Both teams locked eyes—some with eagerness, others with quiet dismissal.

  Jason didn’t want attention, yet attention clung to him like a shadow he couldn’t outrun.

  The larger veteran stepped forward first, clearly the vanguard of their duo. Frontliner with defense. Gunner behind. Jason analyzed on instinct.

  Tahuuk read it the same way. He refused to let the big one go—not after their earlier fight had been interrupted.

  One of the instructors stepped forward. With a brief glance at the upper balcony, he announced:

  “Begin!”

  The word echoed through the courtyard, tightening every spectator’s focus.

  Both frontliners surged forward, heavy steps reverberating off the stone floor. The onlookers tensed instinctively—

  CLANG!

  Metal on metal—sharp, thunderous—sparks bursting between Tahuuk’s spear and the veteran’s blade.

  Jason checked the clash for only a heartbeat before snapping his gaze past it—

  The second veteran had vanished.

  Where—?

  His eyes darted—movement behind the clash.

  Already too late.

  The gunner burst out from behind his ally, sliding into Tahuuk’s blind spot while the swordsman held him locked in place.

  Damnit! Jason thought. Different pattern—no one-on-one. Two on one. Close-range overwhelm.

  The gunner slashed for Tahuuk’s knee joint.

  Pinned down, Tahuuk couldn’t evade.

  The dagger struck—shallow, barely piercing. The veteran clearly hadn’t anticipated how thick Tahuuk’s hide was. Still, the hit threw him off-balance.

  Seeing his chance, the swordsman chambered a powerful kick.

  Jason sprinted in from the flank.

  He slammed his blade against the veteran’s leg mid-kick, knocking the strike wide and away from Tahuuk, then followed with an upward slice that carved a shallow cut before retreating to shield Tahuuk.

  The swordsman staggered, readjusting. The wound barely slowed him—more irritation than injury.

  By then, the gunner was already repositioned, rifle leveled at both Jason and Tahuuk. The barrel glowed blue—training round or not, the blast would hit like a hammer.

  Jason felt cornered.

  Take the hit—or dodge and let Tahuuk take it.

  Hyperfocus wouldn’t help. Not here. Not like this. Even if he could activate it.

  A massive hand shoved him aside.

  The shot fired.

  Tahuuk stood in its path, one leg raised like a shield, spear guarding his upper body.

  The training bullet struck his pants—kinetic energy rippled across the layered fabric, dispersing the impact before flinging him back a step.

  Tahuuk gritted his teeth—then launched forward without hesitation.

  His movements blurred from stumble to dash. His raised leg carved into an arc aimed for the swordsman’s ribs. The veteran braced, blade horizontal to block—

  BOOM!

  Jason suddenly remembered.

  The pants store kinetic energy. Training rounds deliver pure blunt force…

  Tahuuk’s kick landed with amplified power.

  The impact dented the sword and sent the veteran reeling in a dizzy stagger, eyes unfocused.

  Perfect opening.

  Jason dashed in.

  Tahuuk dropped the spear shaft across the dazed veteran’s throat, forcing him to the ground—but doing so left his own guard exposed.

  The gunner had already charged a second shot.

  Tahuuk hesitated—keep the pin, or defend himself?

  The gunner chose for him. He pivoted and leveled the rifle at Jason.

  The blue glow flared—shot incoming.

  Jason’s mind snapped into a razor-thin moment of clarity.

  Even exhausted, adrenaline flushed through his body, and a faint flicker of hyperfocus ignited—just enough to trace the bullet’s path before it fired.

  Can I dodge? Should I take the hit?

  A dozen calculations cracked through his mind in an instant.

  The blast fired.

  Jason twisted his torso at the last possible moment. The training round skimmed past him, sending a jolt of force across his ribs as he crashed sideways to the ground.

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  Before Jason could fully regain balance, the gunner abandoned the rifle mid-motion.

  He spun, fluid and practiced, drawing his dagger in the same rotation.

  Using the momentum, he lunged straight toward Tahuuk’s knee—a second attempt to disable the bigger fighter.

  But Tahuuk had seen it coming.

  His knee shot up like a piston, smashing into the gunner’s face before he could finish the attack. Blood sprayed as the smaller man reeled backward.

  The swordsman, recovering from Tahuuk’s earlier kick, seized the moment to grab the spear shaft and wrench it away—half success, half desperation. Tahuuk lost leverage but not control, spear still in hand.

  Jason reached them in that heartbeat—leaping onto the downed veteran like a step and springing upward toward the gunner.

  Their eyes met in mid-air.

  Both raised weapons—

  “THAT’S ENOUGH!”

  The shout cracked across the courtyard.

  An instructor leaned over the balcony rail, timing perfect—any later and someone would have bled for real.

  The entire courtyard froze.

  Jason had his blade hovering at the gunner’s cheek.

  The gunner had a dagger drawn across Jason’s neck, a thin red line already forming.

