Jeff left Uncle Wei's workshop with his new weapons slung across his back, his steps light and almost boyish. The Static Mist Pistol tapped against his hip with each stride, while the Emerald of Genesis Sword on his hilt, throwing flashes of bluish light. He couldn't help grinning, fingers brushing the hilt like a kid with his first toy.
Still buzzing, he pulled out his terminal. The screen lit up with Rover's ID. Without hesitation, he tapped the call button.
The signal crackled for a moment before Rover's calm face appeared, framed by the faint glow of the central plains behind her. She looked a little tired but overall fine, her hair slightly tousled, as if she'd just pulled back from a fight.
"Rover," Jeff greeted, his voice laced with excitement he couldn't hide. "What's up?"
Her lips curved into the smallest of smiles. "Hey, Jeff. Did you get your weapons?"
Jeff tilted the screen just enough to show the faint glimmer of steel behind him. His grin widened. "Yup, got 'em. They're insane. I'm actually heading to the training grounds right now to give them a proper test. What about you?"
Rover adjusted the strap of her pack, the faint sound of chatter and movement behind her. "I'm with Yangyang and Chixia. We're out on patrol fighting and cleaning up Tacet Discords, farming echoes… you know, the usual."
Jeff raised his brows, whistling low. "Damn. You sure are busy."
A soft chuckle escaped her, though it carried a hint of weariness. "You don't know the half of it. We're on a short break right now, but we'll be moving again soon." Her gaze softened as she leaned a little closer to the screen. "I'll see you back in our room later. Good luck with your training, okay? Bye-bye."
Jeff nodded, his grin softening into something more genuine. "See you later, Rover."
The call ended, leaving Jeff staring at the dim screen for a second longer than necessary. He slipped the terminal back into his pocket, still smiling to himself. The weight of his new weapons pressed reassuringly against him. With renewed energy, he headed toward the training grounds.
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The training grounds thundered with life. Shouts of drill sergeants cracked like whips, soldiers grunted as they pushed their bodies beyond exhaustion, and the ringing clash of weapons filled the air. Sweat glistened on armor, boots dug furrows into the dirt, and the smell of iron mixed with dust made the whole place feel like a forge where warriors were hammered into shape.
Jeff walked in, eyes gleaming with excitement. His new weapons from Uncle Wei weighed heavy but reassuring on his body the Emerald of Genesis Sword strapped to his hilt, the Static Mist Pistol snug at his hip, and his Cosmic Ripple Rectifier waiting to materialize. He was eager to test them in the simulation chamber, to finally see what they could do in his hands.
But before he could take another step, a shadow loomed over him.
"Hey, new guy."
Jeff looked up. The man who blocked his path was broad-shouldered, towering, his presence radiating command. His armor was battered but solid, and his gaze was sharp, the kind that measured you in seconds.
"Care for some sparring?" the man continued, his voice low and even, like he'd said those words a thousand times before. "Necessary training will keep your mind sharp. Remember, you have no chance for mistakes out there."
Jeff swallowed, his pulse skipping. Damn, he's huge. This must be the guy I saw working those soldiers to the bone the other day… His lips pressed into a thin line. He reminds me of my old training officer.
The man studied him, eyes narrowing slightly. "Combat isn't just about strength. You need skill and wisdom too when facing enemies on the battlefield."
Jeff straightened, trying not to let his nerves show. "Yes, sir. I'm looking to familiarize myself with my new weapon from Uncle Wei and… test my combat capabilities." Almost by reflex, Jeff snapped into a salute.
The man's eyes flicked to the weapons strapped to Jeff, then back to his posture. Something unreadable passed through his expression. "From the way you carry yourself… are you a soldier?"
Jeff's throat tightened. "I was. Combat medic, to be precise."
A flicker of respect flashed across the man's face. "Once a soldier, always a soldier."
Jeff froze, a strange chill crawling up his spine. Damn. Déjà vu. Where have I heard that before?
"So you must have some combat experience," the man pressed.
"Yes, sir," Jeff replied evenly. His eyes lowered for a moment. "Though I lack proper experience in fighting Tacet Discords."
That seemed to amuse the man. His mouth curved into a faint, knowing smirk. "Hoh… so you must have more experience fighting people, then."
Jeff hesitated, shoulders stiffening. "Yes," he admitted quietly.
The man chuckled under his breath, but it wasn't mocking, more like recognition. "Well, you've come to the right place. Combat skills and tactics. Anything you're willing to learn, as long as I have it."
Jeff studied him, trying to read this man who carried himself like a fortress.
"Practicality is key on the battlefield," the man continued, tone sharpening. "Years of combat have taught me that. If you want fancy tricks, go elsewhere. What I'll teach you is how to survive. And how to win."
Jeff's brow furrowed. "Is surviving more important to you, sir?" His voice was cautious, probing, trying to see what kind of man stood before him.
"Absolutely," the man answered without hesitation. His eyes darkened, the weight of memory flickering in them. "But let me be clear, I am not condoning cowardice. I would give my life for Huanglong anytime. But I've witnessed too many pointless deaths." His jaw clenched, voice tightening. "I do not want to see our new recruits make the same mistakes. My purpose is to teach you how to avoid them… and give you a better chance at life."
