The reaction from the recruits was immediate and overwhelming, erupting the moment Lelan finished her announcement. What had been a relatively controlled gathering quickly dissolved into a surge of noise and movement, voices overlapping in excitement, weapons clashing lightly against armor as some slammed them together in anticipation, and others shouting openly without restraint. The energy spreading through the group was raw, impulsive, and almost desperate, like something that had been building beneath the surface for a long time and had finally been given permission to release.
Grub stood among them, unmoving, his posture still relaxed but his attention sharpened as he observed the shift. He didn't join in, didn't react outwardly, and certainly didn't share their excitement. From what little he understood, this "Anwansi Village" wasn't just some destination or routine assignment—it was a target, and the way these recruits responded to that idea made it clear that whatever was coming, they were eager for it in a way that didn't sit right with him. It didn't feel like preparation for something necessary. It felt like anticipation for something violent.
Lelan allowed the noise to carry for a moment longer, watching them with a measured expression that didn't quite match their enthusiasm. Then she raised her voice again, sharp and commanding, cutting through the chaos with enough authority to gradually force the group back into order. It took time but eventually the shouting died down into murmurs, and those too faded as attention returned fully to her.
Grub narrowed his eyes slightly beneath his hood as he watched the transition. The control wasn't perfect, but it was effective.
When she continued, her tone had shifted. Grub leaned into the moment, focusing harder, catching what fragments he could as she spoke.
"…training…"
"…life-like… spar…"
"…most… tier one… Dormant…"
"…Anima… weak…"
The words hit him in pieces, but two of them stood out immediately.
Dormant.
Anima.
Grub's mind stalled on them. What the hell did that mean? They weren't words he could connect to anything he already knew. They didn't sound like situational terms or slang. They sounded like something fundamental, something everyone here already understood without question.
He turned his head slightly toward Tre'yon, hoping to catch some kind of reaction that might give him context. There was none. Tre'yon simply nodded along with the explanation, completely unfazed, as if everything being said was obvious. Grub felt his jaw tighten.
Of course.
Everyone understood. Everyone except him. And he couldn't ask. The realization hit him like a truck. The choice to present himself as mute had protected him, had allowed him to slip past that first barrier of suspicion, but it had also locked him out of the most direct way of learning anything. He couldn't question, couldn't clarify, couldn't test his understanding out loud. Everything had to be inferred, pieced together slowly from fragments and observation.
What the hell is Anima?
The thought pressed hard as frustration built beneath his otherwise controlled expression. He forced himself to focus again. Lelan was still speaking after all, and this time her explanation carried more clarity through tone and pacing, even if the words themselves remained incomplete to him.
"…no holds…real… combat…"
"…see… Anima… awaken…"
There was something in the way she said it, something almost eager beneath the surface of her composure. Not the same kind of excitement as the recruits, but something sharper and more analytical. She seemed to be watching and hoping for something specific to emerge. Grub pieced the rest together slowly.
There was a tournament of one-on-one fights. They would fight until they reached the point where they could kill their opponent. Grave wounds would be allowed and they would stop only when Lelan decided it was enough.
Grub processed that quietly, his thoughts slowing as he examined what it meant. This wasn't about technique or discipline in the way he understood it. This was about pressure—about forming diamonds through hardship—about forcing something to surface under real threat.
His mind drifted briefly. Tre'lok. The lizard he killed, he had taken its Death and he now had some to use. But now that he thought of it. What of the pressure he had felt, the way something invisible had taken shape in his control, how it had responded to him whenever he used the Death he absorbed. That dark weight in his chest.
Was that what they meant? Was that… Anima?
He couldn't be certain, but the possibility settled heavily in his mind. If it was— Then using it here would expose everything. Grub's grip tightened slightly at his side.
No.
He wouldn't risk that. Not here. Not now. Even if it meant limiting himself, even if it made the fight harder than it needed to be, he would not reveal that ability in front of them. The decision came quickly and firmly. Still, another thought lingered at the edge of his mind.
He could leave.
Slip away before the fighting begins. Avoid the risk entirely. There was nothing tying him to this. No obligation, no reason to participate in something that didn't concern him.
But as his gaze moved across the field again, watching the recruits prepare, watching how they held themselves, how they positioned their weapons, how they anticipated what was coming, he realized something else.
This was valuable information. This was how they fought. This was how they tested strength. This was where this "Anima" might actually reveal itself in a way he could see and understand.
If he left now, he would miss it. And that wasn't something he was willing to do.
So he stayed.
