Det took a deep breath, and regretted it immediately. The stench of the dead birokk in front of him suffused the arena. Still, victory was far sweeter than even that terrible smell, and he shouted again at their triumph. The others in his group did the same, savoring it for only a moment before turning their attention to the rest of the cadets and the monsters still remaining.

  Of the twenty-five or so original birokk that had stormed into the arena seeking ReSouled blood, only three remained. Even this trio looked to be on their last legs, with wounds scarring them front to back and cadets piling onto them.

  Some of the ReSouled wore looks of determination, intent on proving their abilities both to their instructors and to themselves. Others bore expressions of anger. They’d been clawed, bitten, thrown, crushed, eviscerated, dismembered, shit upon, and generally abused, and they were ready to get their pound of flesh.

  The final group had a more blank expression on their faces. These were the ones who had expected to do far better than they had when the arena gates first opened. They’d had confidence in their abilities, years of training, supernatural strength, and magic that was usually an unfair advantage. Here, they had been shown just how wrong they were.

  Yes, they were far more powerful than they had been on Earth. Yes, they had strength that would make heavyweight bodybuilders green with envy, and speed to make Olympic sprinters look like toddlers running a potato-sack race. But when faced with even a D-Rank monstrosity, they’d come up woefully short. Both in tactics and ability.

  They saw that now.

  Some of that overconfidence was turning into self-reflection. Still, when their weapons dug deep into the birokk’s flesh, there was a look of satisfaction that replaced the neutral expressions. They may not have done as well as they’d planned, but they saw a path forward. A chance for growth. And the means to get there.

  “Do we help?” Weiss asked.

  “Nah,” Det said. “We’ve done enough. We’ll let the others clean up the rest.”

  “We kicked this one’s ass,” Calisco said. “Like, it wasn’t even close. I thought it was going to be way tougher… or maybe I’m just that awesome.”

  “Yeah,” Det said. “You really showed it at the end there.”

  “Oh, come on, Det,” Sage said. “Even you have to admit the whole trick with shoving a quarterstaff down its throat was pretty good.”

  Det grumbled a little before responding. “Okay, that was pretty cool. Damn good aim, too. It must’ve caught Eriba’s bolt on the way in.”

  “Speaking of Eriba,” Sage said. “You’ve gotten really good with that crossbow. I didn’t even see you loading; it was so fast.”

  Blood still matting her hair, Eriba ducked her head a little, like she was trying to hide. When she realized her blood-soaked bangs wouldn’t cover her face, she turned slightly to the side.

  “It was good practice,” she whispered.

  “More than good practice,” Det said. “It was like we were actually in sync there at the end. Like we knew what the others were going to do. And Weiss, you… you weren’t healing anything. Kind of the opposite, man.”

  “I couldn’t heal here,” Weiss pointed out. “No magic, remember?”

  Det just gave him a flat look.

  “What Det means,” Sage said. “Is that you kind of opened a can on it, if you know what I mean. Have you changed your mind on the topic of, you know… the whole violence thing?”

  “Seeing how the birokk tore apart the other cadets, it showed me very clearly what you were talking about before. That sometimes small violence can prevent larger violence. Killing this one monster saved many lives, or at least a fair amount of suffering, since none of us can die in the arena.”

  “Very practical of you,” Tena said. “And, good job.”

  “More than a good job,” Calisco said. “Weiss is a bit of a terror. If he keeps fighting like that, I’m going to have to change my bets for the dueling circuit.”

  “You bet against Weiss for the dueling circuit?” Det asked.

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” Calisco said.

  “’Cause he’s on your team?”

  “Tsk, not like he’s upset by it. You bet against yourself too, didn’t you, Weiss?”

  “I wasn’t aware the betting had already opened,” Weiss said.

  “Honestly, me neither,” Sage said. “When did it start, and who did you bet on, Calisco?”

  “Well, me, obviously,” the woman said. “And Tena, of course—’cause she’s a badass.”

  “What about the rest of us?” Det asked.

