Like a tide, the soldiers of the Anti-Empire Alliance began to flood the ship.
The student candidates stood without fear, facing the tide with gazes that felt almost too cold for people their age.
Their weapons were held firmly in their grips.
At the forefront was Sylvester, dressed in white armor.
Silver boots and a golden helmet.
His left hand held a golden shield, his right a white sword.
At that moment, he looked like the incarnation of a war god.
Raising his white sword, Sylvester roared.
The candidates behind him roared in response, raising their own weapons.
It was a trigger.
The students surged forward.
Clang.
Sparks flew through the air as weapons clashed.
The sounds that filled that space were the thud of bodies dropping, the chime of metal kissing metal, and the rhythmic thumping of boots against the floor.
Blood sprayed into the air, creating a thick fog of crimson.
Billie held her dagger in a reverse grip.
