By the end of the second set, everyone bore fresh bruises. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and effort. Goran allowed them another brief water break, his gaze sweeping over them, assessing their weariness, their resolve. "Third Set!" he announced, his voice losing none of its edge. "The Killer's Calm. Control. Precision. Lethal intent without wasted fury. You will spar. Full contact. Controlled strikes to disable. Aim for limbs, joints. No headshots. No killing blows. But make them *count*."
The final set was a blur of controlled violence. Kael, his earlier cold focus merging with Goran's lessons, moved with grim efficiency. He used his opponent's spear thrusts against him, deflecting, closing the distance, landing precise, jarring blows with the flat of his heavy blade on wrists, elbows, and thighs, methodically dismantling the taller boy's defense. He felt the hum beneath his skin, not resonating with an enemy now, but focused inward, a tool honed for a specific task.
Darius, abandoning pure evasion, used his speed and the lessons on momentum. He'd lure the maul-wielder into a powerful swing, duck or sidestep at the last moment, and dart in, his batons striking nerve clusters on arms and legs with calculated precision, making the heavier girl gasp and falter.
Lira, combining defense with newfound aggression, used her quarterstaff's reach. She'd block an attack, then instantly transition into a sweeping strike at her opponent's legs or a sharp jab to the solar plexus, her movements economical and effective, driven by the protective instinct Goran had channeled into offense.
Thea moved like quicksilver. Gone was the hesitation. Goran's command had unlocked something. Her daggers were a blur of precise parries and lightning-fast counter-thrusts aimed at wrists, forearms, and pressure points on the legs. She flowed around her opponent's saber, her movements decisive, controlled, and utterly ruthless within the constraints. Her storm-grey eyes held a frightening calm, a focus Kael hadn't seen before.
Goran stalked the edges of the sparring pairs, his baton a constant threat, his voice a relentless stream of critique and command. "VANCE! Less power, more precision! You're breaking bones, not disabling! Gambler! Stop playing and finish it! One strike, not three! Carer! Good control! Storm-Eyes! Faster recovery! Don't admire your work!"
When he finally called a halt, the Crucible echoed with the sound of heavy breathing and the soft clatter of dropped practice weapons. Students leaned on knees, wiped blood from split lips, or simply sat on the hard earth, utterly spent. Bruises bloomed like dark flowers on exposed skin. Goran stood in the center, surveying his battered students.
"Not completely useless," he declared, the closest thing to praise they were likely to get. "Some of you might even live past your first real patrol. Remember this pain. Remember this exhaustion. The Void won't let you catch your breath." He pointed his baton towards the exit. "Dismissed. Report here tomorrow. Same time. Live steel."
The pronouncement hung in the air like a physical blow, heavier than any practice weapon. Live steel. Real blades. Real consequences. The dread from Maya's lesson and the exhaustion of Goran's Crucible merged into a deep, weary apprehension as they limped out of the cavern, leaving the scent of blood, sweat, and harsh lessons behind. Kael felt Thea fall into step beside him, her presence a quiet anchor. Ahead, Darius muttered about needing medicinal whiskey, while Lira fretted over a nasty scrape on his arm. The war had truly begun, not beyond the walls, but here, in the brutal forge of the academy, shaping them for the horrors to come.[...]
The pronouncement hung in the air like a physical blow, heavier than any practice weapon. Live steel. Real blades. Real consequences. The dread from Maya's lesson and the exhaustion of Goran's Crucible merged into a deep, weary apprehension as they limped out of the cavern, leaving the scent of blood, sweat, and harsh lessons behind. Kael felt Thea fall into step beside him, her presence a quiet anchor. Ahead, Darius muttered about needing medicinal whiskey, while Lira fretted over a nasty scrape on his arm.
**As Kael leaned against the cool stone wall of the corridor, a familiar, translucent blue interface flickered at the edge of his vision – the System's silent acknowledgment of growth forged in suffering. He focused inwardly:**
> ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓
> ┃ **KAEL VANCE - LEVEL 12** ┃
> ┣━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┫
> ┃ **Affinity**: War/Destruction (S) ┃
> ┃ **END** : 20 → **21** ┃ *(Stamina Forged in Pain)*
> ┃ **PER** : 13 → **14** ┃ *(Combat Awareness Sharpened)*
> ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛
**The increase was minimal – a single point each – but hard-earned. The brutal drills had carved deeper endurance into his muscles, and Goran's relentless focus on anticipation had honed his perception. It was a cold comfort, but a tangible one. The Crucible was reshaping him, stat by stat, lesson by bloody lesson.**
The war had truly begun, not beyond the walls, but here, in the brutal forge of the academy, shaping them for the horrors to come.