  “…No comment?”

  Det opened his mouth to respond to Calisco, but the roar of the final birokk falling to the ground actually silenced the arena. In place of the overwhelming violence that had filled the space for—hell, Det didn't even know how long they'd been fighting—a new aura weighed down on the cadets' shoulders.

  "Well done, cadets," the headmaster said from where he floated fifty feet above the arena floor. The other instructors who'd started the day also hovered nearby, their eyes appraising, some of them even writing notes in small books. From the looks on their faces, the cadets had done passably well, and little better.

  Captain Simmons—of course, looking through his perfect curl—watched Det closely. A small grin split his lips, and then he gave a double thumbs up. Well, at least Det had done good enough to impress the Bladestorm. Would it be enough for the captain to finally tell him what he wanted Det for?

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Probably not.

  As for Beast and Beauty, they looked like a couple of proud mother-hens, glancing at the other instructors, glowing in the fact of just how much better Det's group had done than the others. Why they got the credit when they were typically just the Arsenal’s instructors was a question Det wasn’t going to bother trying to answer. If it got the strange pair prestige, that would definitely trickle down to more opportunities for Det’s group.

  Truthfully, the instructors weren't wrong for their Wordless praise; five birokk for their one group wasn't bad. The first couple were messy at first, true, but they got the hang of it. They worked together. They fought without their magic, and Baba hardly had to even interfere. It was something Det could be at least a little bit proud of. Then again, he still didn't know what the headmaster was about to say.

  Luckily, he found out a second later.

  "Together you have defeated a herd of D-rank monsters that could have laid waste to an entire pillar,” Myrddin said, his voice echoing across the arena. “Against normal people, the monsters would be unstoppable. Against ReSouled, as you can see, slightly less so.

  “Still, I'm sure you can all agree this was no walk in the park.

  “Some of you came into this arena confident in your abilities. So confident, in fact, I suspect you believed you didn't even need these lessons. What more could you possibly learn? I hope you've got a better answer to that question.”

  The headmaster paused there, letting his words sink in.

  Across the arena, none of the cadets argued against his message. Unlike before, there were no complaints or contrary remarks. Nobody railed against being put into the arena against truck-sized monstrosities with little more than sticks to defend themselves. The point had been proven. Painfully proven, at that.

  The ReSouled had been brought to Elestar to fight. Most of the cadets present didn’t even know about the enemy they’d been summoned to defeat—the Wordless—but they all realized the truth in front of them. What they were, now, wasn’t enough. Put into a D-Rank battlefield, they would likely all die a second time. All without accomplishing anything.

  Det wasn’t going to go out that way. His drive wouldn’t let him. He’d fight, and fight, and fight some more, until it got him home. Dying would get in the way of that.

  “Now,” the headmaster picked up again after examining the different expressions of determination on the cadets’ faces. “These monsters—or some like them—will be opponents that you will face through the coming years over and over again. Yet these are nothing compared to what you may find in the Corelands.

  “The Uncored rarely show up below B-rank, with C-rank being the lowest we've ever encountered. The Cored, likewise, usually come at B-rank strength. Or worse. More than that, they're smart. They employ tactics. They have followers. They use weapons. Unlike the monsters you just fought.

  “These were creatures of instinct—savagery, brute strength—all dangerous as you and your bodies have likely experienced. But something we can take advantage of. Learn how a beast thinks, and you can trap it, outmaneuver it. The Cored, well, let's just say they aren't so easily manipulated. Enough of that, though. We aren't here to talk about the threats you'll face in the coming years. Not exactly, at least. Here, now, we'll talk about how to better prepare you for those threats."

  Heads around the arena—many still coated in their own dried blood—nodded at that. They’d just been shown how inadequate they were. Now, the headmaster had just thrown them the lifeline of how to pull themselves up from that. None would hesitate to grab it.

  “Had you been allowed to fight with your magic, I think we can all agree this battle would have gone a little bit differently. Yes, there would still be twenty-five birokk defeated on the arena floor...”

