Chapter 61 – Lines in the Sand

  Arena Call at the proving fields

  The trial is approaching but there is one last requirement the training was brutal for the past five months. Now to prove we are ready to take the trial we are all have to face the veterans of the guild.

  The training grounds weren’t merely a room—they were a crucible, a fiery test designed to forge raw talent into hardened steel.

  Ripper’s voice reverberated like the crack of a war drum across the proving fields rune-steel chamber, amplified by the humming wards that wove an invisible barrier around them.

  Twenty initiates. Twenty Burrowguard crests. One match each. This isn’t about pride—it’s about survival.”

  With a ripple of glyphlight, the walls morphed into distinct dueling rings, encased by protective sigil barriers that glimmered ominously. A palpable tension gripped the audience, a gathering of veterans whose very presence was an unspoken testament to their prowess in the War Rabbit Guild.

  Arne loomed at the edge of the crowd, twirling his rifle with a swagger that oozed confidence. Lola stood beside him, uncharacteristically devoid of her clipboard, arms crossed, her smirk revealing a mix of thrill and amusement. Rhea, ever poised, leaned casually against her staff, the white crest of the medical division glowing proudly on her collar. At the same time, the towering figure of Biggus—a mountain of muscle that looked capable of tackling frost fangs in his sleep—loomed nearby.

  Seven rubbed absently at the band on his right shoulder, where his bionic arm used to reside. The phantom sensation lingered, bringing back memories of power and loss. Fluffy leaned against him playfully, nudging his hip in a way that almost made him forget the ache.

  “Try not to get pancaked,” she teased, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

  “Still owe you for that headlock,” he muttered, trying to keep his tone serious.

  “Please. By the end of today, you’ll owe me interest,” she countered, her playful demeanor unwavering.

  “Do you flirt or fight?” he shot back, eyebrow raised.

  “Yes,” she replied with a wink, her grin infectious.

  From a distance, Raven stood with her arms crossed, providing a no-nonsense gaze focused solely on Seven.

  “Observe. Learn. And for the love of the guild, try not to trip over your own feet,” she admonished, her words laced with the weight of hard-earned experience.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Ripper brandished a lacquered black box, placing it onto a pedestal with the gravitas of a summoning ritual.

  “You’ll each draw a number. Your match is the vet with the corresponding tag. They don’t pull punches. Neither should you.”

  Ripper’s keen eyes fixed on a nervous recruit near the front, finger jabbing like a bolt of lightning.

  “You. Draw.”

  Heart thudding audibly, the recruit’s fingers trembled as they yanked a parchment slip from the box.

  “S-Seventeen.”

  Ripper didn’t even bother to glance at the paper. His voice boomed across the chamber, commanding attention.

  “Biggus. Ring One.”

  Biggus cracked his neck, each sound morphing into a deep rumble as he rolled his shoulders like two tectonic plates shifting. The arena floor responded to each of his heavy steps with a dull thud that seemed to echo through the very bones of the spectators.

  “Try not to bleed too much,” he said mildly, a hint of good-natured menace in his voice.

  The rune-bell rang, sharp and electric.

  The rookie surged in a fast, low, agile stance; smart feints; light on their feet—a blur of youthful ambition. Biggus barely shifted, a mountain waiting for a storm.

  The rookie lunged with a sweeping strike, likely calculating how to circle behind. But it was a miscalculation born of inexperience.

  In an instant, Biggus snatched the recruit by the ankle, lifting them mid-scramble with ease. The crowd collectively winced as the recruit hit the ground, their body slamming into the arena floor like a sack of potatoes, the wards flaring to catch the fall. Silence fell—an audible gasp hanging in the air as the rookie lay still, not getting back up.

  Rhea was already in motion, staff glowing with diagnostic glyphs as she moved like lightning.

  “No fractures. Minor concussion risk averted. He’ll wake up sore, but intact.”

  Her gaze shot to Biggus—not scolding, but laced with caution, the kind that only a seasoned healer could muster.

  “That was a lesson, not a mauling,” she reminded him with a firm, yet soft gaze.

  Biggus grunted, scratching at his beard, deep in thought. “They dove for mass without any leverage. If you can’t move a mountain, don’t try. Move around it.”

  The rookies were silent, words etched into their minds like scripture. Even Seven found himself leaning closer, eyes locked on the arena, dissecting every move.

  Ripper’s voice sliced through the quiet like a hot blade. “Reach. Base. Timing. Learn it, live it, or you will lose everything out there.”

  Seven couldn’t help but lean towards Fluffy, whispering under his breath. “Still worried about getting tossed like that.”

  Fluffy chewed on a carrot, grinning widely. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you. Maybe.”

  Raven, unwavering in her demeanor, shifted her gaze towards Seven. “Just breathe. Let them talk. You’re still here.”

  Overwatch – Miss Hopps

  From the upper balcony, Miss Hopps stood, arms folded behind her back, red eyes narrowed to sharpened daggers. Her silence echoed through the arena as she scrutinized every stance, hesitation, and glimmer of potential unfolding beneath her watchful gaze.

  Lola approached from the side, her voice low as she awaited her match draw. “He’s settling in,” she remarked softly, a note of pride lacing her words. “The recruits are starting to accept him. Maybe not trust him yet, but they don’t flinch around him anymore.”

  Miss Hopps’s gaze remained locked on the arena. “They'd better not flinch during the trial. Hesitation gets you killed.”

  “That’s not the same human that stumbled into the Guild five months ago,” Lola pressed, her tone defensive yet hopeful.

  Miss Hopps gave a slight nod, her expression softening just a fraction. “No. He’s not.”

  Warmup Ends, Stakes Rise

  Back at the edge of the stands, Seven flexed his left fingers unconsciously, still haunted by the phantom weight of his missing arm, the memory of power long gone.

  “Fluffy,” he called out, pulling his gaze from the arena.

  “Mm?” she replied, turning to him, her curiosity piqued.

  “If we all pull numbers, and I end up with Arne… what’s the trick to not getting shot in the face?”

  “Simple,” she grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Don’t stand still.”

  Seven grunted, his nervous tension easing slightly. “You know... I thought the Guild was just a bunch of overgrown rabbits with way too much attitude.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Raven deadpanned from the side, a barely-there smile creeping onto her lips.

  In that moment, amidst the laughter shared between friends, the gravity of the day hung heavy in the air. The crucible awaited them, and deep down, Seven felt a fire igniting within, ready to confront whatever challenges lay ahead—even if it meant standing against giants like Biggus or facing doubts that loomed larger than the arena itself.