Finn stepped forward with predatory grace, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck with practiced ease. His restless hands moved to his daggers, drawing two of them with fluid precision. The blades gleamed wickedly in the sunlight—sharp, deadly, perfectly balanced tools of death.
"Nothing personal, new guy," Finn said, his voice carrying a slight rasp like old leather. "Just following Captain's orders. Standard initiation ritual." His brown eyes tracked Magnus's every micro-movement with professional intensity. "Try not to get hurt too badly. Healers are expensive, and the Captain gets cranky when rookies break before they're useful."
Magnus said nothing, settling into a loose stance with his practice swords held in deceptively casual grips. To an untrained eye, he looked relaxed, almost careless. But his crimson eyes were laser-focused, tracking every micro-expression on Finn's face, every subtle shift of weight, every tell that betrayed intention before action.
"Begin!" Darius called out sharply.
Finn moved first, exploding forward with impressive speed. He darted to Magnus's left, daggers flashing in a quick combination—high-low-high, textbook assassination technique designed to force defensive commitment and create openings.
Magnus sidestepped smoothly, his Phantom Lotus Steps carrying him out of range with minimal effort. Finn's daggers cut through empty air where Magnus had been a heartbeat before.
Fast, Magnus noted with professional appreciation. Excellent footwork, impressive knife control and technique. But predictable in pattern. He's testing me first, probing for weaknesses, not committing to genuine killing strikes yet.
Finn circled like a hunting cat, movements fluid and controlled. Then he feinted right with obvious telegraphing and lunged left with both daggers aimed precisely at Magnus's floating ribs.
Magnus parried the first dagger with his left sword, redirecting it skillfully. The second dagger came immediately—Finn was excellent at chain attacks and combinations—but Magnus had already moved inside Finn's extended guard.
Too close for daggers now. His primary advantage is completely negated.
Magnus's elbow struck Finn's solar plexus—a precise, controlled hit that drove the air explosively from his lungs. Finn gasped, stumbling backward, but he recovered with impressive speed, throwing one of his daggers at Magnus's face in desperation.
Magnus tilted his head with minimal movement. The dagger whistled past his ear, close enough to feel the wind of its passing.
"Shadowmire Binding!" Magnus's shadow aura pulsed with dark energy, and writhing tendrils erupted from the ground like living serpents, wrapping around Finn's ankles with crushing force.
Finn's eyes widened in genuine shock. He tried to move, to escape, but the shadows held him completely immobile. "What the—"
Magnus's practice sword touched Finn's throat with gentle precision, the wooden blade pressing against vulnerable skin.
"First blood would be mine," Magnus said quietly, voice devoid of emotion. "Do you yield?"
Finn stared at him for a long moment, surprise and dawning respect warring across his sharp features. Then he laughed—a genuine, surprised sound that echoed across the training ground. "Well, damn. Didn't see that coming at all. Yeah, I yield." The shadows released him instantly, and he stepped back, rubbing his throat thoughtfully. "That shadow technique is absolutely nasty, mate. Completely silent, no warning, perfect binding. Didn't even sense it forming."
"One down," Darius said, though his expression showed more interest than disappointment. His military mind was clearly reassessing. "Sera, you're up. Show him what real sword work looks like."
Sera stepped forward with mechanical precision, drawing her twin short swords in one perfectly fluid motion. Unlike Finn's loose, improvisational fighting style, everything about Sera was precise, controlled, textbook perfect. Her stance was flawless, her grip exactly correct, her eyes cold and analytically sharp.
"I won't underestimate you like Finn did," Sera said, her voice calm and completely professional. "I observed your technique carefully. I know you're genuinely dangerous."
Magnus inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the respectful assessment. "Then this should be properly interesting."
"Begin!"
Sera attacked immediately with military precision, her twin swords moving in perfect synchronization. High-low, left-right, thrust-slash—her combinations were textbook perfect examples, each move flowing seamlessly into the next with machine-like efficiency and timing.
