Gai's shield trembled as Cedric's blows landed one after the other. Each strike sent pain through his arms, and despite his desperation, he held tightly to the leather-wrapped hilt. Amid the ongoing clamour of metal against metal and the distant shouts of other recruits, a voice called out from the side-lines, “Keep going, Gai!” even as his focus remained solely on the opponent before him.

Cedric stood over him, each of his movements filled with a cold, deliberate cruelty. “Come on, squid! Show us that you’re not entirely useless!” he barked. The words stung as much as the hard strike that followed, and a spatter of spit landed near Gai’s battered sandals—a constant reminder of his supposed weakness. Gai’s eyes burned with a mix of hurt and determination. “I’m not weak,” he managed to say between gasps, his voice raw with both pain and defiance.

The late afternoon sun lit the training complex, revealing every detail without embellishment. Dormitories lined up neatly, wooden dummies bore the scars of endless practice, and marked sparring pits and racks of blunt weapons silently testified to the intensity of the training. Though other recruits exchanged shouts and blows in the background, the noise faded into a dull murmur as Gai focused on surviving the relentless barrage of Cedric’s strikes.

Every impact left Gai more shaken; his arms trembled uncontrollably and his legs burned with fatigue. With hands trembling and a heart pounding from fear and anger, he pushed back with every ounce of strength he could muster. “I won’t let you beat me!” he shouted, voice catching with both pain and pride. Yet, before he could regain any momentum, another brutal blow smashed through his weakened defence.

In an instant, the force of the hit sent him staggering backward, his worn sandals skidding over the scattered gravel. “No!” he cried out, overwhelmed by both the physical impact and the weight of his earlier humiliation. As he crashed onto the unyielding ground, the echoes of Cedric’s cruel laughter mingled with Gai’s ragged, pained breaths, underscoring the harsh reality of his struggle.

The coarse gravel bit into Gai’s palms as he caught himself from falling flat on his back. His shield clattered beside him, useless now as Cedric stood over him triumphantly. “Pathetic,” Cedric sneered, raising his practice sword again for a cruel finishing blow.

“Don’t call him that!” The shout cut through the din like a blade slicing cleanly through fabric. The familiar voice sent a jolt of relief through Gai’s chest even before he looked up to see Sorren and Mack sprinting toward him. Their expressions were fierce, their eyes fixed on Cedric with barely concealed anger. Dust rose in small clouds around their feet as they closed the gap in seconds.

Before Cedric could react, Sorren and Mack moved with practiced precision born from years of camaraderie. In one fluid motion, Sorren grabbed Cedric’s arm while Mack swept low to knock him off balance. Cedric let out a grunt of surprise as he was forced to the ground, pinned under their combined weight.

“Get off me!” Cedric spat angrily, squirming against their hold. Despite his strength, he couldn’t overpower both of them at once.

Sorren leaned closer to Cedric’s face, his expression cold and unyielding. “You want to pick on someone? Try me next time,” he growled through gritted teeth before releasing Cedric roughly.

Mack stood up slowly and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah,” he added with a sharp edge to his voice. “Let’s see how tough you are when we spar.”

Cedric shoved himself upright with an indignant huff, brushing dust off his tunic as though offended by their audacity. “Whatever,” he muttered darkly. His sneer returned almost immediately as he glared at Gai one last time before turning away. “Your mate is useless,” he tossed over his shoulder venomously. “Even the cooks have more power than him.” Without waiting for a response, Cedric stomped off toward Oswald’s station at the edge of the field.

"You okay?" Mack asked gently once Cedric was out of earshot, his voice laced with concern as he offered Gai a hand up.

"I'm fine," Gai replied quietly, accepting Mack's help and standing. He forced a weak smile despite the bruised ego and sore body. "Thanks for stepping in. I kind of expected this treatment to start at some point. It was the same back home."

Sorren's expression was serious as he helped brush off Gai's tunic. "What do you mean by 'the same' back home?" he asked, his voice quieter but still intense.

Gai paused, then sighed deeply. "It's nothing," he said evasively. "I've just dealt with people like Cedric before."

Before Sorren or Mack could ask more, Oswald's authoritative presence interrupted them. The experienced instructor approached quickly, clearly having seen enough. Cedric followed behind, looking sullen but not sorry.

"Mack! Sorren! Back to your positions!" Oswald ordered sharply.

"Yes, sir," the boys responded, their voices tinged with unease as they hurried back to their training spots. They exchanged worried looks with Gai, clearly sensing the tension. Oswald opened his mouth to speak to Gai, but his attention was abruptly diverted by a sudden uproar near the testing area.

