Morning haze was lifting, revealing twelve figures moving through formation drills, their silhouettes slicing through the thinning mist like phantoms. Their boots churned the rocky earth, their breaths visible in the cold air. This was the second stage of their training, and unlike the first, there were no riddles to unravel, no hidden triggers to discover. This time, the objective was clear: prepare for battle.
Shun had left just before dawn, taking twenty volunteers to purge the miasma tunnels snaking through the mountainside below. He'd clasped Xin's shoulder, his grip firm, his eyes steady. "You're in charge," he'd said. "Only because you're the only other healer, and I trust your judgment." Then he'd vanished into the fog with his unit, leaving Xin to oversee the recruits.
Xin wasn't a leader—not in the way Shun was. As a yong as he was, he was sharp enough to hold a strategy in his mind, quick enough to react on instinct, but he lacked the commanding presence of someone like Toren or the chilling authority of Raven. He was here to guide, not inspire. The real training fell to the other two.
"Vanguard! Collapse and reposition! You're leaving your flank open!" Toren's voice boomed across the field, cutting through the wind like a blade.
Toren was a force of nature. Former military or something close to it; Xin still hadn't pieced together the man's past. But command was in his blood. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, each swing of his sword calculated for maximum control. He stalked through the drill lines, adjusting stances, barking orders, and occasionally offering praise with a curt nod. His presence demanded attention, and the recruits gave it without question.
He'd split the twelve into three groups: four vanguard shield bearers to absorb the brunt of an assault, three duelists, agile fighters tasked with disrupting enemies or guarding the rear and three strategists, Xin's domain, equipped with tools, traps, and ranged weapons to support from a distance. The setup was methodical, designed to forge them into a cohesive unit before the real fight came.
"They're rough around the edges," Toren muttered as he passed Xin, his voice low but carrying the weight of assessment. "But they're improving."
"And listening," Xin added, his eyes tracking the recruits. "That's a bigger hurdle than most think."
Below, two duelists clashed in a mock skirmish. Their blades were dulled for safety, but their speed was real. Sparks flared as a young man ducked under a sweeping strike, countering with a swift kick to his opponent's ribs. The move was bold but sloppy, leaving him open.
"Watch your spacing!" Raven's voice cut through, deep and metallic through his helmet.
Raven stood like a monolith beside the vanguard group, his black armor unmoving until a recruit made a mistake. Then he moved, fast, brutal, silent. A trainee overextended, and in a blink, Raven was behind him, one gauntlet around the boy's neck, the other pressing a dulled blade to his spine.
"If this was real, you'd be dead," he said, his tone calm but unyielding. "Again."
He released the boy and stepped back, his presence lingering like a shadow. Xin exhaled slowly, a chill running down his spine. Watching Raven fight always unsettled him. The man was a wall in motion, needing no weapon beyond his hands, his armor, and a mind that seemed to process the battlefield in slow motion.
Their relationship had softened over time. After Belial's fall, something had shifted among them all. Raven spoke more now—short observations, occasional dry humor but it was progress. He was no longer the silent specter he'd been months ago.
Xin approached the vanguard trainees as Toren redirected the duelists to a new drill. "You," he called, pointing to a short girl struggling with a broadshield nearly her size. "When you brace, don't lock your knees. Let the impact flow through you, not stop at you."
She nodded, adjusting her stance with a determined frown.
Xin turned to another, a lanky boy hesitating with his commands. "You're slow with your orders. When you see the signal, move—don't wait for confirmation. In the field, hesitation is worse than error."
His voice was firm, not harsh. He had to be clear. These weren't games; the tunnels below held threats that wouldn't forgive mistakes.
A soft explosion echoed in the distance, controlled but sharp. One of the strategists had detonated a compressed ether mine, its blast scorching a straw ogre effigy clean through the center. Xin allowed a small smile. "Good placement," he called.
"Thank you, sir!" the strategist replied, her voice bright with pride.
"Don't call me sir," Xin said, shaking his head. He wasn't that old.
The morning wore on, the sun climbing toward noon. Drills evolved into skirmishes, the recruits' coordination tightening with each round. Toren stood at the center of the training ground, gripping two wooden blades. "New rule," he announced, his voice carrying over the wind. "You take me down as a team, or you don't eat tonight."
Groans rippled through the group, but they snapped to attention.
"Formations!" Xin ordered, stepping back beside Raven to observe.
The duelists moved first, flanking Toren like vipers. One launched a feint, darting in with a high strike, while the other came in low, aiming for his legs. Toren danced between them, his blades a blur, parrying one and sidestepping the other. He wasn't holding back.
The vanguard closed in next, their shields raised to corner him. Toren pivoted, slamming his shoulder into one to throw them off balance, then used his momentum to crack another's shield arm with a controlled strike. He wasn't cruel, but he didn't coddle. One by one, the trainees fell, until only two remained standing.
Then Raven stepped in.
No words. No warning.
Toren didn't flinch. He smiled.
What followed was a clash of titans. Raven charged, his armored boots pounding the stone. Toren met him with a sweeping strike, but Raven caught the blade with his gauntlet, twisting to absorb the blow, and drove a heavy knee into Toren's chest. The impact echoed across the field.
Toren stumbled back, his breath sharp but his grin intact. The trainees gasped, frozen in place.
"Didn't say I wouldn't step in," Raven said, his voice low and edged with dry amusement.
Xin watched, silent, a mix of awe and respect swelling in his chest. These two weren't just fighters—they were pillars, anchors for the group. And somehow, Xin stood between them, trusted to hold the line.
When it was over, Toren laughed, bruised and winded but unbowed. "They're learning," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Faster than I thought."
Raven nodded, his helmet tilting slightly. "They'll hold."
The trainees regrouped, panting but proud, their faces flushed with effort. Xin stepped forward, his voice steady. "Good work. Tomorrow we change it up. We simulate a tunnel ambush—limited visibility, tight quarters. Duelists up front, strategists in motion. Be ready."
They nodded, their eyes focused. Xin realized, slowly, that they trusted him. Not just Toren or Raven, but him—a teenager with no commanding aura, no towering presence. Maybe that was enough.
Raven walked up beside him, arms crossed. "That one with the shield—she'll break soon if she doesn't stop relying on muscle."
"I know," Xin said. "I'll talk to her tonight."
Toren joined them, his wooden blades slung over his shoulder. "You did good," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. Then, after a pause: "For a teenager who just happens to be smart."
Xin smirked, a spark of warmth breaking through his fatigue. "Coming from you, that might be the The third compliment might use it at the compliment store..."
Toren's eyebrow raised in confusion at the horrible joke.
"You..," raven said gazing at Xin
"i know..." Xin replied grimly.
Xin was regressing...progressing? either way it was bad. Really Bad. He didn't want to admit it but Belial's...Charisma was rubbing off of him.
The wind howled again, carrying the promise of the battles to come. Xin turned his gaze to the horizon, where the miasma tunnels waited. They weren't ready yet, but they would be.