“To move mountains is to admit you cannot move yourself. Yet fools still dig. Is it stubbornness or courage?

  Only the mountain knows.”

  - Carved into the tomb of Praetor Sun, Last and First Disciple of the Drowned Dragon.

  A sword sailed for the crimson hair falling down a tall, gray-skinned man’s back. Before the blade could sink into the Tianshe’s skin, a rope of water latched onto it, and the man twisted around to face his assailant. The sun beat down on Claudius Vermillion as his eyes flicked every which way.

  Another blade sought his throat, with the third from the Irgen swordsman not far behind. The Judge ducked and sidestepped, not before striking back with an outstretched palm. Hydro burst forth in a deluge, blasting Talander away as a stream of bullets cracked open the training field’s midday air.

  The violet flash of energy within the Judge’s eyes told him exactly where the rounds would go. His Tide answered his call, forming condensed orbs of water precisely at their targets.

  Then, he turned, ignoring the ten-odd bullets a second while allocating a portion of his mind to the constant defense. Water flowed across his right and left forearms, creating thin, delicate blades of spinning Tide.

  A figure appeared out of nothingness to his right, but that violet light exposed him to the truth.

  Claudius lunged to the left, slashing straight through Eight’s illusions and forcing the young man to deflect with his twin daggers. However, the Judge was still not done. While the Anomaly staggered backward, the Tianshe struck out one last time, slamming his heel against the field beneath him and sparking a line of Hydro that flew out toward Rosa’s encroaching form, her figure mere feet from his back.

  The sheer volume of the water sent her reeling, even with the reinforcement of her Miro.

  A lull appeared in the battle for a split second. Claudius opened his eyes wide, growing accustomed to the deluge of information constantly assaulting him.

  He heard Talander’s sprinting feet, his gait shifted and altered by his few lessons with Oswen. He could smell the gunpowder of Yue’s guns and how she prepared her newest weapon. The tang of Rose’s humidity lay on his tongue, warning him of the fury of her fist and the following knives. Then, lastly, his eyes followed the haze of Eight’s illusions as he teleported every which way.

  The distractions and melodies of war sang into his skin, drifting deep into his bones.

  All of his Jury rushed him at once, knowing very well that he could handle it. Nevertheless, his lips had never stopped moving. Not even once. His chanting empowered his Tide and his movements as his stance drooped ever so slightly forward.

  Twice, he had failed. He failed to save Crislend. He failed to save his mentor.

  The first broke his pride and forced him to see the world anew. The second?

  The second broke the piece of him that held him to the same standard as others. He was not a Judge. He was not a Centurion-to-be. He was not a Vermillion.

  Claudius Vermillion was a storm contained within a man. The winds inside his heart birthed a tornado after the death of his Praetor, igniting his already prodigious growth, but even storms had limits. His chanting surged louder, the words ancient and guttural, as if pulled from the depths of the Lightsea itself. Water roared around him like a living beast, slashing, blocking, and striking out without the slightest pause.

  The Judge’s Tide showed his burgeoning mastery, automatic like a Domain Collapse, yet built from sheer skill. Nevertheless, the relentless teamwork of his Jury was beginning to show cracks in his defense.

  The next attack came not as a single strike, but as an overwhelming flurry. Talander’s three blades, one in each hand and a third gripped tightly by his tail, surged toward Claudius with a ferocity that mirrored the Irgen’s predatory nature. A living storm pivoted to meet him head-on, his spinning Hydro blades catching two of the swords mid-swing, locking them in place with the hiss of water meeting steel as the nature of the Tide displayed itself. They wrapped around the swords, crashing them to the side, but the third blade—a feint—darted in low, slipping past Claudius’ guard.

  He jerked back in time, summoning a veil of water across his chest that deflected the blade. Yet, the barrier wasn’t enough to stop it entirely—the tip grazed him, leaving a thin but deep cut just below his ribs. Claudius gritted his teeth, his body twisting to throw Talander off balance. A burst of water shot up from beneath the Irgen, forcing him to leap back, snarling in frustration as an equally long laceration trailed his leg and hip.

  Still, that was not all. Rosa returned, her right fist punching out towards Claudius’ side. Again, he reacted, seeing this coming with that same violet, but he could only move so fast. A hand of water, birthed from the earth, yanked him back while a glob simultaneously caught her fist.

