What was more, that first 30 minutes turned out to be the easy part of the night.
Christopher Lennon was a legend—on Astra-3 and far beyond—for good reason. Qualifying for the Collegiate Intersystems as a second year wasn’t unheard of, but of the hundred-plus cadets from across the ISC to come together for that highest-level of tournaments, maybe a half-dozen weren’t in their third year of whatever academy they were receiving their schooling in. Lennon had ranked in the top eight of the Astra Systems the season before—the only second year to do so—and had almost made it into the top fifty overall Users in the civilized galaxy, not even speaking of the expectation people had for his showing in the coming tournaments.
Handling a foursome of D- and C-Rankers—with or without his CAD manifested—posed no more of a challenge to Lennon than Rei might have had ignoring a swarm of gnats in the summer sun.
They fought with hardly any breaks, hardly any pause. As one they attacked the dark-skinned third year again and again, and as one they were rebuffed in rapid succession every time. After his initial inspection of their abilities, Lennon took on a roll not unlike the grey projections of the Offense & Endurance parameter tests, always defending and never attacking.
And still he found a way to ensure all of them—even Aria—spent more time on the ground then on their own two feet.
“Ooph!” Viv grunted, falling flat on her face as Lennon sidestepped the point of Gemela’s lunging sword at the last possible instant, hooking her ankle with a trailing leg to trip her up. In the same motion he redirected Catcher’s down-cut with an open palm, deliberately guiding Arthus’ purple blade to the side so that Aria was forced to bring Hippolyta’s shield up to defend herself from the adjusted attack. Rei, too, was in the midst of the melee, ducking low to slash at Lennon’s exposed knee.
His blow jarred to a stop when the third year’s bare foot found the crook of his wrist, then Rei was yelling as he was pulled down by the stamping leg, finding himself pinned by the forearm to the floor for a moment.
He didn’t stay there long, of course. Lennon didn’t stay there long, after all. The third year was like water given will. It wasn’t just speed that he moved with, wasn’t just guile. There was a grace in his body and limbs that spoke half of sheer, natural skill, and half of unwavering, unending conviction and training. Rei had to consider more than once, as they all fought, that this was what it was like to face someone in the highest tiers of the SCTs, collegiate or otherwise. Though Lennon wasn’t an S-Rank yet, he was damn close, and might very well be by the time the season’s Intersystems came along, much less by the end of the school year. Despite any lesser demeanor the young man’s appearance might cut, Rei knew he was standing in the ring of one of the future greats of the Simulated Combat Tournaments, both collegiate and beyond.
It was the only thing that kept him going, that kept him in the fighting even long, long after his Endurance and body were spent.
“That’s enough.”
Valera’s call to end came in the middle of a complex engagement involving all four of them closing in on Lennon from every direction, looking to make a mark on the third year more by sheer luck than any significant measure of skill, given that even Aria looked to be ready to keel over from exhaustion. The moment the captain spoke the words, however, he was gone from their midst, triggering another Break Step to blur between Catcher and Viv and come to stand just inside the invisible wall beyond which Dent had been watching them all evening. With a collective yelping and pained grunts, Rei, Aria, Viv, and Catcher together all collided with one another, everyone but Aria ending up on their asses to rub at bumped heads or offended anatomy where friendly weapons had inadvertently cut.
“Cadet Lennon,” Dent said as the field faded under them, sharp eyes trailing across the group while they helped each other to their feet. “Your impressions, if you would.”
Lennon didn’t hesitate, coming to stand at ease as he spoke, eyes on Aria first.
“Laurent, you depend too much on your defensive posturing. You have a favorite stance, which will be your end as soon as you come across an opponent who knows how to get around it. Vary your combat more. The advantage of surprise can be hard to come by in a Duel, but a Phalanx going on the offense—especially a spear-wielder like you—can certainly achieve that. Catchwick—” Lennon’s gaze fell on Catcher “—your technique is excellent, but it’s also textbook. Take a lesson out of Ward’s style and learn to be a little more unpredictable. Arada—” Viv’s turn “—you’re chaotic. I like that. But you also leave yourself open a lot. That’s all well and good when you’re the fastest on the field and can correct for it, but the moment you’re not you’ll lose, and you’ll lose quick.”