"Flashpoint," he muttered urgently, his eyes narrowing. "Green dorm 3, behind me! Now!" His voice was firm, leaving no room for hesitation. The recruits quickly assembled behind Oswald, their faces a mix of anxiety and readiness as a shimmering barrier materialized before them. Across the training grounds, others reacted in kind, though the focus was unmistakably on the blue barracks, where the disturbance was centred. Several robed academics and unit officers rushed towards the commotion, their worry evident in their swift movements.

Gai watched as a violent force slammed into the veil, and Oswald’s face tightened with pain as he fought to keep the barrier steady. His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists tighter, pouring more energy into stabilizing the shield.

“Hold steady!” he barked to no one in particular, though his voice carried enough authority to steady even those recruits who had begun to falter.

Then it came—a deafening boom that split the air like a thunderclap. The ground beneath them quaked violently, sending several recruits crashing to their knees. Cries of pain and panic erupted as they clutched their heads, their faces contorted in agony as though invisible needles were stabbing into their minds. Further ahead, closer to the blue barracks—the epicentre of the disturbance—several trainees crumpled to the ground unconscious, their bodies limp and sprawled like discarded rag dolls.

Every gaze was drawn upward as a towering pillar of flame erupted skyward without warning. It roared with unnatural intensity, its fiery tendrils lashing out hungrily toward the heavens as if seeking to devour them whole. The heat was suffocating even from a distance; sweat beaded on Oswald’s brow despite the protective barrier between him and the inferno.

“Get down!” one of the academics shouted—a tall man with streaks of gray in his dark hair who moved with practiced precision. He raised both hands high above his head, drawing intricate symbols in mid-air. Around him, five other robed figures joined in unison, their movements synchronized like dancers performing a deadly ballet. Together, they manipulated the air itself with fluid gestures—smothering the flames and redirecting their fury away from nearby structures.

Oswald’s eyes flicked briefly toward them before refocusing on his recruits. “Stay close! Do not break formation!” he commanded sharply. His voice cut through their fear like a blade through fog.

The flames began to subside under the combined efforts of the academics, shrinking from their towering height until they were little more than smouldering embers licking at charred earth. The oppressive heat lessened marginally, allowing some of the recruits to finally catch their breath.

Oswald exhaled slowly in relief as he lowered his veil. His shoulders sagged slightly under an invisible weight that had been pressing down on him since the moment this ordeal began. “Alright,” he began hoarsely before clearing his throat and straightening up again. “Everyone—”

“Wait, sir! It’s not over yet!” Louis’s urgent cry cut through Oswald’s words like a dagger.

Oswald’s head snapped toward Louis. There was no mistaking the raw urgency in his voice or the way his trembling finger precisely indicated something just beyond their line of sight, as if he sensed what others could not.

Reacting instantly, Oswald raised his veil once more just as a deep rumble resonated through the ground—a sound that seemed to rise from within the earth itself. The barrier trembled and warped under an immense pressure that made even Oswald stagger backward slightly.

Then it came: another explosion—this one far more powerful than the first. The sound was deafening, a concussive blast that seemed to tear apart both air and earth in its wake. Blue fire erupted from within the suppressing vortex—a searing wave of elemental energy cascading outward like water surging from a breached dam.

“Shield yourselves!” Oswald shouted over the roar of flames as he poured every ounce of strength into fortifying his veil. The barrier flared brightly under the strain but held firm against the onslaught.

The wave of blue fire spread outward in an enormous cone-shaped arc that threatened to engulf everything in its path—the training fields, surrounding dormitories, even some of those who had been too slow to retreat further away.

And then—just as suddenly as it had ignited—the blue fire extinguished itself in an instant. The world fell eerily silent save for distant cries and hurried footsteps echoing across scorched earth now blackened beyond recognition. Smoke hung heavy in the air alongside an acrid scent that burned at throats and nostrils alike—a pungent reminder of what had just transpired.

“All recruits!” Oswald’s voice rang out once more—hoarse but unyielding. “Return to your dormitory immediately! You are locked down until further notice!”

There was no argument; none dared question him now after witnessing what had just occurred. Exhaustion weighed heavily on Oswald—his breathing laboured and uneven—his well of power spent. Behind them, the chaos continued. The academics and officers worked with desperate speed to contain the damage, their movements frantic yet precise. Gai glanced over his shoulder as they neared the dormitory, catching one last glimpse of Oswald’s hunched figure before a guard slammed the door shut behind them.