  Then, the thorns of her Stigmata bloomed, splattering the Hydro harmlessly and granting her additional reach. Even so, Claudius was ready, but then cold appeared behind his neck, trailing along his spine.

  He was limited in his usage of his eyes, forced by both circumstance and his newest teacher’s orders. As such, he only knew who it was, not how it would come.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Stepping toward Rosa and splitting his arms to wrap around her next punch, Claudius felt warmth spread from the ice on his rear as flesh was sliced open. An impact struck his chest from Rosa’s first punch, but he managed to twist her around as the two entered a grapple.

  The woman always beat him when they were in training years ago, but the Judge had come so very far since those days. She reached to lock him into a bar, but a thin blade of water sliced her wrists while another wrapped around her throat.

  Claudius’ words sailed from his mouth non-stop, preluding each and every movement of his Tide, empowering them and increasing their efficiency. Rosa loosened her grasp to wriggle out while Eight sank an icy dagger for his Judge’s eyes.

  Violet met pale blue as Claudius gritted his teeth and slapped his free hand against the tip, having no other way to save himself. Pain burst across his limb, but he didn’t flinch. A sharp shout emerged from his lungs as a pressurized gout struck Eight in the chest, yet the teen vanished before the whole stream could tear into his flesh.

  On the floor, before Claudius could catch his breath or reach his knees, Yue struck.

  The marksman had been waiting patiently for her moment, perched high above the training field on a rusted platform, her new rifle trained on the Judge. As Claudius staggered from the back-to-back exchanges, she pulled the trigger with a practiced calm, the crack of her shot slicing through the chaos. The reward for her trip to the Inferose was not cheap. Forged by Ostacean and imported for a mind-numbing cost, it’s round—a specialized Frostfire-infused slug—ripped through the air, aimed for the center of Claudius’ torso.

  He moved as the violet warned him.

  Too slow.

  The bullet didn’t pierce him fully, but it found its mark, slipping past the emergency veil of water that wrapped his body and embedding itself in his side. A spray of crimson burst forth as Claudius staggered from the bullet of Negative Cryo, his free hand instinctively pressing against the wound. With a hiss, his Tide surged to fill the gap, trying to seal the bleeding as fast as possible, but the damage was done. The pain burned like fire, but the Judge refused to stop chanting.

  Claudius of old would never have humored this training. But he was no longer that naive soldier. He was no longer that newborn storm. A calamity rose from his lungs.

  “Siccantur maria, imbres exurent et campi...” The words grew louder, more intense, echoing in his mind even as his vision blurred from the exertion and the blood loss.

  Eight struck again, his mocking voice hushed by the Judge’s narrowed focus. The Anomaly struck with the cunning of a predator, appearing in flashes of illusion that danced around Claudius like shadows in a storm. Eight’s twin daggers gleamed with a frigid glow as they closed in from opposite sides, aiming for Claudius’ throat and his weakened side.

  But Claudius’ violet-lit eyes saw through the deception as he burned the rest of what he was allotted. Ten total seconds of Nunc. He spun, his Hydro blades slicing through one illusion and blocking the real dagger an instant before it found his flesh. Eight clicked his tongue in frustration, teleporting backward before the Judge’s counterstrike could land.

  But that opening had cost Claudius. Another flurry of bullets rained down from Yue, forcing him to deflect with a hastily summoned series of spiraling globs. The movement sent fresh pain coursing through his wounded side, his stance faltering for the briefest of moments.

  The Judge’s defense was crumbling under the sheer pressure. The rope he had around Rosa’s neck weakened, and she lunged at his kneeling form. A hard kick to his knee sent Claudius stumbling onto his back, the ground beneath him slick with blood and water.

  “... Sub pedibus meis, omnes dracones mergent mundos novos…” His voice rose, the chant vibrating through the air with an almost physical presence. A shadow formed behind him as water puddled at his rear. The ground seemed to cave in with the building energy. The skies hummed and stars dimmed under the weight of his words, but...

  “Not yet. You are not ready for that.”

  The chant stopped abruptly. Claudius froze, his eyes wide, as he felt the unmistakable presence of someone far beyond the strength of anyone else on the field. His Tide stilled as though bowing to the authority of the voice.