Finally, Lennon looked to Rei, and when he spoke it was slowly, like he was considering every word.
“Ward… You’re simultaneously the one with the least to work on, and the most improvement to make. Despite what I just said to Catchwick, you could learn from him as well. You’ve got the Brawler technique down, I can tell, but when you have the opportunity to apply it you tend to think yourself too far outside the box. Occam’s razor: when you hear hoofbeats, think horse, not zebras. Sometimes the basics are exactly what you need.”
He paused, then, considering Rei for a moment before continuing.
“Also… Is what you’ve shown me really the extent of what your Device can do?”
Rei, still breathing hard as he and the others struggled to stand up straight under the weight of extreme fatigue, tried and failed to answer. He knew what the third year was getting at, though, and in the end just nodded, his sweat-soaked hair sticking to his ears and forehead.
Lennon frowned, eyes dropping to Shido’s black-white and blue, tracing the steel patterns with something like disappointed consideration. Rei was sure he knew what the A-Ranker was thinking, now, watching Lennon study the Devices claws for a few seconds.
Shido wasn’t a Brawler-Type, after all.
“Well, I suppose you’re still a little low in the ranks,” he said at last. “The Cs are more promising. I guess I’ll just have to be patient.” Then, abruptly, he smiled, the first true smile the young man had graced them with the entire evening. “Also, you need to improve your Endurance. It’s blatant from a mile away that your opponents only have to run you ragged if they want an easy time putting you in a hole.”
The breaking of the Lasher’s stoic exterior at long last felt—in a very strange way—like a rather healthy reward after the brutality of their session. Rei returned the smile, as did Aria, Viv, and Catcher at his side.
“Yes, sir,” he was able to get out this time, unsurprised to hear his voice come as a croak from a parched throat.
The others managed to echo Rei’s words, and Lennon looked around at Dent with raised eyebrows.
“Hear that, captain? At some point I earned enough respect to be called ‘sir’. I feel so special.”
Dent snorted. “I’ll allow it, given the circumstances.” Then she grew serious, not looking away from the Lasher. “So? Do we have a deal?”
The question puzzled Rei, and he knew he wasn’t the only one as Aria and Viv exchanged a confused look at his side.
Lennon, though, didn’t answer at once. Instead, his gaze fell on Rei, and despite his face having fallen back into its standard expression of military-apathetic, he couldn’t hide the glint of interest in those brilliant blue eyes.
“Yes, ma’am, we do. I even get the feeling this won’t be a complete waste of my time, by the time we’re done.”
CHAPTER 41
“Seven weeks!” Catcher half-squealed, half-groaned for what could only have been the ten thousandth time in 12 hours. “Seven weeks!”
“You’re making it hard to tell if you’re miserable or excited,” Aria said with a quiet laugh, cutting into her pancakes with an enthusiasm only barely hidden behind what Viv teased was her “ladylike comportment”.
“I can’t be both?!”
Catcher demanded, leaning over the table in his eagerness. “We’re going to train with Christopher—!”
“Catcher!” Viv hissed in warning, elbowing him in the side from where she sat on his right, across from Rei.
Catcher lowered his voice, but the pitch of his words made the attempt at subtlety all but useless. “We’re going to train with Christopher Lennon for seven weeks! Seven weeks, guys!”
“Six, if you discount last night,” Rei said with a grin. “And it’s only two hours one evening a week, man. No need to get so worked up about it.”
Catcher glared at him from over his waffles and bacon. “Rei, I will bet my breakfast that you were up all night screaming with excitement into your pillow, so don’t give me that bullshit.”
Viv guffawed and Aria nearly choked on her pancake at this, then all over again after they both caught sight of the flush Rei could feel creeping up his neck.
“Give me your breakfast, then,” he said, trying to save face.
Catcher raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Rei grinned. “You said all night. I managed to get some sleep at around 0400, I think.”
They all shared a good laugh at that.
“It is a little surreal, though, isn’t it?” Aria carried on the conversation a bit later, after they’d handed their trays to the service bots and started making for their morning classes. “I mean… It’s the Lasher. What the hell does he have to gain from working with us? Why is he working with us?”
