"Recruits, here are your mock weapons. Come and collect!" Oswald's voice boomed across the training yard, sharp and commanding. The recruits exchanged quick glances before shuffling toward the racks of wooden weapons that lined the barracks' weathered external wall. The sun had just begun its ascent, casting a golden hue over the rough-hewn planks and illuminating the scuffs and scratches on each weapon—a testament to years of rigorous training.

Gai darted forward with purposeful strides, his heart pounding in his chest as he reached for the familiar tools of their craft. Oswald’s commanding gesture toward the racks had left no room for hesitation. "You all know your positions for today," Oswald barked, his eyes scanning the group with an intensity that could freeze even the most confident recruit in place. "Line up promptly!"

Gai quickly found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Mack and Sorren, each of them assigned to the infantry for today’s drill. The trio moved with practiced efficiency, collecting their gear: a large tower shield that felt reassuringly solid in Gai’s grip, a wooden short sword that bore the marks of countless mock battles, and an untipped spear that gleamed faintly in the morning light. Nearby, Louis wrestled with his own load—a pair of quivers brimming with blunt, padded arrows slung over one shoulder and a wooden short sword strapped to his belt.

"Looks like we’re all set," Mack muttered as they regrouped, their breath misting faintly in the crisp air. The four boys stood together, an unspoken camaraderie binding them as they awaited Oswald's next command. The other recruits shifted uneasily in their places, their collective silence betraying a shared apprehension about what lay ahead.

Oswald’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Recruits! Form triple line, archers at rear!" His tone left no room for argument or delay. He marched to the front of the unit, his polished plate armour catching the sunlight and giving him an almost mythical presence. The officer’s helm upon his head gleamed with authority, while a green scarf draped over his shoulders fluttered lightly in the breeze—a stark contrast to his otherwise imposing figure.

The recruits hurried to comply, sandals crunching against the hardened dirt as they fell into formation. Gai adjusted his shield strap and stole a glance at his comrades. Most wore mismatched armour issued earlier that morning after breakfast. Dents marred nearly every piece—battle scars from years of use—yet there was something oddly comforting about their imperfections. It reminded Gai that these were tools meant for war, not decoration.

Oswald’s voice rose again, steady and commanding. "Recruits, today we begin combat conditioning in full. You will regularly take part in combat scenarios of varying difficulty." He paused for effect, letting the weight of his words settle over them like an iron shroud. "You will always use your wooden and untipped weapons in these exercises. Safety above all else—but do not mistake this for leniency."

Across the field, similar scenes unfolded as other units assembled for their own drills. The clang of shields and weapons filled the air alongside barked orders and muted murmurs from nervous recruits. A faint tension buzzed through the training grounds like static electricity.

Sorren leaned closer to Gai, his usually confident voice tinged with awe. "I’ve only seen something like this once before." His gaze lingered on the rows of recruits stretching across the field like an army preparing for war.

"When was that?" Gai asked softly, his curiosity piqued.

"Last autumn," Sorren replied, his eyes distant as if recalling a half-forgotten memory. "An army about this size marched past our village. They were headed south—to fight those lizards over winter."

Mack chimed in, his voice low but edged with unease. "Yeah… never saw them come back though."

The weight of Mack’s words hung heavily between them, but there was no time to dwell on it. Oswald raised his standard high—a green flag emblazoned with three vertical black lines—and barked another command: "Today, we will fight only as our unit against dormitory three of Blue Barracks. Maintain formation and march!"

As one cohesive body, the green unit began their advance across the field under Oswald’s careful direction. He led them from the centre of their formation like a general guiding seasoned troops into battle. Around them, other units maneuvered into position, their movements precise yet chaotic as commands rang out over the din.

The cacophony of battle drills soon enveloped Gai’s senses—the rhythmic thud of hundreds of feet on dirt; the sharp twang of bowstrings releasing arrows; the clash of wooden swords meeting shields. His pulse quickened with every step they took closer to their opponents.

It wasn’t long before a blue standard came into view on their left flank—a banner identical to theirs save for its colour. Oswald’s sharp voice cut through the noise: "Left flank hold! Right flank turn!" The recruits pivoted swiftly without breaking stride, shields locking together like pieces of a well-oiled machine.