***
Lelan raised her hand, signaling the start of the tournament, and the recruits were quickly directed into separate circles, each forming its own small arena within the larger training ground. The boundaries weren't marked by anything physical, but they didn't need to be. Everyone understood where each fight began and ended.
Grub was soon assigned an opponent. It was another lizard, roughly similar in size and build to Tre'lok, with no immediately distinguishing features that stood out. Around him, other fights were already being arranged, the energy tightening now that the moment had arrived.
Grub's eyes shifted briefly to the side, searching.
He found Tre'yon a short distance away, standing across from another recruit, adjusting his stance, gripping his weapon with a focus that hadn't been there before.
He looked… capable despite how annoying he had been. Grub noted that. Then turned back to his own fight.
Before the matches had begun, they had been given access to weapons. Grub had taken a moment longer than most at the selection, weighing his options carefully. He could have used his club. It would have been more familiar and much more reliable.
But it would also have stood out if he didn't choose from the selection. So he chose something else.
A morning star.
The weight felt natural in his hand, the balance steady, the spiked head giving it a brutal simplicity that didn't require finesse to be effective. It wasn't elegant but it was just the type of weapon Grub preferred. He swung it a few times before getting into a battle ready stance.
Across from him, his opponent raised a tomahawk-like weapon, the curved blade sharp and designed for quick, lethal strikes.
Then, from above, Lelan gave the command. The first round began.
The lizard moved immediately, closing the distance with a fast horizontal swing aimed directly at Grub's midsection. The speed of it was enough to force an instant reaction, and Grub stepped back just in time, the blade cutting through the space where he had been standing only a moment before. It was closer than he liked. That strike would have been enough to split him open if it had landed cleanly.
But the force behind it left the lizard slightly open. Grub didn't take a moment to hesitate. He stepped forward and brought the morning star down with controlled force, aiming directly for the shoulder.
The impact landed solidly. There was a sharp, unmistakable crack as bone gave way beneath the blow, and the lizard let out a pained cry as it staggered backward, clutching the shattered joint while trying to create distance.
Grub didn't chase him. He simply watched the lizard with indifference.
The lizard spoke, something sharp and questioning in tone.
"…who… you…?"
Grub didn't answer. Instead, he pointed to his mouth again, repeating the same silent explanation. The lizard laughed, though the sound was strained with pain, and then introduced himself through gritted teeth.
"…Yu…"
Grub gave a slight nod in acknowledgment. It seems that was his name.
Yu adjusted his grip, raising the tomahawk with his left hand now, his injured arm hanging uselessly at his side, and charged again with more desperation than before. Grub moved to sidestep, but the moment he shifted his weight, pain flared sharply through his ribs, disrupting his movement just enough to slow him down.
It was all Yu needed. The next strike came in quickly, angled to cut across his chest.
Grub tried to avoid it, but he couldn't avoid the vicious slash completely. The blade grazed him, slicing through fabric and skin in a shallow cut that still drew blood immediately. The damage itself wasn't severe. But the disguise had been pierced. Grub reacted instantly, pulling his cloak tighter around himself, covering the exposed area before anything beneath could be seen.
Yu hesitated, confusion flickering across his expression, but it didn't last long. He pressed forward again, trying to capitalize on the opening. Grub adjusted his approach. He couldn't afford to stay on the defensive.
As Yu swung again, Grub stepped inward instead of away, slipping past the arc of the weapon and moving behind him in one fluid motion. He wrapped his arm around Yu's and brought the handle of the morning star across his throat, using it as leverage as he dropped his weight and pulled back.
His legs locked around Yu's body, anchoring him in place, tightening the hold with practiced precision. Yu struggled immediately, thrashing and clawing at Grub's arms, trying to break free, but Grub didn't loosen his grip. He didn't panic. He simply held his choke and waited patiently.
The movements grew weaker, slower, less coordinated. Then suddenly—they stopped.
Lelan's voice cut in sharply from above, clear and decisive, declaring the match over. Grub released him immediately and stepped back, rising to his feet as Yu collapsed to the ground, gasping for air while barely conscious.
Grub adjusted his cloak again, making sure the damaged section remained concealed. A mark was made. But he was declared the winner. Meaning he would advance.
Grub exhaled slowly, steadying himself as the pain in his ribs settled back into a dull ache and the cut across his chest continued to sting. The disguise had held. For now.
He glanced across the field again, searching briefly until he found Tre'yon in the middle of his own fight. Grub watched for a moment. Then looked away. It didn't matter. Not really. But still, he noted it.