The sparring continued even after the tense incident with Yunmin, and although the air still held traces of tension, the rest of the matches proceeded with less chaos. The captains had made it clear, any unsanctioned attacks would result in immediate disqualification. No one wanted to be the next fool escorted out of the camp like Yunmin.
Most of Seokmin’s friends did well in their matches.
Minghao was graceful and precise. His opponent never even saw half of his strikes coming before they were on the ground. Every movement Minghao made felt like a flow of water, quick, flexible, deadly. He had barely broken a sweat by the time the match ended.
Hansol, on the other hand, relied on speed and unpredictability. His footwork was erratic, hard to follow, and the moment his opponent let their guard down, Hansol swept in with a clean strike. He gave a casual grin afterward, as if it had all been a game.
Mingyu, true to his strength was a force. The moment his match began, everyone knew it wouldn’t last long. It was a clean, overwhelming victory, and he stood there like a wall of muscle and discipline, waiting for the next command.
Then came Seungkwan’s match.
He had been hopeful. Determined.
But his opponent wasn’t just any recruit, it was Jiwoong, one of the Top 3 ranking elites from the preliminary rounds.
The fight was swift. Jiwoong was relentless, silent, and sharp. His movements were clean and fast, and although Seungkwan gave it his all, dodging and countering with the energy and flare he was known for, he couldn’t keep up.
When the spar ended with Seungkwan on the ground, catching his breath, Jiwoong just stared at him.
Not a single word.
Not a hand to help him up.
Not even a nod of acknowledgment.
Just a cold, dismissive glance before he turned and walked away.
Seungkwan scowled, brushing dirt off his knees as he made his way back to the others.
"What a jerk!" he muttered, flopping down beside Hansol. "Who does he think he is? A prince? A statue??"
"You did good," Hansol offered. "He’s just built like a machine."
"A machine with a stick up his a—"
"Seungkwan..." Minghao interrupted, raising an eyebrow.
Seungkwan huffed but said no more. Still, the sting of Jiwoong’s coldness stayed with him.
As the sun dipped low beyond the horizon, the first official day of training came to a close.
The sparring field was stained with sweat, dust, and a few drops of blood. Those who had suffered serious injuries were immediately escorted to the medic tents, where trained healers are waiting.
Despite the exhaustion, there was a strange kind of buzzing energy in the air, a sense of shared trial, of something endured together.
The day was brutal. But in a way, it was also… exciting.
The next few days were nothing short of hell.
Each morning began before sunrise, with drills that tested not only their physical strength but also their endurance, agility, and mental stability.
It was like sitting through the most violent, exhausting exam week of their lives.
But they weren’t going to lie, there were moments of fun too.
From struggling to balance on tightrope bridges, to working in teams to solve field puzzles, or even the spontaneous late-night story sessions around a shared bonfire, these days slowly molded them. Not just into soldiers, but into a unit.
Seokmin, who had barely scraped by during orientation, was stunned when the results from the sparring assessments came in.
He ranked Top 10.
Top 10.
Out of hundred of recruits.
He nearly dropped the parchment when he read it.
"Did they… make a mistake?" he whispered, eyes wide.
"No mistake." Minghao had said with a soft smile. "You earned it."
And deep inside, Seokmin felt a spark of pride he hadn’t felt in years.
One of the most anticipated days of the week was the equipment trials. Recruits were assessed on their ability to handle various weapons. Swords, daggers, shields, spears, and even long-range weapons like bows and crossbows.
While most struggled to find their weapon of choice, Hansol stood out like a shining star.
Despite his laid-back nature and tendency to joke around, the moment he picked up a bow, something changed.
His expression turned focused. Serious.
One arrow after another flew through the air, piercing the bullseye.
Again. And again. And again.
The crowd started murmuring. Even the captains were watching now.
Then came the sword trials. Hansol didn’t wield it with brute force, but with efficiency and calculated technique. Every strike was intentional. Clean. Controlled.
By the time the rankings were posted, a wave of whispers swept across the camp.
Rank #1, Hansol in Equipment Trials.
He had beaten everyone. Even Mingyu and Jiwoong.
"Wait, Hansol?!"
"How is the guy who sleeps during warmup number one?!"
Hansol just blinked at the board, blinked at his name, then scratched the back of his head and said, "Huh. Cool."
Another highlight of the week came during the Medic Test, a crucial segment of training where recruits were evaluated on their ability to handle medical emergencies, including wound dressing, stitching, herbal recognition, and trauma response.
If sparring wasn’t Seungkwan’s domain, this definitely was.
He moved with speed and precision, his hands steady as he cleaned and wrapped simulated wounds. His herbal solutions were accurate, and when given a patient with fake symptoms, he diagnosed and treated it faster than anyone else.
The instructors were visibly impressed.
While others fumbled with stitches, Seungkwan’s were near flawless.
During the final scenario, where two recruits had to stabilize a mock-injured soldier under time pressure, Seungkwan took command and even calmed his partner when they started panicking.
"Apply pressure here. Good. You’re doing great. Now grab the binding, yes, that’s it. Focus. Breathe with me," he said, his voice clear and steady.
By the end of the day, Seungkwan was ranked Top 2 in Medic Skills.
He stared at the board, his lips parting slightly in surprise.
"Me…? Top 2…?"
"Why do you sound so surprised?" Minghao teased.
Seungkwan wiped at his eyes dramatically. "I just… I don't know..."
Mingyu, meanwhile, had utterly failed the medic test.
He confused two herbs and nearly ‘killed’ his test patient. His hands were too big for the stitching needles, and he kept mumbling, "I’m better at breaking things, not fixing them!"
Seungkwan laughed for hours that night, patting Mingyu’s shoulder.
"Stick to throwing people around, gyu-ah."
And So, the First Week Ends
The first week of training had come and gone.
They were exhausted, bruised, and sore in muscles they didn’t know existed.
But they were also growing. Stronger. Smarter. Closer.
YOU ARE READING
Demonic || Seventeen
AçãoIt is set in a world where humanity is forced to live in cities surrounded by three enormous walls that protect them from demons and monsters that killed people referred to as Demonic; the story follows Lee Seokmin and friends, who vows to extermina...