Magnus defended, his practice swords meeting hers with controlled precision. Clang. Clang. Clang. The rhythmic sound of wood striking steel rang across the training ground like a deadly song.
She's exceptionally good, Magnus thought, his analytical mind breaking down her patterns. High-level military training, probably served as a swordsmanship instructor. Perfect form, zero wasted movement, excellent technique. But perfect form becomes predictable to experienced eyes. She's following the manual exactly.
Sera pressed her advantage relentlessly, driving Magnus backward with combinations that would overwhelm most opponents. Her green eyes never left his, reading his defenses constantly, searching for openings with professional dedication.
Then she feinted high with obvious telegraph and went low, her blade sweeping precisely toward Magnus's leading leg—
Magnus wasn't there. His Phantom Lotus Steps carried him smoothly to her right, completely outside her effective sword range.
Sera pivoted immediately with impressive speed, adjusting her stance, but Magnus was already moving with purpose. He struck at her wrists—not hard, just enough controlled force to make her grip falter momentarily. Her left sword dipped slightly, balance compromised.
That microscopic opening was all he needed.
Magnus's practice sword slipped past her guard like water and touched her shoulder with gentle precision. "First blood," he said simply.
Sera froze completely, then looked down at where his blade rested against her uniform. A real sword would have opened a significant wound. She'd lost cleanly.
"Well fought," she said, no emotion coloring her professional voice. She sheathed her swords with practiced efficiency and stepped back. "You're significantly faster than you appear. And that movement technique is remarkably impressive—some kind of advanced footwork?"
"Something like that," Magnus said vaguely.
"Two down," Darius said, and now genuine interest clearly showed in his expression. His blue eyes studied Magnus with new intensity. "Marcus, show him what proper magic can accomplish."
Marcus stepped forward nervously, staff clutched so tightly his knuckles showed white. His grey-blue eyes were wide, and Magnus could clearly see his hands trembling with obvious anxiety.
"Um," Marcus said, his voice cracking slightly with stress. "I should mention that my combat spells are... well, they're not exactly perfectly non-lethal in nature. I mean, I can certainly try to hold back power, but magic is inherently—"
"Just do your absolute best," Darius said firmly, cutting off the rambling. "Caldryn can handle whatever you throw. He's proven tougher than he looks."
Marcus swallowed hard, visible Adam's apple bobbing, and began chanting. His staff glowed with gathering arcane energy, runes along the ancient wood flaring to brilliant life.
Magnus waited patiently, watching the spell form with professional interest. He could see the magical energy gathering in visible patterns, could feel the building pressure of accumulated power.
Binding spell, he assessed quickly. Smart tactical choice. Immobilize the target safely, then finish them without risk. Good combat thinking for a mage.
"Chains of Light!" Marcus's staff slammed dramatically into the ground, and brilliant golden chains erupted from solid stone, reaching for Magnus with supernatural speed.
Magnus moved immediately, his Phantom Lotus Steps carrying him in an unpredictable zigzag pattern. The magical chains followed his movement, but they were too slow, always tracking his previous positions rather than predicting his next location.
Inexperienced in real combat, Magnus noted. He's casting based on where I currently am, not anticipating where I'm going next. Common mistake for young mages.
Magnus closed the distance rapidly with explosive speed. Marcus's eyes widened in panic, and he began desperately chanting a different, more aggressive spell—
Magnus's practice sword touched his throat before he could complete even three words.
"Yield?" Magnus asked gently.
Marcus's spell fizzled out completely, magical energy dissipating harmlessly. "Y-yeah. I yield immediately." He looked genuinely embarrassed, face flushing red. "Sorry. I'm really not very good at actual combat casting yet. In a proper battlefield situation, I'd have significantly more time to prepare proper defenses."
"You're fine," Magnus said reassuringly, stepping back. "Your spell was extremely well-formed and powerful. You just need considerably more practice reading opponents' actual movements and predicting patterns."
