MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 378: No code

A total of ten arduous months had elapsed since the inception of their relentless military training.

Months that had stripped them bare, dismantling weakness, and reforging their bodies and minds into weapons of precision.

For the past four of those months, they had been immersed in the art of weaponry, forced to wield instruments alien to their instincts.

Swordsmen were made to shoulder spears.

Axemen learned the finesse of daggers.

Even the most stubborn hammer-wielders had tasted the balance of the twin sabres.

Yet amidst this discomfort, they were granted fleeting moments to return to their preferred weapons, brief intervals designed not for comfort.

But for preservation of their foundational skill, ensuring that what they had built was not eroded by unfamiliarity.

And now, the cycle shifted once more.

Corporal Samuelʼs voice, as cold and sharp as a whetted blade, cut through the heavy morning mist that clung to the training ground like a veil of ghosts.

”Today”

His voice rumbled across the field, steady and absolute.

”We will abandon the crutch of steel and wood. Today we return to the fundamentals, to your body. Your final bastion. Your last line of defense”

His eyes, devoid of warmth, swept over the gathered recruits, eyes that had seen countless hopefuls rise, break, and fall.

”Your hands. Your legs. Your head. Your elbows. Your knees. Every fragment of your body is a weapon, sharpen it”

His boots crunched against the dirt as he took measured steps before them, his expression carved from stone.

”On the battlefield, there is no honour between enemies. No code. No ceremony. It is kill or be killed”

His words were devoid of theatrics, only truth layered in brutal simplicity.

”If you see an opening, take it. If you see weakness, exploit it. Spit in their face. Gouge their eyes. Crush their throat. Pour sand into their vision. Shatter their balance. Poison their food. Coat your blade with venom”

His gaze hardened.

”The battlefield respects neither chivalry nor pride. Only the victor speaks of honour. Only the survivor dictates the story”

Silence reigned for a breath, heavy, suffocating, before his final decree echoed.

”You have two months left before this phase of your life ends. For the next month, we break your fists, only to rebuild them stronger”

He paused, letting his words sink like iron into their bones.

”Assemble. Pair up. Begin”

Without hesitation, without a shred of complaint, the recruits fell into motion, moving with disciplined precision forged by relentless routine.

Partners were chosen not by preference, but by familiarity, those who had been grinding against one another for months, pushing, testing, and hardening their limits.

The air shifted, the space between them tightening like coiled springs.

There was no room for hesitation.

The first clash was never clean.

A fist grazed a cheekbone.

An elbow slammed against a forearm.

A knee collided with ribs.

There was no grace, not yet.

This was raw instinct meshing with fragmented technique, the struggle between brute strength and unrefined form.

Corporal Samuel stood still, his arms folded behind his back, eyes unblinking as he observed the chaos slowly spiral into structure.

”Your stance is your foundation”

He called out, his voice cutting through grunts and footfalls.

”A crumbling stance is a broken defence. A wavering stance is an open grave”

His sharp gaze locked onto a recruit who had overextended in a strike, only to be thrown to the dirt with a vicious hip toss.

”Control your centre of gravity. Own your balance, or forfeit it to your enemy”

Further down the line, another recruit hesitated, pausing mid combination, only to eat a brutal palm strike to the solar plexus that folded him over in a gasp of stolen breath.

”Do not hesitate. Commit or fall”

He began walking now, his presence casting a long, suffocating shadow over the field.

”Your fist is not merely flesh and bone, it is will made manifest. A fist without intent is but a raised hand. Strike with conviction”

His words were not motivational, they were absolute law.

And so they fought.

Hours bled into each other like the relentless passage of time itself.

Blood slicked across bruised knuckles.

Dust clung to sweat-soaked bodies.

Limbs moved not with elegance, but with growing purpose.

Step by step.

Strike by strike.

Block by block.

Corporal Samuel would interject when necessary, correcting a stance with a brutal sweep of his own leg.

Repositioning an elbow with an iron grip that left bruises in its wake.

He was not gentle.

He was not kind.

He was precise.

”This is not a dance”

He murmured as two recruits began to fall into predictable patterns.

”Unpredictability is survival. Learn it”

He gestured sharply.

”Switch partners”

The recruits obeyed, without question.

Fresh opponents brought fresh mistakes.

Some were faster.

Some were heavier.

Some were calculating.

Some were wild.

But all were relentless.

Time became irrelevant.

The sun began its slow descent, casting elongated shadows across the battered training ground. Yet the drills did not cease.

”Fatigue is a lie your body tells you”

Corporal Samuel intoned as sweat cascaded down their faces like rain.

”Push past it, or succumb to it”

One recruit, barely able to keep his stance, lunged forward, only for his legs to betray him.

His knees buckled.

The ground rushed to greet him.

Corporal Samuel was beside him in an instant, lifting him by the collar with unsettling ease.

”Get up”

His voice rasped like sandpaper dragged over steel.

”Pain is confirmation you are still alive”

And so he rose.

And so they all rose.

Bruised.

Battered.

But never broken.

As night began to creep its way over the horizon, Corporal Samuel finally called a halt.

But not before delivering his final words.

”Remember this well, your weapon may fail you. Your comrades may fall. But your body is yours, until death claims it”

His eyes swept across them once more, and for the briefest moment, there was a glint of something dangerous.

Approval.

”Training continues at the usual time tomorrow”

Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving the recruits amidst the echoes of their own heavy breaths and pounding hearts.

Tomorrow would come.

And with it, another day of survival.

Another step towards becoming something more than mere soldiers.

Towards becoming weapons in their own right.