The girl born from hope

Today we train tomorrow we conquer (part 1)

The air in the training hall was thick with tension, the oppressive heat of the desert seeping into the ancient stones. Kaz, already glistening with sweat from the relentless burn of the slave markings and the sweltering environment, took the lead as they prepared for the obstacle course ahead. His brown skin, shining in the dim light, contrasted sharply with the stark black of his braided and knotted hair. Without hesitation, he picked up a scimitar, the curved blade a perfect representation of his ability to strike with precision and dodge with agility. The weapon felt familiar and right in his grip, its weight a comforting reminder of his skill.

Ren, always quick to follow Kaz's example, chose a scimitar as well, his grip firm as he fell into step behind his leader. Darr, on the other hand, selected a heavy, short steel sword—a weapon that reflected his brute strength and straightforward approach to combat. He positioned himself behind Kaz and Ren, his eyes scanning the arena with a soldier's calm, prepared to take on whatever lay ahead.

Leondray, the outlier among them with his nearly white-blond hair that stood out in the desert sun, waited patiently. Unlike the others, his preference was for daggers—quick, silent, and deadly. He armed himself with multiple blades, both visible and hidden, each one ready to be thrown with deadly accuracy. His gaze shifted to Nomai, who was selecting a bow, his fingers brushing over the finely crafted arrows that would soon find their marks.

Rictus, always the enigma, chose a thin estoc sword. The blade was sharp and deadly, capable of slicing through an opponent with such precision that they might not even realize they'd been cut until it was too late. The weapon suited Rictus perfectly—unassuming yet lethal, just like him. He moved with a casual ease that belied the intensity of the situation, his dark eyes betraying no emotion as he surveyed the arena.

The six men stood at the edge of the obstacle course, their muscles tense, minds racing as they prepared for the unknown challenges ahead. The training hall, an ancient structure forged by powerful magic before the dawn of hunters, loomed around them, its walls imbued with enchantments that could expand the space into an endless battlefield. Today, the hall had darkened, swallowing the light until the men could barely see their own hands. Then, in an instant, torches flared to life, illuminating the massive circular arena around them. Darkened pathways surrounded the central area, each one leading to shadows thick with danger.

From these pathways, the first wave of enemies emerged: level 10 demons, each one clad in cursed armor and wielding weapons tainted by dark magic. These were not mindless beasts but cunning adversaries, each with a weak point hidden deep within their monstrous forms. The challenge was clear: the men had to find these weak points and exploit them before the demons could regenerate.

The ground beneath their feet shifted, breaking apart as jagged hills rose up, creating an uneven battlefield that would test their coordination and communication. Darr and Rictus were the first to act, flanking Kaz on either side. With practiced ease, Kaz connected his thumb and middle finger, channeling his magic into a powerful wind spell. The force of the spell tore through the demons in front of him, shredding their cursed armor and leaving only a hulking ogre standing—a demon that had to be at least a level 20 to withstand such an attack.

Kaz drew his scimitar and charged at the ogre, his movements swift and calculated. Meanwhile, Leondray, ever the strategist, was already scanning the battlefield, his sharp eyes searching for the telltale signs of the demons' weak points. He moved with the grace of a predator, avoiding the cursed emerald swords of two demons that had targeted him. As they closed in, his back erupted in a flurry of movement, and two large snakes—his magical companions—struck, biting off the heads of his attackers in one swift motion.

Rictus, seemingly unaffected by the chaos around him, moved with a deadly calm. His estoc sword sliced through demons left and right, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to the ferocity of his strikes. But even he knew that without finding the demons' weak points, their efforts would be in vain. The demons would continue to regenerate, their cursed armor repairing itself as they returned to the fight.

The men were locked in a deadly dance with their enemies, their weapons flashing in the dim light of the torches. The demons pressed in from all sides, their cursed weapons cutting through the air with lethal intent. The arena had become a swirling vortex of chaos and bloodshed, each man fighting not just for victory but for survival.

As the battle raged on, the men communicated through quick glances and subtle gestures, their years of training allowing them to work in perfect harmony. Leondray, slipping through the battlefield like a ghost, finally spotted the first weak point—a small, glowing spot at the base of a demon's neck. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a dagger flying, striking the mark with deadly precision. The demon collapsed, its cursed armor disintegrating into ash.

The others quickly followed Leondray's lead, their eyes now trained to seek out the subtle hints of weakness in their foes. But the battle was far from over. The level 10 demons were relentless, their cursed armor making them formidable opponents even as the men began to exploit their vulnerabilities.