  Slowly, Claudius turned his head, blood dripping from his lips as he looked up.

  It was Oswen.

  However, the Tide bowed for a mere moment before it roared once more. Horns of water emerged from the earth as the light of the sun grew hazy. Claudius' body shook in strain, the power beyond his limit.

  That was until a hand slapped his shoulder, cutting through his connection with whatever he had tapped into.

  The Praetor stood tall, his silver hair glinting in the sun like liquid steel. His hand remained on Claudius’ shoulder, calm but unyielding. His gaze swept across the field, taking in the battered Judge and the exhausted Jury with a look that was neither impressed nor dismissive. He even glanced at the seated, spectating Araki for a long second before dismissing the man.

  “Rise, Claudius,” Oswen said, his tone commanding but not unkind. “Were this any other exam, I’d bet a hundred million on your success. But this is no ordinary event.”

  Claudius’ breath caught as he forced himself to stand. The Judge bowed his head and said, “Thank you, sir. I appreciate all the help you have given us this past week. Time is running out, so I’m trying to squeeze in every bit of training I can.”

  The Roman Empire’s deadliest swordsman, able to cut through all obstacles, nodded with just his chin as his eyes turned to the murky sun above. He had grown up on this planet, much like Claudius and his late friend.

  Oswen’s grip tightened as he ignored the blood flowing from the man’s open wounds. The Jury behind their Judge listened intently, even the trickster, as the Praetor sighed, “It is the least I can do. Regardless of the favors she asked before her passing and Rasa’s badgering, I wanted to see you. Elize was the closest person I could call a friend. She went so far as to try and take my spot in the expedition. Did you know that?”

  Claudius shook his head from side to side.

  “Hah... were it anyone else, it’d have been an insult. But she... she always had that way of talking to people. To me. I almost let her take it. Then... I remembered Rasa and you. She had someone to look after. As for me...” Oswen’s face softened from the steel-shaped countenance the others were used to. “I’m just a swordsman. Last of the Naleheart line, but that means little compared to a House as ancient as yours. Do be careful, boy. These Grands will try to tear you and your people apart. Don’t let it.”

  The Judge gave a short grin as he glanced back at his Jury. He trusted them. After all they had been through, not even Eight remained in question. Rejo was a bit of a gamble and currently asleep from practicing his Domain Collapse, but Claudius knew the Araki would follow orders to a tee, given his personality.

  He turned back to face Oswen as the Praetor patted his shoulder and said, “Get yourself patched up. Remember, those eyes are your greatest weapon. Do not use them lightly, but do not hesitate to take advantage. And... your grandfather’s techniques were not hailed as legendary for nothing. Wait until you are ready. No sooner. You hear me?”

  “Yes, sir!” Claudius saluted the older man as his figure flickered before a haze of movement appeared at the edge of the field. Claudius’ violet-lit pupils struggled to follow Oswen’s speed, but he could. Barely.

  And it left him in awe.

  A prick to his arm woke the Judge from his stupor, however, as Rosa flooded his body with Miro. She helped him close his wounds while pointing out the obvious, “We could wait until next year. Do we really have to push this hard? I mean you’re practically killing yourself every day.”

  The red-haired man flung his head side to side in disagreement, “No! We can’t. It has to be this year. This exam. If we miss it... We’ll never catch up. Plus, you can’t deny it. The training is working.”

  A ripple of space plopped Eight onto the spectators’ seats nearby as ice cream somehow existed between his hands. The Anomaly laughed at both, “Yeah. We’re getting stronger, but for what? To have a bigger medal?”

  Claudius groaned as he rolled his eyes. Yue climbed down from her height, and Talander stumbled toward the group with his leg injury. Soon, the whole group sat on the benches as Claudius folded his hands. He bit his lips before just coming out with the secret that Oswen had shared with him.

  His voice began calmly before gradually rising in heated emotion as he started, “This is more than an exam, guys. This is the qualifier to lead expeditions into MDs...” Claudius paused for a second, letting the information sink in for the others. Then, the hidden rage boiled as the leftover Hydro on the field shivered and bubbled in response to his fury.

  “That means we’ll meet those men again. And when we do, I will rip them apart for Praetor Sun. I will not. I cannot fail. Even if it costs me everything.”