“Dent,” Rei and Viv said together. He was pleased he wasn’t the only one who’d come to the conclusion, and he waved for Viv to go ahead as they approached the doors of the mess hall.
“They said it last night,” she explained, taking the lead both in the conversation and out into the cold of a grey, chilly morning, complete with a biting wind that shook the trees around them and stung at the cheeks and ears. “They’ve made some kind of deal. I’m thinking she’s training him, or at least found someone to do it for her.”
Aria’s eyes went wide, and she looked to consider the point as she tucked her chin into her jacket and pulled the regulars a little tighter around herself to help ward off the cold.
“I guess that makes sense…” she agreed at last. “If you think about it there’s not too many staffers who could give Lennon much of a challenge, are there? I’m pretty sure Lieutenant Imala is an A7…”
“Bretz is an A8,” Rei backed her up with a nod, hitching his bag over his shoulder as they turned southeast, towards the Device Evolution Department building where one of John Markus’ rare lectures was going to be taking up their whole morning. “Not to mention Lennon is an A-Type. Pretty sure we’re the only three in the school. I’ll bet anything he trains with the Duelists, just like I train with the Brawlers.”
“Which would make Dent an ideal instructor…” Aria said with a nod. “She and the colonel are the only S-Ranks in the school. I’m not even sure there’s an A9 among the staffers.” She looked up at Viv. “Yeah… I’m sold. She’s definitely training him, or finding someone from outside campus to do it. Probably in exchange for him working with us. Which means my questions doesn’t change that much, though…”
“Why is the captain bothering with us?” Catcher offered helpfully.
“Exactly.”
“Seek advantages, and you’ll earn them,” Rei told them as a group of third years passed going in the other direction, looking to be headed for the Arena.
Aria and Catcher both glanced around at him, only confused for a moment.
Then understanding dawned on them.
“Yeah.” Rei nodded along as they clearly followed his meaning. “It’s not exactly what she said, but it amounts to the same thing. I don’t know if we need to dwell too much on the mystery of it. There hasn’t be a day since the middle of the first quarter that we haven’t spent grinding at our Ranks.” He grinned. “I think we’ve earned some training time with Christopher Lennon, don’t you?”
Judging by the matching smiles on his friends’ faces, then, he was pretty sure the silence that answered him was one of unanimous agreement.
For once, Markus’ lecture was anything but dull. Smartening up to the fact that they still had the second day of the third year’s opening bracket coming up that afternoon, the lieutenant major had polished the topic of his class, making sure it was something they could all be enthusiastic about. In the end the morning passed pleasantly enough, the double period with 1-C—which meant even Catcher got to sit with them that day—spent following the Device evolution of several of Galens’ most esteemed graduates—including Dalek O’Rourke—over the first 5 or so years of their careers via combat recordings. It was fascinating seeing where some of the ISCM’s historical greats had started, then where they’d ended up by the time they reached the middle and upper classes of the S-Rank. Everyone—even Viv—had heard of most if not all of the Users Markus covered that morning, but Rei would have given up Shido if any of them had been privy to these earliest recordings of the fighters. O’Rourke, it turned out, had started out like him, with Cerebryx nothing more than a single-handed punching weapon that had eventually become the great, bullish Device which had earned him his “Gatecrasher” combat-name. Serena von Bor, “the Ivory Shield”, had begun with a small buckler and shortsword, and it was thrilling to watch her CAD evolve into the mountain of regal white-and-yellow armor, complete with a tower shield and curved saber. James Wicky’s first manifestations had been almost identical to Viv’s, his Duelist’s blades transforming over time into the twin rapiers that had seen him nearly crowned champion of the Intersystems a half-dozen years in a row.
By the time class ended, both the 1-A and 1-C class blocks were abuzz with refreshed excitement at the future of their careers, their energy only accentuated by the fact that no one could wait for the noon leisure to wrap.
