Yago Sevitaleone was knocked out of the way.

He fell to the ground, his back hitting the metal floor with a heavy, muffled thud. And his enemies didn't stop there.

The fighter servant rumbled towards him, stiff and stiff, but the ground shook. Sevita barely looked up, her vision blurred by the pain just enough to see the servant's stupid face.

Its face was expressionless, and its face looked almost poisonous gray in the light. The eyes were glazed, there was no war intent in it, it just followed the procedure.

It raised its left hand high, and the heavy training sword fell with a thud in the next second.

It didn't hit.

Sevita spat out a mouthful of blood mixed with saliva, which hung stickily on his chin and caused a wave of discomfort. And whether it is comfortable or not is not something he seriously considers now.

He staggered to his feet and ran over to pick up his training sword. Its leather-wrapped grip and weight once again gave him the courage to face his foes, and Sevita turned and danced the sword as a stick.

The servant's face was tilted, and its jaw clicked softly, and then it slipped off, and the furry hung and swayed against its joints. And it didn't care, there was nothing in those dull and stupid eyes.

It raised its left hand unwaveringly, and the blade was unflailing, sending Sevita flying once more.

He had resisted with his sword, but he still couldn't resist a power far beyond himself. The reserve landed in agony, the blade of the sword came out of his hand, and the servant stopped in place, creaking and bowing his head.

A few seconds later, the door to the cage that held him and the servant open.

"Unqualified, reserve." Richtenar of the Eighth Company said.

There was a look on his face that didn't know whether it was mockery or sarcasm - maybe he had walked in with some other emotion, but in Sevita's eyes, his expression meant it.

Ridicule, mockery, contempt.

"Where is it not qualified?" Sevita asked, lying on the ground, blood still spilling from the corners of her mouth.

"Everywhere is not qualified." Sevita's sword teacher crouched down and shook two fingers in front of him.

"Played too roughly, reserves. Your sword has been out of your hands three times, and you have no skill in wielding it. That servant is stupid, but you're even more stupid than that. ”

"Two." Sevita replied weakly. "Is it really stupid?"

"Don't you notice that it moves regularly?" Richter asked rhetorically, his gaze emotionless, and Sevita felt a tingle, but still did not resist.

He behaved meekly, at least for now.

"What pattern?" The docile reservists asked.

"It doesn't turn. Just like you, reserves, it doesn't turn. You can attack its fragile joints first, such as knees or ankles. But you chose to attack its upper body. Why, do you think you can use your weak strength to cut the fighter servant in half? ”

Richter grinned and smiled.

Sevita began to imagine his face turning blue and swollen, and the corners of her mouth twitched. His malice did not escape Richter's eyes, and the swordsmanship teacher pulled Sevita up from the ground with his backhand, not caring about his injuries at the moment.

"Stand up straight." Richter said coldly. "Unless you want to practice tomorrow."

"I don't think more training will improve my grades."

"But it can shut you up." Richter nodded and greeted him.

And this time, Sevita finally caught a palpable mockery in his eyes.

A wave of anger transformed from shame began to dance over his nerves, bouncing heavily, bending his heavy nerves down until he reached a tipping point.

"No, I don't want to shut up." The docile reservist spoke suddenly. "Even if you ask me to practice tomorrow, I'm going to keep talking."

"And then?"

Then you'll be by me. Sevita thought. But what he said was something else: "Then, you let me practice more." ”

"Yes." Richter asked. "So why do you keep talking?"

Because I want to you off.

"Because it's my habit." Sevita said. "I just have to keep talking, respected sword master, and if you can't stand me, I want you to transfer this job to someone else."

"Are you looking forward to someone else teaching you?"

"No, I just think you might not be able to stand me." Sevita grinned, maintaining perfect manners and attitude, and his voice didn't even sound flawless.

"Then you're wrong, recruit." Richtenor leisurely clasped his hands.

"At first, I was really resistant to teaching you swordsmanship. But now it's different, you have a lot of talent in swordsmanship, Yago Sevitalyon. And I really enjoy working with people who have talent. ”

"You don't think you can learn anything from me, do you?"