He stepped closer, his shadow stretching over Jeff like armor. "Do not rush blindly into battle like those before you. You deserve more than that."
Jeff shifted his stance, uncertain but listening intently. "Then… is winning more important to you?"
The man's face softened, just slightly. "Winning matters. But the battlefield is constantly changing." He gestured to the training soldiers behind them. "If you rush for success, you'll make costly mistakes. Focus on improving your skills, on knowing when to act. That's how you win and live."
Finally, his eyes locked with Jeff's, unblinking. "Remember that you have many years ahead of you. Prioritize staying alive."
Jeff let the words sink in, his chest tightening with a mix of respect and unease. Slowly, he nodded. "Thank you, sir."
The man gave a small grunt of approval, almost a smile. "Good. Then let's see what you're made of."
The clamor of the training ground faded as Jeff and Yhan moved to a wide, empty corner where the dirt was already marked by boot prints and scuffs from past sparring matches. The noise of drills still echoed faintly in the background shouts, clangs, the rhythm of soldiers being molded but here, it felt quieter than usual.
Both men set their weapons aside. Jeff carefully unstrapped the Emerald of Genesis Sword from his back, laying it down with reverence, and unclipped the Static Mist Pistol from his belt. The weight lifted, leaving him lighter but also exposed. Across from him, Yhan removed his gauntlets and armor plating with efficient, practiced movements, every gesture precise, and economical like a man who had done this countless times before.
"First to tap out loses," Yhan said, his deep voice carrying authority. His eyes narrowed, assessing Jeff not as a stranger now, but as a fellow soldier under trial. "This exercise will help me gauge your close-quarters capabilities, and see where you need work. Afterward, you can proceed to the simulations with your weapons. Do you find these terms agreeable, soldier?"
Jeff's jaw tightened, but his voice was firm. "No objection, sir."
"Good," Yhan replied with a curt nod. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back, then stretched his neck until it cracked. "Now—let's begin."
They paced backward, putting several meters between them. Dust shifted under their boots as they turned, each facing the other, the tension coiling between them like a drawn bowstring.
Jeff inhaled deeply, centering himself. He raised his fists into a boxing stance, shoulders squared, elbows tucked, every muscle coiled with readiness. His heart thudded against his ribs steady, focused, but tinged with anticipation. His eyes locked on Yhan, searching for openings that might not exist.
Yhan, in contrast, crouched low into a sprinter's stance. One hand brushed the ground lightly, his weight balanced forward on the balls of his feet. His eyes gleamed with a predator's patience. Every line of his body radiated explosive power waiting to be unleashed.
For a moment, the world seemed to still the distant clamor of soldiers dulling, even the air heavy with expectation.
Jeff adjusted his footing, raising his chin slightly. His brows knitted in concentration. He's fast… I can see it already. Big as hell, but he's going to close distance like a fucking bullet.
Yhan's lips tugged into the faintest smirk, as if reading Jeff's thoughts. "Show me what you've got, medic."
And with that, the match began.
Then Yhan moved.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat, launching a high kick that sliced through the air toward Jeff's temple. Jeff blocked, the impact reverberating through his forearm, only to meet a follow-up punch aimed straight for his jaw. He twisted, deflecting the strike, but Yhan didn't let up—his fists came like hammer blows, a relentless rhythm that forced Jeff onto the defensive.
Damn, what the hell… he's not even trying yet. Jeff's thoughts raced as he parried another strike, sweat already prickling his forehead. This is him going easy on me?!
Jeff ducked under a hook and drove his knuckles into Yhan's forearm, hammering again and again before snapping a low kick toward Yhan's leg. The veteran staggered half a step back, the faintest flicker of surprise in his eyes.
Jeff shifted, arms snapping into a tighter Wing Chun guard. His movements grew sharper, compact deflections with minimal effort, every parry a razor-thin redirect. Yhan unleashed a flurry of kicks, but Jeff brushed them aside with crisp, efficient hand movements, his focus narrowing.
Around them, soldiers and recruits began to pause mid-drill, drawn to the clash. A murmur rippled through the crowd, eyes locked on the fight.
Yhan swung high with another kick, but Jeff slipped past it, retaliating with a rapid combination—punches snapping toward Yhan's torso, a swift kick to his side. Yhan feinted a right hook, but Jeff didn't bite. He closed the gap, slamming a kick into Yhan's chest, driving him back.
"Hoh…" Yhan's lips curved into an amused smirk, sweat glistening on his brow. "You weren't lying when you said you had experience fighting people. What kind of medic are you?"
Jeff's eyes hardened, his breath steady. "The kind that can fight."
Yhan's grin widened, almost feral. He charged again, sweeping Jeff off his feet with raw force and slamming him to the ground. The impact knocked the air from Jeff's lungs, and before he could fully recover, Yhan's knee strikes came down mercilessly, shoving him backward across the dirt.