At last, after an hour lunch that felt at least thrice as long, they were headed to the Arena for the sixth and final day of the Intra-Schools’ opening week. Rei, Aria, Viv, and Catcher followed the throngs out of the mess towards the center of the school in a rare silence, all of them sharing in the same anticipation they had built up talking over the meal. It had been exciting before, this particular afternoon. Before, there had been much to look forward too already, much to await. Dyrk Reese—as ever—had been masterful in the design of the brackets, leaving one final treat for the last day of the first pairings. Before, there had been much to look forward to.
After the previous evening, however, Rei and the others were suddenly waiting with absolute impatience for the first of what was undoubtedly going to be a short series of highlights in the tournament.
Reaching the Arena, they let themselves be swept up in the entering ground, climbing the stairs and trailing the walkway before climbing to claim their usual seats in the first years’ section. Rei might have been imagining it, but he thought the noise of the gathering students was different, today. It wasn’t subdued, per se—that was the wrong word for it. It was quieter, was a little easier on the ears in the echoing expanse of the great open chamber, but it was also more intense.
It was like everyone, rather than just most, were conversing now, but only doing so in lowered, exhilarated voices.
“Sounds like we’re not the only ones looking forward to this,” Cather muttered on cue.
Together Rei and the girls nodded in agreement, but said nothing more.
1300 approached, and for once there were no stragglers, no latecomers to the day’s events. Not a soul moved along the walkways or stairwells even 5 minutes before the hour, and the Arena had actually gone quiet well before the clock marked the start of the day. Indeed, it was in almost utter silence that the afternoon’s observing officers started across the pitch from opposite sides, though more than one voice did pick up in pleased surprise as Dyrk Reese’s companion was recognized.
“Oh!” Aria exclaimed with hushed interest, and for good reason.
After a
ll, her uncle—the commanding officer of the Galens Institute, and the only S-Ranked User in the school other than Valera Dent—had apparently taken the time out of his busy schedule to commentate for them that day.
“Good afternoon!” Colonel Rama Guest’s booming voice echoed across the renewed buzz of the students and seated staff once he and the major were floating above the field on their projected viewing disc.
“Good afternoon!” the crowd answered with impressive cohesion, though a few awkward “sir!”s followed this from here and there.
The colonel offered them a tempered, amused smile. “No need for that, fortunately. For the next three or four hours I heartily give you all the great privilege of treating me as nothing more than your tournament commentator. I’m not well-practiced as an announcer—which I hope you’ll forgive and understand—but Major Reese told me a few weeks ago that my presence might well add a little panache to this final day of the opening week. Oh—” he paused and looked around at Dyrk Reese with dramatic apology “—was I not supposed to tell them that?”
There was a rolling wave of laughter from the crowd, Rei and Catcher included as Aria and Viv hid smiles. From behind the colonel, Dyrk Reese hadn’t moved, though one might have thought one of the man’s eyebrows had twitched in irritation at the jest.
How he’d got that stick shoved so far up his ass, Rei could only imagine.
“Now, then,” Guest returned his attention on his audiences, and his light-hearted air sobered a bit, “you’re hardly here for my stand-up routine, I think. Five days. Five days you have watched and witnessed and learned as cadet after cadet has climbed and fallen on this Arena, has won and lost and fought for the chance to move forward, ever forward. Five days some of you have taken in where you’ve ascended from, while others have only come to understand how far they have still to go. I have yet to see a match end without earning commendations for both fighters in some form or another. I’ve yet to hear of a student who has not given it their all on this field, even when the bouts were brief. This week has been spent in intensity: in intense enjoyment, in intense study, in intense strain. You who have already faced your opponents have earned a respite, and earned a reward. It is no secret, I think, that there is one match left that each and every one of you awaits with anticipation. I understand, and I assure you it will arrive. However… I would remind you all that the cadets who will face each other for you in the meantime are no opening act. They are no warm-up, no appetizer. Every student who takes the stage today is here for one purpose, and one purpose only: to climb higher, to reach for the stars, and seek to start their journey towards their place in history, their place on the walls of this Arena’s underworks. You are allowed to be excited. You are allowed to anticipate. But do not forget that every moment—not just the one you await—is an opportunity to learn, to grow. This is true today, as it is true for every second of you life as a User, as a soldier of the ISCM.”
Iron Prince: A Progression Sci-Fi Epic (Warformed: Stormweaver Book 1) Page 75