  The headmaster trailed off as the beasts he just mentioned lifted into the air. Their wounds vanished as their eyes once again opened. Massive, bear-like heads shook like they were waking from a deep hibernation, and confusion filled their eyes. They'd fought, they'd bled, they'd died, and yet they were awake again. What had...?

  The birokk vanished before anybody got an answer to that question. Though everybody likely had the same thought Det did. Arena-magic shenanigans. It wasn't just the ReSouled the arena could protect.

  Det had a sneaking suspicion they'd be meeting those birokk again in the future. And he'd be ready for them. His party would be ready for them.

  “The beasts that had been defeated on the arena floor,” the headmaster chuckled, a small grin appearing beneath his impressive beard. “With your magic, they would have been a significantly lesser threat. But this lesson today, and others you will take at this same time every week, aren't about magic. There are Cored who can suppress the magic we rely on. Yes, you heard me. There are Cored with abilities similar to the siltsteel bindings you wear.”

  The news hit Det and the other cadets like a bucket of cold water. He knew little of the Cored and Uncored beyond the fact they were dangerous. B-Rank dangerous, apparently. Now this? Some kind of ability to suppress ReSouled magic? Saying that was dangerous was an understatement.

  "They aren't common, thankfully, and they can't suppress magic above their own Rank,” the headmaster went on. “But, even one of them on a C-rank battlefield can be devastating. We learned that the hard way. So, for the next few hours today, and then again each week, we are going to teach you how to fight without your magic. For some of you—namely Duelists—it will be a natural extension of what you already do. For others, such as Artillery or Arsenal, well, it may be a bit of a steeper learning curve..."

  Det’s hand tightened around the hilt of the katana.

  Yes, he could fight. No, he wasn’t nearly good enough. He needed these lessons just as much as everybody else did.

  “Good,” the headmaster said. “I like what I see in your eyes. That focus. That determination. As you’ve guessed, the instructors behind me will be responsible for your lessons today. Listen to what they say. They are the experts. Learn from them what you can—no, I take that back—learn from them everything they teach you.

  “That is how you will survive the coming years. That is how you will grow stronger and fuel your drives. That is how you will proceed through the Ranks and reach real power.

  “Now, don’t give me that look,” the headmaster said, a glint of sunlight reflecting in his eyes. “I know that’s what you want. It’s what we all want as ReSouled. It’s what our drive demands of us. Growth, power, absolute strength. As I said on the first day, nothing matters in the face of overwhelming power. So, you need to become that power.”

  With those words, an aura spread from the headmaster, a brief reminder of what overwhelming power felt like. It settled down on the cadets’ shoulders, gently pushing them toward the arena floor. There was no doubt that, with a thought, he could squash them. Turn them to paste. Thankfully, he wasn’t there to do that.

  Like an older brother putting a hand on their shoulders to tell them to do better—to tell them they could do better—the headmaster’s aura lifted a moment later. It was a good reminder. That kind of strength was what they were aiming for. It was what Det had to achieve. Would achieve. Somehow.

  The headmaster smiled again, his aura fully retracted, and held his arms out wide, white staff in one hand. “Enough rambling from this old man,” he said. “Let’s begin with the lessons. Instructors, attend to your parties.”

  With those words, most of the men and women floating behind the headmaster lowered to the ground. One near each group that had reassembled during the last melee with the birokk.

  Det watched the Bladestorm stay where he hung in the air. Apparently, he wasn’t an instructor today. Just there to watch and show off his perfect hair. Nor were Beast and Beauty, who, while still preening, weren’t moving either.

  No, the person who approached Det’s party reminded him far too much of somebody from an old kung fu movie. Loose clothing, hands behind his back, and were those water skins hanging from an over-the-shoulder strap down to his waist? Det could see at least three of them.

  And yeah, that was definitely a gourd.

  Why was the man carrying a…? Oh, right. His name was Cups.

  Were they about to get trained by a drunken master?