Chapter 15: Vanguard Trial

They did not give the camp time to prepare.

Within the hour, officers mounted on armored hounds had herded every squad of the Seventh Vanguard Cohort down the basin to a vast ring carved into volcanic stone.

The perimeter was jagged black rock, sharp enough to cut anyone thrown against it. The arena floor was pitted and scorched, and lava glowed through cracks in its western half, close enough that the air above them wavered. High platforms circled the rim, packed with overseers in dark plate. Behind the barriers, thousands of other conscripts pressed forward to watch.

The lead officer from the horn stood on the highest platform. When he spoke, the crowd fell quiet.

"Every squad fights. No exceptions."

His gaze swept across the arena.

"Only the ten squads that survive with the best results will receive official Vanguard status. They’ll get full rations, proper equipment, and priority when resources are distributed."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"And the strongest squad leader among those ten will be named Vanguard Commander."

That earned a louder reaction. Some conscripts straightened. Others exchanged hungry looks, already measuring their rivals.

The officer raised his voice over the growing noise.

"The Commander will receive lacquered armor, additional soul stones, and a larger daily ration. He’ll also have authority over minor squads and greater freedom during Rift incursions."

He let the crowd absorb that before delivering the final part.

"As for the losing squads, their resources will be stripped. What happens to them afterward will depend on their performance."

"Depend on their performance?" Varkos muttered. "That’s a pleasant way of saying they can starve us to death."

"Or feed us to something worse," Serah replied quietly.

Koda barely heard them. He was watching the officers on the platforms, particularly those positioned near the arena exits. None looked concerned about the possibility of a massacre. If anything, they seemed eager to see one.

So that was the point.

They weren’t simply testing the conscripts. They were making them compete for the right to survive comfortably, then giving them every reason to tear one another apart.

Koda turned toward Serah and Varkos.

"Listen. Whatever happens in there, we’re not going to get carried away chasing a victory."

Varkos raised an eyebrow. "You heard the rewards, didn’t you? Better rations, equipment, soul stones. And if we win, one of us could become Commander."

"I heard all of it."

"Then you understand why we should fight to win."

"We should fight to survive," Koda corrected. "There’s a difference."

Varkos frowned. "Not much of one if we end up in the losing ten."

"There’s a considerable difference if we win and come out too injured to defend ourselves afterward." Koda nodded toward the other squads. "Look around. Half of them are already eyeing each other like they’re deciding who to kill first. The moment that horn sounds, they’ll forget everything except the rewards."

"And you think we can just stand aside while they slaughter each other?" Serah asked.

"No. I think we let them do the stupid things first."

Varkos gave him a skeptical look. "That’s your grand strategy? Let everyone else fight while we watch?"

"Until watching becomes dangerous, yes."

"And when someone comes for us?"

"Then we put them down."

Koda kept his voice low, making sure only the two of them could hear him.

"We don’t need to be the strongest squad in this arena. We need to be one of the ten that makes it out, preferably without wasting half our strength getting there. If two squads want to tear each other apart, let them. If someone gives us an opening, we take it. But we don’t chase kills, and we don’t risk our lives for a better position when a safer one will do."

Serah considered that for a moment before nodding.

"Agreed. There’s no point winning a battle if we’re too weak to survive what comes next."

"Exactly."

Varkos folded his arms, his gaze still fixed on the arena.

"And if playing it safe leaves us outside the top ten?"

"Then we’ll have made a mistake, and we’ll deal with it." Koda met his eyes. "But I’d rather make that mistake with all three of us alive than win this damn contest and one of us dying in the process."

That silenced Varkos for a moment.

His expression didn’t soften, but some of the defiance left his eyes.

"Fine," he said at last. "We’ll do it your way. But if someone comes looking for trouble, I’m not going to stand there waiting for you to approve the response."

"Wouldn’t expect you to."

"And if there’s a chance to take out a dangerous squad before it becomes a problem?"

"We take it if the risk is worth it."

Varkos snorted. "You make everything sound like a calculation."

"That’s because it is."

Serah glanced between them, then shook her head faintly.

"Can we finish arguing about how we’re going to survive before they start trying to kill us?"

Koda looked back toward the arena.

"That’s what we’ve been doing."

A deep horn blast rolled across the basin.

The crowd erupted.

