even hit the dirt.
Blade didn't smirk this time. His expression was colder, sharper.
"You think shouting orders makes you a fighter? Don't insult me."
---
The third team tried next. They didn't rush blindly like the others. Instead, they circled Blade carefully, waiting for an opening, moving in sync.
Isaac's lips twitched into something close to amusement.
"Finally. Some kids with brains."
But even brains weren't enough.
The first strike came from behind — a faint distraction. The second and third followed at his flanks. For half a second, it looked like they'd trap him.
But Blade stepped into the attack, catching one student's wrist mid-swing. He used the boy's momentum to hurl him into his teammate, then pivoted, grabbing the third by the collar and slamming him into the dirt.
Only one remained, trembling, fists up.
Blade didn't even move toward him. He just looked — a predator's stare.
The student's courage broke. He dropped his fists and stepped back out of the circle.
Blade scoffed.
"Pathetic."
---
By the time the fourth and fifth teams tried, the result was already decided. Each attempt ended the same: bodies sprawled on the dirt, students groaning, Blade untouched.
He stood in the center of that chalked circle, breathing steady, not a bead of sweat on him.
The crowd around the training ground was silent now. Nervous.
This wasn't training.
This was slaughter.
---
From the sidelines, Isaac chuckled under his breath, the sound low and unnerving.
"Guess it's almost our turn."
His teammates glanced at him nervously — Ren tense, Trish unreadable, Arnold swallowing hard.
Isaac's eyes, however, were locked on Blade.
And that dangerous smile was creeping back onto his lips.