The Blue Barracks recruits marched toward them with unrelenting determination, their wedge formation designed to punch through defensive lines in a single devastating charge. Gai’s grip tightened on his spear as he caught sight of their helmets glinting menacingly in the sunlight—thirty meters away… twenty-five… closing fast.

"Archers! Load!" Oswald commanded sharply.

Behind him came a rustle of movement as Louis and his fellow archers nocked arrows onto their strings. The tension in Gai’s chest mirrored that of the bowstrings drawn taut behind him.

"Form single line!" Oswald’s next order sent ripples through their ranks as infantry fanned out into an extended line meant to outflank their opponents.

Gai glanced sideways at Mack and Sorren beside him. Sweat beaded on Sorren’s brow despite the cool air; Mack’s jaw was set in grim determination.

"Infantry! At the ready!" Oswald shouted just before unleashing another command: "Archers—loose!"

A volley of arrows soared overhead like dark birds taking flight before descending upon their charging foes. Most clattered harmlessly against shields or missed entirely—only a handful found their marks.

"Again!" Oswald barked without missing a beat.

The second volley proved slightly more effective—several blue recruits stumbled under impact—but it wasn’t enough to slow their charge significantly.

"They’re still coming!" Mack muttered through gritted teeth as he braced himself behind his shield.

"Infantry! Release!" Oswald ordered.

With synchronized precision born from countless drills, Gai and his fellow infantry hurled their spears at their advancing adversaries. Again, most were deflected by shields—but not all; a few blue recruits faltered under well-placed strikes.

"Flanks! Envelope!" Oswald’s voice rang out like thunder above chaos unfolding around them.

The flanks surged forward on either side while Gai remained rooted at the centre alongside Mack and Sorren—the backbone holding firm against what was about to come crashing down upon them.

When impact came moments later…it was unlike anything they could’ve prepared for.

The blue unit collided with them like an unstoppable wave meeting an immovable wall—a deafening crash reverberating through both lines as shields splintered under pressure; bodies slammed together amidst shouts and grunts; chaos erupted everywhere at once.

The force that slammed into their line was unlike anything they could have prepared for. It came with a ferocity that stole the breath from their lungs and sent tremors down their shields. Both Sorren and Mack, side by side, swore loudly, the curses tearing from their throats as they braced against the onslaught. Their muscles burned as they shoved back against their foe, but it was like trying to hold back a surging tide with bare hands. The enemy pressed harder, relentless, each blow landing with a shuddering impact that seemed to echo through their bones.

Gai, positioned just behind them, felt the ripple of failure along the line as if it were a physical thing. His heart dropped as he turned his head left, catching sight of the section buckling under the pressure. Shields splintered, bodies stumbled, and with a triumphant roar, the blue team punched through with terrifying momentum. Their opponents cheered—a deep, guttural sound of victory that sent a chill racing up Gai's spine. He tightened his grip on his sword, knuckles whitening beneath the strain.

“Tortoise formation!” Oswald’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. It carried authority and calm, even in the face of disaster.

The command spurred the unit into frantic motion. Recruits scrambled to reform, shields coming together in tight layers like scales on an armoured beast. But it was too late—the damage was done. The blue team had surged through their fractured line and quickly overpowered those caught in the collapse. Gai could do nothing but watch as half their comrades were subdued one by one, some groaning in pain as they nursed injuries inflicted by the heavy wooden training weapons. Others sat dejectedly on the field, heads bowed, awaiting whatever end this exercise would bring.

The remainder of their unit clustered together in a desperate attempt to salvage what they could. Shields locked tight, they formed the tortoise—a last-ditch defence against overwhelming odds. Gai crouched low beneath his shield, peeking through its narrow gaps. All he could see was an impenetrable wall of wood and steel before him, the blue team circling them like predators around wounded prey.

“Recruits,” Oswald’s voice came again, steady and unshaken despite the dire situation. He stood tall at the centre of their formation, hands clasped behind his back as if this were a mere training lecture rather than a battle simulation. “In this instance, we have been overwhelmed. However,” he paused for effect, letting his words sink in, “the tortoise is perfect for attrition against a larger force. If we hold steady and work together—”

“Advance!” The opposing officer’s shout cut across Oswald's speech like a whip crack.