Koda flexed his claws and studied the squads gathering around them. Somewhere in that arena were ten places worth having, hundreds of desperate conscripts willing to kill for them, and officers who would happily watch the whole basin drown in blood.

He had no intention of making their job easier.

"Stay close," he told the other two. "Watch each other’s backs, and don’t let anyone lure you into a fight we don’t need."

Serah nodded.

Varkos rolled his shoulders and bared his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

"Fine. But when we make the top ten, I’m claiming the first decent set of armor."

"If we make the top ten," Koda replied, "you can fight Serah for it."

Serah gave him a flat look. "Try it, and I’ll break your fingers."

Varkos laughed.

Bang!

Squads slammed together across the floor. Screams and the crack of bone rang off the stone. Koda stayed close to the rim, his back to the rock as he watched the fighting spread.

It took less than ten seconds for trouble to come at them.

Gorg’s squad had formed a wedge with nine big demons moving in formation with Gorg at the point. They weren’t interested in the other fights breaking out around them. Instead, they were coming straight for Squad Nineteen.

"He’s coming right for us," Serah said.

Koda kept his eyes on the approaching Blood-Demon. "Of course he is."

"Shouldn’t be surprised. Gorg knows we’re the problem he needs to deal with first."

Gorg’s eyes were fixed on Varkos. He raised one of his four hands, and his squad split apart. Five peeled off toward Koda and Serah, spreading out to cut them off. The remaining four stayed with Gorg and closed in on Varkos.

Koda’s expression turned strange seeing the split. A mix of schadenfreude and relief as he realized Gorg had underestimated Serah and himself, choosing to focus more of his forces on Varkos.

"He’s splitting his squad," Serah said. "Five for us, five against Varkos if you count Gorg."

"I can count."

"Good. I was worried the horns were affecting your judgment."

"Keep talking. Maybe they’ll mistake you for the dangerous one and leave me alone."

Serah gave him a sideways look. "They already have."

Across the arena, Varkos had seen the maneuver too. He could have retreated toward Koda and Serah, forcing Gorg to bring his entire squad into their reach.

Instead, he lifted his chin, stepped forward, and met Gorg head-on.

Koda swore under his breath. "Of course he’d do that."

The two demons collided with enough force to crack the floor.

Gorg’s upper arms caught Varkos by the shoulders while his lower pair went for the ribs and legs. Varkos twisted, took one blow on his forearm, and drove his horns into Gorg’s chest.

The impact sent shockwaves through the stone. Dust leaped off the ground.

Heat bloomed along Varkos’s horns.

Koda caught the brief flare from the corner of his eye and held his breath.

Then Varkos clamped down. The fire faded to a dull glow, no brighter than a hot coal.

Gorg grunted and shoved him away. Varkos slid back two paces, his boots carving trenches through the arena floor, but he held his ground.

The Blood-Demon grinned, all four hands flexing.

"That’s it?" he taunted. "I expected more from you."

Varkos rolled his shoulders. "Give me a moment. I’m still deciding which of your four arms to break first."

"Try all four. See how that works out for you."

"Gladly."

"Varkos!" Koda called, lips curling up at the edge.

Varkos didn’t look away from Gorg. "Busy!"

"Try not to die before I get there!"

"Try to get here before I finish him!"

Koda chuckled at the reply, then charged forward. He circled the fight in a wide arc, keeping near the edges while studying the Blood-Demon’s movements.

Four arms meant four angles of attack. Every time Varkos shifted, Gorg’s arms shifted with him, striking high, low, left, and right. It was an oppressive style of fighting, designed to overwhelm an opponent before they could find an opening.

It was also expensive.

Every adjustment cost Gorg a little of his balance. His feet kept repositioning to compensate, and his stance widened with each exchange.

’He’s fast with his arms, but his feet can’t keep up.’ Koda glanced toward Serah.

She was already moving on the opposite side, keeping the five flankers from closing around them. She’d understood what he was doing without needing an explanation.

One of the flankers charged her.

Serah waited until he was close, then kicked a handful of hot ash from the lava cracks straight into his face.

The demon howled and clawed at his eyes.

She slipped past his wild swing and cut the tendon behind his knee with a short blade. He stumbled, dropping to one leg.

The next flanker lunged at her before she could recover.

Serah dropped, rolled beneath his arms, and came up behind him. His momentum carried him straight toward the fissure’s heat.

He stumbled at the edge, cursing, and scrambled away from the glowing cracks.