Marcus nodded gratefully, visible relief flooding his young features.
"Three down," Darius said, genuine respect now coloring his authoritative voice. He looked at Brutus with a slight smile. "Your turn, big man. Let's see if raw size and power matters against speed."
Brutus stepped forward with ground-shaking weight, and the training ground literally trembled beneath his massive boots. He hefted his enormous warhammer onto his shoulder with casual ease, the weapon looking almost toy-like in his gigantic hands.
"No hard feelings, little man," Brutus rumbled, his surprisingly deep voice friendly despite the violent situation. "But Captain says to test you thoroughly, so I test you properly. You are quick and clever, yes? Very good qualities. I am..." He grinned, showing surprisingly white teeth. "I am not quick or clever. But I hit extremely hard."
Magnus studied Brutus with careful attention, his assassin's instincts screaming warnings. The big man was genuinely dangerous—one solid hit from that massive warhammer would end the fight immediately, training weapons or not. Broken bones, concussion, possibly death. But he was huge, slow, an easy target.
Or is he? Magnus's finely-tuned instincts warned him strongly. He's too relaxed, too confident. He's fought countless speed-based fighters before. He has a well-developed strategy.
"Begin!"
Brutus charged—and he was significantly faster than Magnus expected. Not graceful or elegant, but he covered ground with shocking speed, the massive warhammer swinging in a devastating, bone-crushing arc.
Magnus dodged, the hammer whistling past his head. The wind from its passage was strong enough to ruffle his hair violently.
BOOM. The hammer struck the ground where Magnus had stood, and the stone completely shattered, a crater forming from the catastrophic impact.
Gods above, that raw strength is terrifying.
Magnus darted in quickly, trying to strike while Brutus was recovering from the massive swing—
But Brutus let go of the hammer with one hand and backhanded Magnus with frightening speed.
It wasn't a full-force hit, just a sweeping blow, but it caught Magnus solidly in his still-healing ribs and sent him stumbling backward. Pain exploded through his chest, white-hot and intense.
He's using the hammer's recovery time to create perfect openings for hand strikes, Magnus realized with grudging respect. Brilliant tactics. He's fought countless agile opponents before and learned exactly how to counter speed.
Brutus pulled his hammer back and swung again with devastating force, then again, creating a relentless pattern of attacks that forced Magnus to keep moving constantly, never able to close in safely without massive risk.
Magnus's breathing grew labored quickly. His injuries were definitely slowing him down, and Brutus seemed absolutely tireless, a machine of destruction.
Need to change tactics immediately. Can't win through pure speed alone against this strategy.
"Shadowmire Binding!"
Dark tendrils erupted explosively from the ground, wrapping around Brutus's massive legs and torso with crushing force. The giant man grunted, his forward momentum completely halted.
"Hah! Shadow trick again!" Brutus flexed, his enormous muscles bulging grotesquely—and the shadow tendrils actually began to tear and fray under the strain.
He's physically strong enough to break through my qi technique, Magnus realized with genuine shock. His raw physical strength is literally overwhelming my shadow manipulation.
But the tendrils held long enough. Magnus closed in with explosive speed, his practice sword aimed precisely at Brutus's exposed neck—
Brutus dropped his hammer and grabbed Magnus's wrist with frightening speed. His grip was like solid iron, completely unbreakable.
"Got you, little man," Brutus said, grinning triumphantly.
Magnus tried desperately to pull free, but it was utterly useless. Brutus's strength was simply overwhelming, inhuman.
Then Magnus smiled despite the situation. "Did you really?"
His free hand came up with precise speed, fingers striking pressure points along Brutus's massive forearm with surgical accuracy. The giant man's grip went instantly numb, his fingers opening involuntarily.
Magnus pulled free, slipped behind Brutus with fluid grace, and his practice sword touched the back of the giant's exposed neck.
