The main training hall was brutally chaotic. I'd been at the academy proper for nearly two weeks and I still wasn't used to it. There were no orderly duels or set boundaries, save for the fact that it never left the room. Acolytes weaved in and out of each other's paths as they dodged and deflected attacks from the resident training droids.
Venturing into the main hall meant taking your life into your own hands. The skill level of the opponents alternated randomly to simulate the havoc of a proper battlefield, so the droids were occasionally set for the Dark Council's training regimen.
I was passing by the hall the last time that happened and nearly got hit with a flying severed arm. I managed to get out of the way just before a flood of acolytes came pouring out of the room, including the guy that lost the arm.
Twelve people still died. Believe it or not, some of the senior acolytes go in there for fun and come out grinning like loons after losing a few fingers. Marauders-in-training, I guess.
There are separate training halls for individual learning, but you had to venture through the main hall to get to them. You also had to hope that they weren't occupied, otherwise you'd be stuck in front of a locked door just long enough to get shot.
"Shit!" I cussed as Garsh and I ducked under a hail of slugthrower fire directed at our head level.
Side note, I finally learned the Quarren's name. Not that he's said much else besides cussing furiously alongside me as we ran, but it was progress. Ahead of us, Gaarurra ripped the head off an overeager droid before continuing his mad rush to the nearest private training room.
My danger sense briefly screamed at me. I whipped my right arm towards something out of my sight, my hand curled into a fist. Metal shrieked against metal as I used my vambrace to batter a droid's vibroblade aside. If that had been a lightsaber, I would have lost my hand at the wrist. Thankfully, Star Wars armor actually works when used against things it was designed to defend against.
I kicked it full on the chassis, knocking it back into the chaotic melee behind it. I couldn't afford to get caught up in fighting it, so I ran afterwards. Garsh had already passed me, though I managed to catch up.
Thankfully, Gaarurra had found an empty training room and was waiting for us with the door open. We practically dove through the doorway as more fire came our way, landing awkwardly inside.
Behind us, the Wookiee closed and locked the door in the face of a Falleen acolyte just before she could slip in. Just before it slammed shut, her eyes locked onto mine.
I looked away.
I heard the crash as she slammed face-first into the door, followed by her frantic pounding against the metal. I closed my eyes and grimaced as it was suddenly drowned out by a long staccato of bangs before something thumped to the ground. I wasn't looking forward to the depressingly common sight that would greet us on the way out.
This was my reality. Careless compassion could get me killed just as easily as unrestrained arrogance. If Gaarurra hadn't closed the door when he did, we'd be just as dead as the Falleen was.
I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling as I tried to catch my breath.
Gaarurra's growl snapped me back.
"I know, I know," I groaned as I hopped to my feet. Beside me, Garsh was doing the same.
The private training rooms weren't really "private," just much smaller than the main hall. Ten people could easily train in here without the risk of hitting each other, though you never saw groups of acolytes that large training together. The largest I'd seen so far was five, though I suspected that they weren't from the same "class."
Despite being an academy for Sith, the Korriban Academy had surprisingly few actual Sith teaching at it. Sith Lords with useful skills or raw power were more often than not deployed out in the galaxy, rather than cooped up here. Blademasters were almost certainly in high demand due to their rate of attrition on the front lines. Those that survived were often promoted into a whole new set of responsibilities.
What few Sith were assigned to Korriban full-time were barely stronger than the students they were responsible for, likely because they were more useful here than anywhere else. Lord Renning was the third strongest Sith on Korriban full-time, and he was more of a researcher than a Sith.
Which made Iren's presence as an Overseer all the more puzzling. A level head and power like his, especially for a Sith Pureblood, should have taken him far in the Empire. However, that was a mystery for another time.
Gaarurra, Garsh, and I went to our separate corners of the room. Plugging my datapad into the terminal, I typed in the activation commands before stepping back and retrieving a training saber from the weapon rack. The droid plugged into the wall next to the terminal jerked to life and stepped away from its charging port.
It was bipedal droid with gunmetal gray plating and a trio of photoreceptors on the center of its face. Despite its spindly limbs, I knew for a fact that it could easily adjust its strength to match species like Wookiees. I had mine set to natural human levels.
"Greetings Acolyte number two-seven two-seven," It droned tonelessly, "Practice or instruction?"
I found out a few days ago that it wasn't referring to an identification number, but rather that it had dueled with two thousand, seven hundred, and twenty-six acolytes before me.
Due to the lack of instructors, the combat training that didn't involve the Force was overseen by combat instructor droids programmed with the classical lightsaber forms. In the main hall, these droids went nuts trying to tear acolytes apart with blades and live ammo. But in the private rooms, an acolyte could adjust the skill level and control the session.
"Practice. Form I. Melee only," I replied, sliding my feet into position and activating my training saber.