"Oh, actually, I did learn something." Richter smiled. "For example, don't be as stupid as you in battle."

"The student's problem may be the teacher." Sevita suppressed her anger and replied.

"That's true, unless that student has a big problem in the first place." Richter glanced at him, and a more elusive look suddenly appeared on his pale and usual cold face.

He stared into Sevita's eyes, not blinking, and the reservist puffed up his chest to look at him, his eyes aching, but still refusing to blink.

After a minute and twenty seconds, Richter spoke again: "You've been having nightmares a lot lately, haven't you, reservists?" ”

"Yes." Sevita replied in a low voice, and finally blinked.

"What kind of dream?"

"Blood." The boy replied briefly. "Dead people, corpses, and their screams."

"Is that all?" The swordsmanship instructor shook his head. "That scares you? You're a Nostramo. ”

But they're all people I know.

Sevita bowed her head, "I'm sorry. ”

"There's no need to apologize, reservists, pick up the sword now."

Sevita did as she was told, and once again he touched the leather-wrapped hilt, and once again felt the heavy but reassuring weight of the sword itself. Richter grabbed his right wrist and ordered, "Hold on now." ”

The reservist clenched his right hand, his fingers wrapped around the leather, and the blade trembled slightly.

"No wonder. Now relax a little. Richter taught.

"Never hold the sword with all your might, you'll lose your flexibility. That's why you look like a monkey with a stick in your hand when you swing your sword. Plus, there are some attacks that you can't parry with your blade, so remember to dodge them quickly. ”

He let go of the hand that was gripping Sevita's wrist and shook his head at him, "Now, go to our chief medical officer." ”

——

"It seems that Richtenar is very strict with you." Jairziño Guzmán said with his head bowed to Sevita. "I thought he was going to make it a little easier for you, after all, you've just gone through a rigorous nine-week training session."

"I'd rather train for another nine weeks, honorable Chief Medical Officer." Sevita rubbed her ribs and grinned in reply. "At least the physical training is much easier, did you fight against that kind of killer servant every day?"

"Nope." The Chief Medical Officer shook his head and spoke lightly. "We were fighting directly against real people, death row prisoners, usually one against ten. You'll feel the tactile sensation of the blade as it slashes through their necks or pierces their abdomen. ”

Sevita looked at him with a hint of awe, and Jaylziño smiled and reached out to poke him on the forehead, which immediately dissipated the awe.

"A weapon is an extension of a limb, and that's when I learned that." The medical officer said. "Of course, there are times when you have to throw away your weapons. At that point, you'll have to kill your enemies with both hands. ”

"Strangled them, or beat them to death. Neither of these feelings is good, every gasp and struggle of the dying person will be clearly captured by you, and you will try to let go and spare their lives, but you can't"

He looked away, turned around, and pulled out a tube of needles and injected them into Sevita's wrist. The stinging pain was fleeting, and the cold sensation then welled up and began to beat in the veins. The reservist let out a low growl of uncontrol, clenching his fists.

"Because then you're going to die." Jairziño Guzmán said. "So we are never merciful, not even to you. Stop complaining or resentful, boy, try to accept it all, you're running out of options. ”

Sevita shuddered and closed her eyes, beginning to endure the stinging and cold of the healing potion. He gasped and spoke with difficulty during the meantime: "The instructor said I still have a choice. ”

"When he comes back, you can ask him yourself if he has a definition of choice." Jairziño smiled. "Of course, just a suggestion."

"So. When will he come back? ”

"Soon." The medic looked up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression, and then fell silent.

Sevita opened her eyes, trying to capture the medal's expression, but he was limited by his angle and could only see Jaylziño's slightly trembling body. After the unsettling silence ended, Jaelziño spoke again.

And his voice had returned to normal, and not only that, but he even reached out and poked Sevita's forehead again.

"He'll be back soon." The medic chuckled. "Start praying for the rest of your life, boy, you're going to be planted with a genetic seed next week. At that point, you'll probably be able to feel what we're feeling like. ”

There are two more chapters.

(End of chapter)