"First blood," Magnus said, breathing hard from exertion.
Brutus stood very still, then laughed—a booming sound that echoed across the entire training ground. "Ha! You are very sneaky! I like sneaky fighters!" He turned, rubbing his arm vigorously as feeling slowly returned. "Excellent fight, little man. Very good fight indeed."
"Four down," Darius said, and now his expression was completely serious, deeply assessing. He stepped forward decisively, drawing his massive enchanted greatsword. The blade gleamed wickedly in the sunlight, and Magnus could physically feel the weight of its powerful enchantments—this definitely wasn't a practice weapon.
"My turn," Darius said, voice hard. "And I won't be nearly as easy as the others were."
Magnus faced Darius across ten feet of open training ground, his body aching severely, his qi reserves significantly depleted from repeated shadow techniques. He'd won four consecutive matches, but each one had extracted a serious cost.
And Darius was completely fresh, uninjured, and holding a weapon that could absolutely kill him.
"Captain," Magnus said carefully, voice controlled. "That's not a practice weapon."
"No, it's not," Darius agreed calmly. "Don't worry—I'll be very careful not to actually kill you. But I need to see what you can genuinely do when facing a serious, lethal threat." His blue eyes were cold, calculating, completely professional. "This is what real combat looks like in the field, Caldryn. No safe practice weapons, no holding back power. Can you actually handle it?"
Magnus looked at Rhea, who stood frozen at the sideline, her face deathly pale. She couldn't intervene—this was Ethan's carefully orchestrated test.
He looked at Ethan, who watched with that same infuriatingly cold smile.
Then Magnus looked back at Darius and made his decision.
"I can handle it," Magnus said firmly. "But if we're using real weapons, I need mine."
"Your sabers are being repaired," Darius said.
"Then give me real swords from the rack," Magnus countered logically. "Practice weapons against an enchanted greatsword isn't a fair test of skill. It's just an execution."
Darius considered this for a moment, then nodded to one of the watching guards. "Bring him two steel swords. Unenchanted, but real."
A guard brought two longswords, plain but well-maintained with good balance. Magnus took them, feeling their weight carefully, their balance. Not as perfect as his beloved sabers, but significantly better than wooden practice swords.
"Better?" Darius asked.
"Better," Magnus confirmed.
"Then let's begin properly."
Darius didn't wait for any signal. He charged forward with explosive speed, his greatsword sweeping in a massive horizontal arc.
Magnus ducked under it, the blade passing inches above his head. He countered immediately, both swords aimed at Darius's exposed side—
Darius's armored elbow blocked one sword, and his gauntleted hand caught the other blade. He pushed Magnus back with raw strength, then followed with a vertical slash that would have split Magnus completely in half.
Magnus rolled sideways, came up, and attacked again. His blades were faster, lighter, but Darius's decades of experience showed. The captain blocked, parried, and countered with mechanical efficiency, each move perfectly executed.
They traded blows for thirty seconds, steel ringing against steel. Magnus was faster, but Darius was stronger, his enchanted armor absorbing hits that would have wounded a normal person.
He's genuinely good, Magnus thought grimly. Really good. This isn't just military training. This is decades of real combat experience.
Magnus tried his Shadowmire Binding again—
Darius's greatsword glowed, and when he swung through the shadow tendrils, they parted like smoke. "Enchanted to cut through magical effects," Darius explained. "Did you really think I'd face a shadow user without proper preparation?"
Damn.
Magnus was losing. His injuries were slowing him down, his qi reserves were nearly empty, and Darius was just too experienced, too well-equipped.
Then Darius's greatsword caught Magnus's left sword and shattered it. The blade broke in half, leaving Magnus with only one weapon.
"Yield," Darius said, his greatsword at Magnus's throat. "You fought well, but you're not ready for this team. Not yet. You need more training, more experience. Maybe in a few months—"
"I haven't yielded," Magnus said through gritted teeth.
