Cabochon

Chapter Two

Irvin readied his saber out in front of him. His opponents-two other soldiers armed with blades and flintlocks stood on the other side of the small arena. They never allowed guns for sparring before. Irvin shot a glance at the generals standing by the sidelines, mumbling to one another. Not that it matters. He's among the top percent of Lindell's military. Fighting without any measures of safety has turned into a daily habit.

General Markson held up his hand. "Match will conclude at first cut." He kept his voice completely devoid of emotion, as though he were sending up just another soldier against unfair odds-not his own pupil. "Begin!"

Irvin lunged forward, feinting a stab before pivoting to a cut aimed at his opponent's arm. He backed away just in time-the second already had his flintlock in hand. Irvin burned a diamond.

His hands moved with a mind of their own, bringing his saber up to meet the bullet's trajectory. A loud ping! echoed throughout the room as he deflected the soldier's shot. Irvin charged, knocking his blade away before giving a quick slice across his arm. One down.

The second drew his gun while lunging forward, blade outstretched. Irvin feinted to meet his attack before ducking low, swinging into his exposed leg. The soldier let out a roar as his gun went off, leaving Irvin's back to scream in pain. He instinctively burned an emerald on his bracelet, dampening the aching along with his disappointment.

"Enough." General Markson stepped onto the platform, checking both of the fighters. They were already burning aquamarine to heal their wounds. Irvin sighed in relief as he noticed the bullet hadn't struck his spine. That would have left an injury too severe for a gem to heal. He could push himself through all this hell, just to end up paralyzed for the rest of his life.

The general offered another piece of aquamarine to the three, none of which needed it. "That was an...unexpected result, yet you three have displayed phenomenal performance, nonetheless. The remainder of the hour is yours', until we begin with more intensive practice."

Irvin let out a sigh, all but stumbling to one of the side benches as he eased up on burning his emerald. The aches came back, though muffled, as he crashed down on the seat, tearing off his helmet and sections of his body armor. They're meant to protect the more unfixable parts of the body, though it was far from perfect. Markson walked over to sit next to the soldier.

"You're going to get some of your best men killed in sparring alone." The military's grown far too over-relying on gems' abilities. They don't make anyone invincible. The training's been extreme before, but not like this.

Markson glanced down at Irvin's rings. "You barely used any of your gems for that fight. That is, aside from emeralds."

Shame flickered through Irvin, forcing it's way through the emerald's dampening just as the last of it's power flickered out. Men, especially soldiers, aren't expected to use such a gem-taking away any pain and emotions is reserved for the weak, who can't go on without such a crutch. I have to stop someday...But that's hard when every day proves worse than the last. "...Couldn't help it. Bullets hurt."

Markson turned towards him. "You are Lindell's best fighter. What will the other soldiers think when they realize you can't go more than five minutes without burning a gem just for pleasure?" Irvin didn't respond. "Worse yet, the country as a whole certainly wouldn't like to see their best man grow so soft." He leaned in. "Gems run dry in the field. Don't ever grow dependent on them, especially the one meant only to pamper you." After a moment of silence, Markson turned his ear towards Irvin.

"...Understood, general."

"Very good. Now rest up, soldier; you've earned it." After another minute of catching his breath, Irvin stood, setting away his armor before leaving the plain stone room. The hallway's window revealed the capital of Lindell, cletara. He could make out so much of it from here, given that this training base stood two stories higher than most of the surrounding buildings. From here, he could see the barracks, the mess hall, and almost every corner of the military base: the place he's spent nearly his entire life roaming around.