~Day forty-eight of the Regiment~
The day was a blistering-bright one, chilling with a cool air. Not minding the Scouts moving about - picking groups of five, Derek and Alexander were seated in front of their quarters.
"How did he know?" Derek asked.
"He just saw right through me, that's not possible, well except he knew my father well enough."
"We have to start our escape plan, things are about to get messy."
"That won't be necessary Derek." Alexander glanced at him. "He was happy to see me, his voice harboured no threat, I was surprised and shocked he recognized me but he didn't seem like one who wants me dead; if that was the case he would have done so by now."
"Either way we need a backup plan, we can't trust these royals, you of all people should know this."
"I agree," Alexander nods.
"No one is willing to join up with us." Liam panted as he approached Alexander and Derek, along side Taven.
"Hm, I wonder why." Taven narrows his eyes to Liam.
"Don't sweat it," Derek straightens up, "one will get to us eventually, the charts are equal."
"You seem too confident Derek." Liam squinted at him.
"Three hundred and seventy Scouts, five in a group makes seventy-four teams in total, someone has to fall back to us."
"But that's not the problem," Alexander cuts in, "It has to be some we can trust and handle."
A loud gong resounded into the air.
"It's time." Derek approached the courtyard.
They all started towards the crowd gathering at the courtyard in groups of five. Commander Devon began the inspection, while Captain Ramsey and Commander Kanlor watched and observed.
Each group he inspected were named with numbers beginning from one, after every two groups he ordered a formation to be made, that's two groups in a row, his popular ten man formation.
Commander Devon got to the group of Derek, he didn't bother asking why they were four, he went straight to the necessary question.
"Who's the group leader?"
Derek points at Alexander only to see Alexander and everyone else pointing at him.
"Wait! What?" Derek was shocked. "Come on, we all know Alex is best at this."
"Great," Commander Devon greeted, "Derek Owems, leader of team twenty." He gazed over at the fore front, "Ivan!" He yelled
Ivan hurried from behind the Knights stand by Captain Ramsey.
"Congratulations boy," He smiled at Ivan, "You are now a member of team twenty, fall in line." His smile faded in no time as he approached the next group.
"You greenhorns better not hold me back." Ivan stood proud, not giving anyone an eye as he began the next line.
"Listen here you…"
Alexander held Derek's hand before he could complete his statement.
"Stay cool Derek, stay cool."
"I hate him already." Derek glimpsed at Ivan.
"Let him be." Alexander stood as second, beside Ivan then Derek before Liam and Taven."
As soon as Commander Devon concluded with the last group he went forward to join Captain Ramsey.
"Swear you allegiance." Captain Ramsey yelled.
The Scouts saluted, "As the moon slays the night, the stars shall keep it's life."
"I have heard how well your training in hand combat and defence has come." Captain Ramsey spoke highly. "Prepare yourselves, a random choice of teams will be made and a tournament begins in three days time."
Like always murmuring arose but it died out immediately.
"This drill" Captain Ramsey continued, "is to know our best, not to select who qualifies, everyone here will become an Azma soldier, if you don't give up or die along the way. The aim of this drill will help us know our best, prepare yourselves, know your weakness and strengths, and have a blissful day."
~Day fifty-one of the Scout Regiment~
In the morning both grumpy clouds and gentle breeze descended upon the camp, Scouts gathered in the courtyard, standing tall and poised for the first round of the tournament. A myriad of canopies stretched across the courtyard, three on each side and another behind, enclosing the ten man formation of the Scouts, while their valiant foot soldiers, the twentieth Azma unit, waited in the tents to their sides.
Derek, who stood with his team watched the ceremony from the second half of the tenth row, the numbers of the twentieth unit greater than he expected, a testament to Azma's resilience. As the trumpet blasted, Commander Devon rose to address the Scouts. With a warm welcome, he delved into the rich history of Azma, recounting the stories of its ruling families and valiant units.
Unit one and two stand with the Zion Family, the ruling bloodline, unit three with the Leo Family, four with the Accipita Family, five with the Vulturs Family, six with the Aquilae Family, seven with the Cervus Family, and eight with the Bobus Family.
The brave Ninth unit stands with Unit Twenty-one in defending the Northern Azma borders, Tenth supports the Twenty-Second in defending the Eastern borders. The treacherous acts of Thomas Majes and the previous Tenth unit, were mentioned, though Alexander's icy gaze spoke of unspoken rage. The lies told about his Father, of how he led an assault on the Aquilae Family.
Commander Devon outlined the responsibilities of the other units, yet, thirteen to seventeen remained a mystery. Unit Eighteen defends and governs Camp Mark in South-East region, Nineteenth defends and governs Camp Louis in South-West, home to highborn citizens. Camp Eve, stood under the jurisdiction of the twentieth unit.
As the ceremony drew to a close, the Scouts saluted, the first half turning left, the second right, an orderly march to their allocated tents. Forming a Fifteen man line-up as they settled into the dirt, anticipation and tension crackling in the air.
As teams were called out in a random flurry of combat, the heat of battle surged through the air, the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat fueling the contestants' every move. Points were awarded based on knockouts, an opponent thrown to the dirt, or the ultimate submission through yielding. The team with the highest score moved on to the next round, while others could only wish they did better.
"Rave Louis, Team Fifteen. Fortune Lam, Team Twenty-One." Commander Devon's voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a razor-sharp blade.
Derek sat perched at the beginning of the third row, his excitement palpable. "Let's see what this Rave guy can do," he remarked.
"You seem too hyped for a fight that's not yours." Alexander narrowed his eyes at Derek.