Jeff coughed, dragging himself up, frustration boiling. Enough playing defense. He surged forward, unleashing a storm of rapid punches—Ip Man style, relentless, a blur of fists against Yhan's guard. But Yhan responded with brutal kicks, the kind that rattled bone, then hooked Jeff's arm and slammed him hard into the ground again.
"Is that it, huh?" Yhan taunted, standing tall above him. His tone was provocative, his gaze daring. "Is that all you've got? Come on—get up!"
Jeff spat dust from his mouth, chest heaving. Slowly, he pushed to his feet, wiping blood from his lip. The recruits watching gasped softly, admiration flickering in their eyes. Most men would've tapped out already. But Jeff raised his fists again, shoulders squared.
"I understand it now," Jeff muttered, his voice low but steady.
Yhan cocked his head, wary. "What?"
Jeff didn't answer. Instead, he let instinct take over. Yhan rushed again, kicks and punches tearing through the air—but this time, Jeff flowed with them, deflecting with eerie ease. His movements were sharper, more precise, as if he'd found the rhythm of Yhan's attack.
He slipped inside Yhan's guard, his hand like a knife striking into the man's oblique. Yhan grunted, and Jeff seized his opening—grabbing Yhan's arm, yanking him forward into a kick to the gut, then driving a brutal punch across his back. Yhan tried to counter, to twist him into another slam, but Jeff turned the momentum, hooking his arm around Yhan's throat.
With a burst of strength, Jeff pivoted, dragging Yhan off balance before slamming him into the dirt. The ground shook with the impact.
And Jeff didn't stop.
He rained punches down, each one driving Yhan deeper into the dust, his face set with grim determination. The crowd roared as Jeff rose, kicking Yhan back before charging again. Yhan surged up, but Jeff spun with his momentum, leaping into a flying roundhouse kick that connected squarely.
Yhan crashed hard onto his back, the breath leaving him in a violent grunt. Dust hung in the air, the silence of the crowd deafening.
Jeff stood over him, chest heaving, fists still raised.
The silence broke with scattered claps, then a wave of cheers from the recruits who had watched every second.
And though Yhan's lips bled, his expression was one of raw amusement, even pride.
The medic had won.
The air still buzzed with tension after the fight, but the sudden roar of applause shattered it. Soldiers and recruits clapped, whistled, and hollered as Jeff straightened, his chest rising and falling, sweat running down his temple.
"Damn," one soldier muttered, wide-eyed. "How strong is that guy?"
Another let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "He just kicked our instructor's ass. No way."
Among the crowd, a young woman in red leaned casually against a post, arms crossed, lips curved into a sharp grin. Her eyes gleamed with a predator's thrill, her battle-hungry spirit practically vibrating.
Finally, she thought, her pulse quickening. A strong opponent our battle will be legendary.
She whispered under her breath, almost amused, "Hoh… a strong opponent appeared."
Jeff approached Yhan, extending a hand. His expression was tired but sincere, the adrenaline still burning through his system. "You good?"
Yhan coughed out a laugh, rolling his shoulders before taking Jeff's hand in a firm grip. "Yeah, I'm good. Stronger than I gave you credit for."
Jeff pulled him up with a grunt, both men giving each other a look that mixed mutual respect with the faintest challenge.
"That was a good fight," Jeff said honestly, brushing dust off his trousers.
"Haven't fought like that in a long time," Yhan admitted, chuckling. "You're one hell of a guy." He tilted his head, squinting slightly as if studying Jeff all over again. "What's your name again, son?"
"Jeff. My name's Jeff," he replied, voice even, though his stance remained unconsciously disciplined.
Yhan smirked. "Such a simple name for a man like you… but I like it." His tone dropped lower, carrying weight now. "I formally invite you to be one of us. With you around, I can be more at ease."
Jeff froze, caught off guard by the offer. His hand tightened briefly around the strap of his weapon before he shook his head. "Thanks for the offer," he said, softer now, "but I have to refuse."
I still have to accompany Rover. I can't be tied down yet, he thought firmly, the image of her flashing in his mind.
Yhan gave a small hum, neither disappointed nor angry, just… resigned. "I see. What a shame." His grin returned, though faint this time. "But feel free to come here again if you ever reconsider."
"I appreciate it," Jeff replied with a nod. "And thanks again for the fight. It was… fun."
He gave Yhan a salute, the gesture automatic yet filled with respect.
Yhan laughed heartily, shaking his head. "You really are a soldier, huh?"
Jeff strapped his weapons back into place, the clinking sound sharp in the quiet that followed, and headed toward the simulation ground.
Behind him, Yhan turned to see the recruits still frozen, gawking at the aftermath. His face darkened.
"What are you staring at?" he barked, his voice like a whip crack. "Who told you to stop training?"
The soldiers scrambled instantly, panic sparking in their eyes.
"MOVE IT, MOVE IT!" Yhan roared, his drill-sergeant voice booming across the grounds, back to that same relentless Hartmann-style ferocity.
Jeff glanced back only once, lips twitching with a faint smile, before disappearing into the simulation grounds.