It was both a form of recognition and a clear line drawn between them.
Wagner was an excellent instructor and fighter, but Mike was the survival expert here, the one who had endured the most brutal trials.
At some point, Carver had wandered over. He leaned lazily against a nearby obstacle with a blade of grass between his teeth, watching the lesson in the middle of the field with keen interest.
"Hey, Wagner." Carver lifted his chin at Wagner, his trademark roguish grin on his face.
"Teaching without sparring is boring, isn't it? Come on, play with me a little. Don't hold back. Let me see what you're really made of."
He shook the training dagger in his hand, his eyes full of eager challenge.
The area instantly fell silent, and every gaze turned toward them.
This was a clash between top fighters.
Wagner looked at Carver, and a surge of fighting intent rose in him as well. "Fine."
Without another word, Carver moved.
Unlike Mike, who used strength to break through skill, Carver's footwork was unpredictable. His dagger traced strange arcs through the air, feinting and thrusting with incredible speed, every movement full of deception.
It was a personal killing style honed through countless brushes with death, the kind every top mercenary forged for himself.
Wagner's footwork was precise. He blocked, dodged, and countered, neutralizing Carver's storm-like attacks one after another.
His defense was nearly flawless.
"Fuck, slippery bastard!" Carver spat, and his attacks grew even fiercer.
He deliberately exposed an opening, luring Wagner in.
Wagner took the bait, his dagger thrusting straight forward.
At that instant, Carver's body twisted at an almost impossible angle. The dagger that should have missed somehow appeared at the side of Wagner's neck and tapped it lightly.
"Thud!" At the same time, Wagner's knee drove into Carver's abdomen.
Both men stepped back at once, their breathing slightly heavier.
A draw?
No. Looking closely, Carver's tap to Wagner's neck was the more lethal strike.
Wagner's knee strike was more of a standard tactical counter, and the damage was limited.
Carver rubbed his stomach and grinned, though the grin came with a grimace. "That hit had some bite. Damn, you've got hard bones."
He put away the dagger, walked up to Wagner, and held out his hand. "Count me in for sparring from now on. Fighting you is a hell of a lot more interesting."
Wagner looked at Carver's outstretched hand, then at the challenge still in his eyes, now mixed with a bit more recognition. He reached out and shook it.
"Your fighting style is highly threatening," he assessed objectively.
The exchange opened the new recruits' eyes.
Wagner was the whetstone used to sharpen them, while Mike and Carver were the sharpest points of the Fortress itself, blades they still had to look up to.
Unlike the fierce collisions in the close-quarters combat area, the crude "Knoxville Street Scene Simulation Area" temporarily set up at the edge of the training ground was far more practical.
Jason was playing the role that suited him best: a living map and survival guide.
He crouched with several squad members who would take part in the next supply search mission. In front of them was a rough block map drawn in charcoal on the concrete.
"Look here." Jason tapped an intersection on the map with a twig. "'Old Jon's Gun Shop.'
The sign's almost falling off, but the back wall of his basement is thin brick. Before the apocalypse, I'd been looking for a chance to slip in there. Never got one."
He grinned, showing a set of not-so-straight teeth, with a bit of streetwise cunning in his expression.
"And this 'Rat Alley.'" The twig slid to a narrow passage. "It's not on the official map, but it connects the sewer entrances and fire escapes across three blocks.
Walkers can't get in there, so it's our shortcut. But you've gotta watch out for 'The Butcher's' turf..."
Jason paused, realizing that the former local gang boss known as "The Butcher" had probably become a walker long ago. He spat.
"Shit. Anyway, that area used to be his. His people were vicious, so whatever they stashed there has to be good, but I bet they left plenty of 'surprises' too."
Jason's information did not come from military reconnaissance. It came from a street thug's scouting, turf fights, and intimate knowledge of Knoxville's darker corners.
He knew which hardware store had a back door lock that was just for show, which abandoned car lot might have usable batteries, and even which groups of homeless people in certain areas might know about hidden storage spots.
"Jason, that Macy's on the west side. Which direction is safest for getting in?"
A veteran asked him seriously.
In the face of real combat value, seniority temporarily took a back seat.
"The front door? That's for regular people." Jason snorted. "The truck loading area, you know it?
There's a maintenance passage over there that leads straight to the underground warehouse. It might be blocked, but it's ten times better than forcing your way through the walker herd in the main shopping hall."
He described the route and possible obstacles in detail.
Just then, Merle wandered over. As he listened to Jason's explanation, a rare glimmer of interest appeared in his eyes.
He was not there to learn techniques. He was there to learn the route.
"Hey, Little Mouse." Merle used the axe blade on his right arm to poke at the "Rat Alley" Jason had drawn. "Can you really squeeze through this damn place? Don't you fuckin' bullshit me."
"Boss, would I dare bullshit you? Last time we swept those blocks to the south, if I hadn't led us around that nursing home full of walkers, would we have reached that medical equipment store so fast?"
The way Merle looked at Jason carried the appreciation of someone who had found his own kind.
He cackled and slapped Jason on the back, hard enough to make him stagger.
"Guess you're good for something! From now on, when you go out with me, you lead from the front. You point, we hit. Find anything good, and you'll get your share of the credit!"
Jason rubbed his back, a smile piled onto his face. "Thanks for the promotion, Boss!"
He knew perfectly well that Merle saw him as a convenient "GPS" and "mine detector," but that was exactly his chance to show his value and gain status.
Jason and Merle were the same kind of people. Both believed in the strong preying on the weak. But Jason had used his brains to become a small-time street boss, while Merle had not really made a name for himself before the apocalypse.
Jason's local Knoxville experience, along with his "rat philosophy" of doing whatever it took to survive, happened to fill some of the gaps in formal military training.
Calista stood at the command room window, taking in everything on the training ground.
"Good..." she murmured to herself.
Wagner, this high-quality whetstone, had successfully made Mike and Carver shine even brighter, while also pushing the morale of the entire Defense Force higher.
This layered atmosphere, full of both competition and cooperation, was exactly what she wanted.
She picked up the charcoal pencil and marked the position representing the Knoxville Industrial Zone on the map. The arrow of attack seemed even sharper now.
Once the reserves were trained up, it would be time for this team, still in the middle of being sharpened, to witness true blood and fire.
...
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