"Don't be stupid," Darius said. "You've lost. Accept it with grace."
Magnus's crimson eyes burned brighter. His shadow aura flickered, and for just an instant, that divine luminescence appeared—that deeper darkness he didn't understand.
"I said," Magnus repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "I haven't yielded."
He moved.
It wasn't Phantom Lotus Steps. It was something else, something deeper, something that came from the divine shadow sleeping in his dantian. He moved like he wasn't bound by physical laws, like he was stepping between moments of time.
Darius's eyes widened—he'd never seen anything like it.
Magnus's remaining sword swept upward, impossibly fast, and struck Darius's wrist. Not hard enough to break bone through the armor, but hard enough to make Darius's grip falter.
The greatsword dipped.
Magnus's sword touched Darius's throat.
They stood frozen, both breathing hard.
"First blood," Magnus whispered. "Would be mine."
The training ground was absolutely silent.
Then Darius laughed—a genuine, surprised sound. He lowered his greatsword and stepped back. "I'll be damned. You actually did it." He looked at Magnus with new respect, all traces of condescension gone. "What was that technique? That movement at the end?"
Magnus didn't answer immediately. He didn't know what it was. It had come from instinct, from desperation, from that divine shadow he couldn't control.
"Something I'm still learning," he said finally.
Darius studied him for a long moment, then sheathed his greatsword. "Well, you've earned your place on the team, Caldryn. Welcome to the squad." He extended his hand—no test this time, just acknowledgment.
Magnus gripped it, and this time the handshake was between equals.
After catching his breath, Magnus looked at the assembled squad, then at Prince Ethan. "I have a request," he said.
Ethan's eyebrows rose. "Oh? What might that be?"
"Rhea Varyn," Magnus said. "She should be part of this squad. She's a skilled fighter, an experienced infiltrator, and she's already proven herself in the field alongside me."
Darius frowned. "The squad is already at full capacity. We don't need—"
"With all due respect, Captain," Magnus interrupted, "you haven't seen what she can do. She single-handedly defeated Lyra Ganills, one of the most dangerous illusionists in Valisar. Her poison techniques and stealth capabilities would complement the squad's existing skills."
"We already have Finn for infiltration," Sera pointed out. "Adding another specialist seems redundant."
"It's not redundant," Finn said suddenly, surprising everyone. He stepped forward, looking at Darius. "I watched her during the Hardard raid. Captain, she's good. Really good. Different style from mine—I'm more about speed and direct kills, but she's all about control, poison, and patience. We'd complement each other, not overlap."
Darius looked skeptical. "Based on what? Stories?"
"Based on results," Finn said. "Lyra Ganills had a reputation. Undefeated in single combat, master of illusions that drove opponents insane. Rhea killed her. That's not luck, that's skill."
Marcus spoke up nervously. "If I may... having diverse capabilities is always beneficial. My studies emphasize the importance of varied approaches to problems."
Brutus shrugged his massive shoulders. "More fighters is good, yes? Little man trusts her. That is enough for me."
Sera remained silent, but her expression had shifted from outright rejection to thoughtful consideration.
Darius looked at his team, then at Rhea, then at Magnus. Finally, he sighed. "Prince Ethan, what's your position on this?"
Ethan smiled that cold smile. "If Captain Kaine approves, I have no objection. Rhea Varyn is certainly skilled, and having Magnus work alongside someone he trusts might improve his... cooperation."
Darius turned to Rhea. "Can you fight?"
Rhea stepped forward, her grey eyes hard. "Give me a weapon and an opponent. I'll show you."
Darius studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Fine. You're in. But you'll have to prove yourself in the field. One mistake, one sign you can't keep up, and you're out. Clear?"
"Crystal clear," Rhea said.
"Good." Darius looked at his expanded squad. "Then we're now seven. Get some rest. Prince Ethan will have our first mission soon enough."
From the sideline, Ethan's smile widened. Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.
To Be Continued in Chapter 30...