  Tahuuk stood with his spearhead leveled at the swordsman’s throat—

  —and the swordsman, in return, had angled his bent blade beneath Tahuuk’s arm, aimed for a vital joint.

  A perfect, deadly stalemate.

  The instructor waved them off.

  “End of the match. Clean yourselves up and move aside. You may observe the remaining fights if you wish. Results for team-ranking will be announced tonight. We must continue.”

  Jason slowly stepped back, lowering his blade. His gaze drifted upward as the instructor spoke.

  Lion stood at the balcony, arms crossed, unreadable—

  Until the corner of his mouth pulled into a faint smirk.

  Then he turned and disappeared back inside.

  As all fighters returned to the sidelines, a ripple of respect moved through the examinees.

  Some clapped, others nodded, a few simply stared — impressed, or shaken.

  Jason saw them, but could barely hear them.

  His ears still rang. His breath was uneven. Sweat dripped steadily down his temples.

  Cuts burned. Bruises throbbed.

  He was at the very end of his strength — the entire day had stripped him bare. The only thing that had kept him standing this long was the stubborn endurance he’d forged in the spaceport arena.

  Tahuuk wasn’t much better off, though he still had stamina in reserve.

  He wore a wide, gratified smile — he’d had the fight he’d been craving, and the two veterans they battled shared a similar look. Bruised, tired, but exhilarated.

  They watched the next matches from the side, Jason leaning against the wall, forcing his breath into some semblance of rhythm. Some fights showed real promise. Others revealed civilians who had mistaken courage for skill.

  A voice came from behind him.

  “Where were you trained?”

  Jason turned slightly. It was the gunner from their fight, sitting a row higher, one knee bandaged, his expression curious.

  The question took Jason longer to answer than it should have.

  He didn’t know if these people could be trusted — his past had teeth, and it could still bite him.

  “I didn’t really train,” he said. “I was put in situations I had to survive.”

  “Hm. Makes sense.” The gunner nodded thoughtfully. “You’re a knight’s apprentice, then. Sounds like the kind of training they put recruits through.”

  Jason blinked. “…What?”

  The gunner laughed under his breath. “Guess I was wrong. That means you’re even more of a natural than I thought. You’re at least silver rank.”

  “Silver?” Jason echoed.

  The gunner gave him a look — half pity, half disbelief. “You really don’t know much, huh… Alright, quick rundown. This exam gives you a rank. It determines which requests you’re allowed to take. It goes from Bronze 3 up to Gold 1.”

  He held up a finger.

  “When you hit the limit of a tier, like Bronze 1, you jump to Silver 1 next. Golds? Those are on the same level as the instructors.”

  Jason absorbed that.

  Silver wasn’t too high. Good — it would keep him from attracting attention.

  But high enough to make money and stay busy.

  A thought slipped out before he could stop it.

  “What about the guild master?”

  The gunner shrugged like it was obvious. “Lion is Gold One. But he could be higher.”

  Jason frowned. “Higher?”

  “Yeah. Though it doesn’t apply to just anyone. Above Gold is Nanium Rank — named after the nanianite ore they forge knight blades with.”

  Jason’s attention sharpened.

  “The reason for the name,” the gunner continued, “is that those ranked Nanium are the only mercenaries who can survive a battle against a full-fledged knight of the Ordinum Custodes Order. Not win — survive. That alone is a record.”

  Jason’s breath stalled.

  Survive a knight? Fighting the glowing-eyes type?

  That was monstrous.

  “There are only a few Nanium ranks in the nearby systems. One was just standing on that balcony,” he nodded toward the lobby doors, “and the other one I know is part of the Grey Sight Guild.”

  Jason’s jaw tightened.

  That guild again. They were everywhere he turned.

  The gunner stood up, brushing dust from his pants. “The only reason Lion isn’t ranked higher is because if he were, he wouldn’t be allowed to stay as a guild master. Nanium ranks get contracted for noble wars. They’re basically one-man armies.”

  Jason watched him go, feeling the weight of everything he’d heard settle in his exhausted mind.

  It was a lot — especially in his state. But he forced himself to commit the important parts to memory.

  The gunner gave him a small two-fingered salute as he walked toward the final testing area.

  “By the way—” Jason called out, raising his voice slightly, “what rank are you going for?!”

  The gunner turned, grinning.

  “Silver One. But don’t get cocky — we were holding back. We’re saving the real fight for the instructors!”

  Grin widening, he disappeared into the ranks of veterans.

  Tahuuk walked past Jason, pausing long enough for Jason to lean on him.

  “We should return to the inn and rest,” Tahuuk said. “Our bodies need to heal. And so do our minds.”

  A ragged sigh escaped Jason as he tried to stand. His muscles screamed after sitting too long.

  Slowly, leaning on each other, they made their way out of the courtyard and back toward the city.

  “We’ll look at the results tomorrow…” Jason muttered as they approached the fountain — the familiar shimmer of water marking the end of a brutal day.