Before Gai could process what was happening, the enemy surged forward again. The clash of shields was deafening—wood grinding against wood, punctuated by grunts of effort and muffled cries of pain. Gai thrust his practice sword through an opening in the enemy’s line, striking blindly at whatever gap he could find. His muscles screamed with exhaustion as he fought to keep pace with the relentless barrage.

To his left, Mack fought like a cornered animal, his face twisted in determination despite the sweat pouring down his brow. Sorren grunted curses under his breath with every thrust of his blade, his strikes precise and calculated even amidst the chaos.

Gai's world narrowed to the rhythmic crash of shields and swords around him—an endless cycle of attack and defence that seemed to stretch on forever. Time lost all meaning; seconds blurred into minutes, minutes into what felt like hours.

Finally, mercifully, came the cry: “Disengage!”

The command echoed from both unit officers simultaneously. Relief washed over Gai like a wave as he stumbled back from the fray, lowering his weapon with trembling hands. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Weapons down!” The order snapped him back to reality.

Exhausted beyond measure, Gai let his sword fall from his grip. It hit the ground with a dull thud as he scanned the field for familiar faces. His gaze landed on Mack first—his friend leaning heavily on his shield for support. Mack’s usually ruddy complexion had turned pale beneath streaks of sweat and grime. He clutched at his stomach with one hand while grimacing in discomfort.

“Mack?” Gai limped toward him as fast as his battered leg allowed.

“I’m fine,” Mack rasped between shallow breaths, though his hunched posture betrayed otherwise. He glanced down at himself and groaned in disgust—it seemed he’d vomited during the final struggle without even realizing it until now. The sickly greenish streak dripped down the inside of his shield. “Ugh… great.”

Gai couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself. “Battle scars,” he teased lightly.

Nearby, Sorren had taken over supporting Mack’s weight when it became clear he couldn’t stand upright on his own for much longer.

“Where’s Lou?” Gai asked as he approached them fully.

Sorren gestured vaguely behind him with a nod of his head. “Over there somewhere,” he said between breaths. “The archers got smacked around pretty bad when those bastards broke through.”

Following Sorren’s indication, Gai’s eyes scanned the field until they landed on a familiar figure sprawled out on the dirt near where their line had collapsed earlier. Louis lay motionless save for shallow breaths rising and falling beneath a shield that covered him from waist up.

Alarm shot through Gai like lightning as he hobbled toward his fallen friend without hesitation.

“Lou!” His voice carried urgency as he reached down to yank away the shield covering Louis’ prone form.

Louis squinted up at him through one bloodied eye; dried crimson streaked down from an ugly gash above his brow where someone must’ve struck him hard enough to split skin. Despite this—and perhaps improbably so—he managed a weak grin when he recognized Gai looming over him.

“Did we win?” Louis croaked hoarsely.

“No,” Gai admitted with a wry smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “We got smashed.”

“Well… good effort though?” Louis quipped weakly before coughing out something halfway between laughter and pain.

“You’re an idiot,” Gai muttered fondly under his breath as he bent down further to grasp Louis’ outstretched hand firmly.

Bracing himself against another wave of exhaustion threatening to topple him entirely now that adrenaline had begun fading from his system entirely—Gai hauled Louis upright onto unsteady feet once more.

"Who did that to you, Lou?" Gai asked, pointing to the bloody gash on his friend's brow.

"It was those two," Louis replied, nodding toward two hulking figures standing beside the blue officer. Despite his injury, there was a hint of pride in his voice.

"Is that Roland? And Boris?" Gai squinted, trying to make them out through the haze of exhaustion.

"Yeah. They made a beeline for me when they broke our line." Louis winced as he shifted his weight. "Don't know how they picked me out of everyone, but they did." His split lip curled into a smile. "I got Boris a good one, though!"

"You sure did, Lou!" Gai chuckled, eyeing the bloodied face of the larger recruit. "I barely recognize him with all that blood on his face!"

The two boys fell in with the rest of their battered unit, supporting each other as they limped back to their dorm. Despite their defeat, their laughter mingled with their groans all the way across the field.