Fortune and Rave faced each other, the space between them filled with the silent threat of violence.
Commander Devon's hand stretched out between them, a symbol of peace, holding back the inevitable clash. But, like a flash of lightning, Commander Devon's hand dropped, taking a step backward.
Fortune struck first, a direct punch aimed at Rave. But Rave was quick, effortlessly avoiding the attack.
Grabbing Fortune's hand, he tossed him over his shoulder and into the dust.
"Win goes to Team Fifteen!" Commander Devon raised his hand, a signal of victory.
A deafening roar of cheers erupted from the Scouts, like an avalanche of sound echoing through the arena. Rave returned to his tent, exultant and undefeated.
"Derek Owems, Team Twenty," Commander Devon announced.
Derek stood up, his smile hiding and itching mischief. Liam cheered him on, while Alexander's enigmatic smile seemed to hold a secret.
Approaching the ring, Derek's eyes locked onto his opponent, Kaz Umia—a tall, wiry figure with a pallid complexion and short, dark hair. A glint of expectation danced in Kaz's eyes, the gauntlet on his wrist glinting in the sunlight.
Commander Devon stepped between them, his hand outstretched and ready.
"Give me a clean and good fight," Devon intoned, the final words still reverberating in the air as he retreated backward, a signal for the combatants to commence their dance of death.
As if answering the call, Kaz's right foot snapped out with lethal precision, a thunderous side kick aimed for Derek's temple, but Derek, an experienced fighter, blocked the assault.
Kaz clearly understood the message, unleashing a flurry of straight and spinning side kicks, alternating between both legs, the wind whistling as he twisted and spun. Derek, seemingly amused, danced around the kicks with ease, dodging and blocking.
The momentary lapse in Kaz's composure was his undoing, for Derek ducked under Kaz's straight punch, delivering a swift jab to Kaz's gut. The sickening thud resonated through the arena, echoing like a bellow of victory.
Kaz collapsed to his knees, grasping at his stomach as drool pooled around his mouth, his eyes wild with pain. The Scouts roared with the instant knowledge of Derek's victory, even the unit soldiers joining in the revelry.
Derek walked away from the arena, head held high, his stance an embodiment of triumph, basking in the adulation of his comrades.
As Derek returned to his team, Ivan's scornful gaze met him.
"What was that?" Ivan barked, eyes narrowed in disgust. "Dancing around like it's a game!"
"Stay cool," Alexander murmured, the touch of his hand on Derek's shoulder a silent reminder to keep his composure.
"Stay cool," Derek repeated through deep breaths, trying to cool his bubbling laughter.
Ivan scoffed, the sound dismissive, "Softies."
"Ivan Rufflon, team twenty. Luke Azin, team fifty." Commander Devon's voice boomed.
Derek watched as Ivan straightened, his gait filled with arrogance, "This is how you fight."
"I wouldn't mind if we lost this round," Taven suggested, keeping a straight face.
"Definitely not," Derek agreed, struggling to contain his mirth.
"Agreed," Liam added his voice to the discussion, the team united in their distaste for Ivan.
Alexander shot them a sideways glance, his brow furrowed with concern. "You all realize we need this win, right?"
Luke, Ivan's opponent, was built like a brickhouse, his arms a testament to his brute strength, a stark contrast to Ivan's leaner frame.
With the sound of Devon's signal, Luke didn't waste a second. He charged Ivan, hands grabbing him by the shoulders, and headbutted him with a sickening crunch. Luke lifted Ivan like a sack of grain, tossing him to the dirt with a resounding thud that could be heard throughout the arena.
Derek, no longer able to contain himself, erupted in a fit of laughter, but his howls were drowned out by the roar of cheers that had erupted from the Scouts.
"Check out Devon's face!" Derek laughed, indicating the Commander, whose expression had turned sour with disappointment.
Alexander could only shake his head with a sigh, masking a wry smile as he did. "Just keep it together, would you? There's still a tournament to be won."
"Win goes to team fifty." Commander Devon declared, watching Ivan as two soldiers carried him away.
The next bout saw Taven, his muscles flexing in the early afternoon sun, engaging in a fierce duel with a warrior from team fifty. As the battle intensified, Taven slammed his opponent to the dirt, giving him a resounding victory.
Next up, Liam stepped onto the dusty battlefield, a flurry of skepticism from the crowd following in his wake. However, with each parry and counterstrike, he managed to hold his own against his opponent from team fifty, his resolve and strength surprising even his own teammates.
Alas, Liam's valiant efforts were not enough, a well-placed punch finally knocked him to the dirt. Four soldiers gingerly carried Liam's motionless body from the arena, a grim reminder of the ferocity of combat.
Commander Devon's voice crackled. "Alexander Rachik, team twenty. Rufus Langs, team fifty."
Derek, face alight with anticipation, stretched his fist towards his team's formidable warrior. "Make it quick."
Alexander, his expression as unreadable as ever, brushed his fist against Derek's and set off to the arena.
"Just one hit." Alexander's voice carried across the field, his words a breathless prayer.
Taven, his gaze flitting between the combatants, his brow creased with worry, leaned over to Derek. "He's bluffing. Right?"
As soon as Commander Devon gave the clear, Alexander fist moved in a flash of lightning, striking Rufus' jaw with pinpoint accuracy, knocking Rufus to the dirt, unconscious.
For a moment, all was still. Every Scout, every soldier, held their breath, as if unsure whether to believe their own eyes.
Captain Ramsey, the silent sentinel, finally rose from his seat, clapping slowly. And, like a wave crashing against a shore, the crowd erupted, their cheers shaking the very earth beneath their fee