Well, training saber was a bit of a misnomer. In reality, it was a durasteel stick with a weighted hilt. The weapon itself produced a magnetic field to repel most metals. It only operated inside of the training rooms, shutting off if you try to leave with them.
Now you might be thinking this was a bit too tame for Sith training since you can't cut anything with it. And you would be correct.
However, it's less to prevent damage to other acolytes and more to prevent damage to the training droids. They're worth more credits than we are and the Sith want to keep them running as long as possible.
"Acknowledged. Loading combat protocols: Form I," It declared as it drew a vibroblade off its back.
Form I, or Shii-Cho, is simplistic due to being developed when the Jedi were transitioning to early lightsabers.
The properties of the weapon required an entire retooling of pre-existing fighting styles as what worked with conventional swords wasn't necessarily applicable, so they had been experimenting with what would work. That said, some basic principles still carried over. Six areas of contact: Head, left arm and side, right arm and side, left leg, right leg, and back.
Additionally, there were two variants of Form I: Ideal Form I and Live Combat Form I. Ideal Form I was used for sparring and basic training, utilizing perfect horizontal and vertical strikes. Live Combat Form I, meant for use in war, was more fluid and used diagonal strikes aimed at the contact areas to increase the pace of the fighting and limit an enemy's movements.
My saber deflected a diagonal strike at my left shoulder.
Of course, Sith training droids used the Live Combat variant by default. They probably weren't even programed to recognize the other one.
After catching the blade on mine, I swept both weapons in a downward arc in an attempt to disarm my opponent. Predictably, it didn't work due to the droid's inhuman grip, but it did leave me in a good position to redirect and strike at its left leg. The droid hopped back, but I moved with it to relentlessly continue the assault.
But this was the entire point of the form. Hammer away at the enemy's defenses until they can't defend against you anymore. Shii-Cho was called the "Determination Form" for a reason.
Something screamed in my head. I threw myself back just as the droid's torso whirled three-hundred sixty degrees to try and hit my unguarded side.
Great, it was cheating now.
I continued to fall back as it took advantage of its mechanical nature, attacking from unnatural angles by rotating body parts. I ducked under a slice that would have bisected me from right hip to left shoulder, lashing out with one of my own at its waist.
Though it tried to avoid it, I managed to score a light "hit" across its stomach. No actual damage to its frame, but the droid was programed to act as though it had. On a human, I would have inflicted a serious burn if I had an actual lightsaber, but nothing crippling.
Neither of us paused though. On the next strike, neither of us came out unscathed. I took a deep cut to my left bicep in a slash that was supposed to take my head. In return, it suffered having its left leg "severed" at the knee. When it dropped to the ground, I quickly whipped my saber around for a "decapitation" slash of my own.
The three red photoreceptors on its face flickered for a moment before the droid went completely limp. I slowly backed away, never letting it out of my sight as I headed for the terminal.
There were several rumors going around the academy that said that the training droids occasionally glitched when "defeated" and got back up on Dark Councilor mode. Those same rumors claimed that around three hundred acolytes had been killed by this glitch since the droids were implemented ten years ago.
Obviously, the Overseers had done nothing to dissuade these rumors if they were persisting after ten years. Also, Sith Academy.
I researched the droids' manufacturers before using them and wasn't surprised to find out that they were built by Czerka Corporation. Given their previous track record with droids, those rumors were all too believable. How that company hasn't simply imploded into a singularity of incompetence, I'll never know.
After making damn sure the droid was shut down, I disinfected and wrapped the cut on my arm with supplies from a medkit hidden away in a corner. I didn't know how often those weapons were cleaned of blood, so I wasn't taking chances. As I did this, I watched the other two.
Gaarurra was manhandling his droid easily, battering through its defenses like a freight train. Judging from the large number of dents in its chassis, he'd managed several "matches" in the time it took me to finish one.
He'd taken to Form V like a fish to water, though he tended to wield his saber like a cudgel rather than a sword.
Garsh, on the other hand, had taken an approach with a bit more finesse. I didn't recognize which form he was using, but I suspected it was either Form II or Form IV.
He was dodging and rolling more than blocking or parrying before jabbing at joints or creases in the droid's armor.
My own choice of Form I was…unorthodox, mostly due to the perception that it was an archaic form, long surpassed by its successors. A point I kind of agreed with. I'd have preferred to focus on Form VI, but I realized the situation I might be facing in the future.
There was a distinct possibility that I would be deployed on the front lines of some hellish conflict. While Niman was just as deadly as any other form, it was a terrible wartime form as proved by the Battle of Geonosis.
Meanwhile, Shii-Cho was the opposite. Practically designed for it, in fact. Archaic or not, I'll take any bit of help I can get to stay alive. I'd probably mix in other forms later to shore up its weaknesses, but for now I'll stick with the one that's simple to learn and simple to use.
Tying off the bandage, I keyed up the droid for another round. I had work to do.
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