"Interesting..." Gideon thought, his sharp eyes fixated on George as he analyzed the peculiar movements. George's actions lacked any formal martial art technique, yet they were effective—primitive, instinctive, and raw, much like the survival tactics of a cornered animal. There was no elegance in the way George moved, no precision or honed combat style. He simply ran, dodged, and kicked the back of opponents' legs with almost childlike efficiency.
It reminded Gideon of the way wild animals fight. They don't study techniques or engage in strategic duels. They fight to survive, using whatever means necessary. And here was George, doing the same. 'This hit-and-run method... it's strange, but effective,' Gideon mused.
Meanwhile, George, unaware of the detailed analysis his actions were receiving, grinned inwardly. 'This is working!' His chaotic, disorganized tactics—much like those employed by hit-and-run criminals back in his world, though without the use of vehicles—seemed to be confusing his opponents. Each time they anticipated a proper attack, George simply bolted, leaving them off balance and bewildered.
"Tsk! He did it again!" Rhelkas, the Barbarian Princess's assistant, snarled through gritted teeth as she stumbled to one knee, the latest victim of George's unorthodox tactic.
Her sister, Shal, glared at George with murder in her eyes. "That coward!" she spat, only to be sucker-punched by a fast-moving elf who had seized the opportunity.
The elves and barbarians were locked in combat, with Rhelkas overpowering her lighter, quicker elven opponent despite her earlier injury. The male elf managed to land on his feet after being thrown, his agility allowing him to avoid serious damage. Meanwhile, the female elf, Amarille, took a more tactical approach, fleeing from Shal, whose leg had been hurt by George's earlier kick.
But before Amarille could gain any ground, she felt a sharp blow to the back of her knee. She gasped, stumbling forward. George, again. He darted off before Amarille could retaliate, heading towards her male counterpart.
Shal, regaining her balance, looked at the scene with increasing rage. "Sister!" Rhelkas's voice cut through the chaos as she pointed toward George, who was now targeting another elf.
"I will kill you!!" Shal screamed, her voice breaking with fury as she lunged for George, only to be intercepted by an unexpected kick from the male elf, Ilimitar. His boot connected with her liver, knocking the wind out of her.
Despite the pain, Shal's Barbarian blood kicked in. She grunted, standing tall even after the blow that would have crippled most fighters. With a bloodied grin, she spat a tooth onto the ground. "Oh, spirits..." Ilimitar whispered, realizing the dire situation he was in. Barbarians were notorious for their resilience, and he knew he stood no chance in a hand-to-hand fight with Shal.
As Ilimitar turned to retreat, he felt the sharp impact of a foot on the back of his knees, sending him crashing to the ground. **George again,** and just as swiftly as he'd struck, George sprinted away.
"Amarille!" Ilimitar shouted as he scrambled back to his feet. His companion, the female elf, turned mid-run, noticing Ilimitar gesturing frantically for her to regroup.
Amarille quickly changed direction, rushing to her comrade's side. Together, they now faced Rhelkas, who spit at the ground in front of Ilimitar. "Why have you stopped?" she demanded, her eyes burning with fury.
"Wait! We have to stop fighting each other!" Ilimitar insisted, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace.
"And why is that?" Rhelkas growled, clearly not in the mood for compromise.
Ilimitar pointed toward George, who had just kicked Shal's legs out from under her, sending her sprawling toward Heigdeirr. "That human dares!?!" Rhelkas snarled, her anger redirected toward George.
Both elves and barbarians shared a brief moment of understanding: George was the problem. While they had been busy fighting amongst themselves, George had been playing them all, weakening them and evading confrontation.
With a shared, grudging agreement, the barbarians and elves turned their attention to George, ready to eliminate the one who had turned the fight into chaos.
Meanwhile, Prince Royce Isenwyn and Bryne observed from a distance. "This guy is good," the Prince remarked, an impressed smirk curling his lips.
"You think so, Your Highness?" Bryne asked, clearly intrigued.
"He's using chaos to his advantage. He's not wasting time or energy fighting directly," the Prince mused, watching George expertly evade and disrupt his opponents.
As the barbarians and elves charged after him, George, sensing their collective hostility, knew the jig was up. He glanced nervously at Gideon, who had been watching him closely the entire time. 'Is he waiting for me to make a real move?' George wondered, as the headmaster's keen eyes never left him.
George, knowing his only chance was to stall, sprinted toward the Prince and Bryne. "You two, cover me!" he yelled.
Bryne and the Prince, confused but intrigued by George's audacity, stepped forward instinctively. "Get behind us," the Prince commanded. "We'll buy you some time."
George wasted no time hiding behind the two seasoned fighters, his heart racing as he narrowly avoided the oncoming horde. The Prince delivered a punishing blow to Shal's solar plexus, halting her advance. The other barbarians and elves skidded to a stop as they faced the Prince and Bryne, unsure of how to proceed.
"Eliminate him, and this will be over quickly!" Princess Stulgra growled, her voice hoarse from the chase.
The Prince shook his head. "No can do," he taunted, just as a sharp pain shot up his leg. He buckled, realizing too late that George had kicked the back of his knee, sending both him and Bryne tumbling to the ground.
"Why?" the Prince gasped, bewildered.
"Because," George replied cryptically, before bolting away once more.
The stunned fighters exchanged baffled glances. 'What was George up to?'
As George reached the far end of the tent, he spun around to face his pursuers—now a full-fledged mob. Gideon, still seated, raised an eyebrow, intrigued by George's next move.
With a sudden burst of speed, George darted back into the center of the group, bewildering them all. He charged toward Shal, hoisting her up by her legs before unceremoniously slamming her onto the ground. Shal groaned in pain, her barbarian constitution barely keeping her conscious.
The barbarians, now enraged, led the charge after George once more. But George, ever the opportunist, seized Shal by her arms, using her as a human shield to protect himself from the incoming blows.
"Let me go!" Shal shrieked, flailing in George's grasp, but his grip was ironclad.
Rhelkas and the other barbarians lunged forward, engaging in a bizarre tug-of-war over Shal's body. Overpowered, George released her, sending Shal hurtling backward into the arms of her comrades.
Cracking their knuckles, the combined forces of barbarians, elves, and humans prepared to exact their revenge on George.
But just as they closed in, George dropped to the ground and raised his hands in surrender. "I concede!"
The fighters halted, confusion etched on their faces.
From the sidelines, Gideon rose to his feet, clearly disappointed. "George, you've failed. Come back next year."
The other students shook their heads, unable to comprehend why George had fought so recklessly, only to give up at the last moment.
But George, still sprawled on the ground, grinned up at Gideon. "No, sir, I've passed. Check your watch."
Gideon raised an eyebrow and glanced at the stopwatch in his hand. His eyes widened as he read the time: 5 minutes, 50 seconds.
"You... passed," Gideon muttered, visibly surprised.
"Unbelievable," the Prince whispered, wiping sweat from his brow. George had passed, but not in any way they could have anticipated.
Outside the tent, existing students peered inside, their jaws dropping at what they had just witnessed.
Meanwhile, George lay on the ground, panting heavily. "Finally..." he whispered, utterly exhausted from his unconventional, yet successful, strategy.