"You’re welcome!" Serah called after him.

Koda almost laughed. But a demon was already moving to intercept him.

He ducked beneath the first swing, drove his shoulder into the attacker’s stomach, and shoved him aside. He didn’t stop to finish the fight. He had no interest in spending his strength on someone who wasn’t the real target.

He angled toward Gorg. The Blood-Demon had noticed him coming.

One of Gorg’s lower arms swung out, its fingers hooked as it reached to pin Koda against the ground. Koda ducked beneath it, felt the wind of the blow rush across his scales, and slipped inside the arm’s reach.

The bone talons slid from his fists with a familiar sound.

KRRSHK.

Gorg’s eyes widened.

"Another one of you little..."

Koda drove his right talon into the back of Gorg’s left knee.

It sank deep.

Gorg roared, his leg buckling beneath him.

"NOW!" Koda shouted.

Varkos didn’t hesitate.

He seized Gorg’s upper wrists with both hands and slammed their foreheads together. The crack echoed across the arena. Both giants staggered, then strained against each other, muscles shaking as Gorg fought to wrench himself free.

"Serah!"

"Already on it!"

She appeared at Gorg’s flank and flung a fistful of burning grit into his eyes.

The Blood-Demon bellowed and reared back. Both lower arms came up reflexively to shield his face. But that left his other knee exposed.

Koda stepped in.

Gorg sensed him too late.

The second talon slid through the ligament with a wet crunch.

His remaining leg gave out entirely. Gorg crashed down onto both knees, the impact shaking dust from the surrounding stone. Varkos maintained his grip on the Blood-Demon’s upper wrists, keeping him from rising.

For a moment, the three of them held their positions.

Then Gorg snarled through the pain. "Get your hands off me!"

Varkos tightened his grip. "Ask nicely."

"I’ll tear your arms off!"

"That’s funny. You were doing a pretty good job of trying that already."

"Varkos," Koda said sharply.

"What? I’m keeping him occupied."

"Keep him occupied, but don’t get too close enough for him to bite your face off."

Varkos glanced at the Blood-Demon’s bared teeth, and a shiver went down his spine.

"Right. Good point."

He leaned back slightly, keeping Gorg’s arms pinned.

"All right, big guy. Let’s talk about your surrender."

Gorg’s squad had stopped fighting long ago and run off to who knows where.

Without their leader standing, they were like headless chickens. Two of them exchanged uncertain looks. Another took a cautious step backward, his weapon still raised.

Koda straightened. He raised his talons and pointed them toward the nearest member of Gorg’s squad.

"It’s over," he called. "Put down your weapons and yield. Nobody else needs to get hurt."

One of the demons hesitated but then shouted, gesturing toward Gorg. "We can still fight!"

"Can you?" Koda asked. "Your leader’s on his knees, both legs are ruined, and the three of us are still standing. Do you really want to find out how much worse this can get?"

The demon glanced at his companions. Nobody answered.

Koda lowered his voice slightly, though he made sure every word carried across the space between them.

"Look around you. This arena is full of squads looking for easy kills. You keep fighting, and even if you somehow get past us, you’ll have to deal with everyone else afterward. Or you can put your weapons down and walk away with the rest of your squad alive."

He paused.

"Your choice."

They hesitated again, sneaking glances at Gorg’s reaction.

The Blood-Demon knelt in the dust, blood running down both legs, his eyes still streaming from Serah’s attack.

Gorg had a choice to make.

He could gamble the lives of his remaining men on the hope that he might somehow turn the battle around, or he could swallow his pride and live to fight another day.

"Enough," Gorg growled.

His squad looked at him.

"Put them down. We yield."

One by one, the demons lowered their weapons.

Koda immediately withdrew his talons and stepped back.

---

The rest of the trial burned itself out.

Koda watched from the rim.

Squads that had thrown themselves into the first clashes were already spent, collapsing in heaps as their stamina failed. Others had won through brute strength but left half their members bleeding.

Two squads fought each other so viciously that neither had anyone standing by the time it ended.

Serah sat beside Koda, examining a cut along her forearm.

"Some of these idiots really don’t know when to stop," she muttered.

Koda glanced toward a demon dragging himself across the arena floor.

"They know. They just don’t want to be the first to admit they’ve lost."

"That seems like a stupid reason to die."

"It is."

Varkos lowered himself onto a nearby rock, still looking irritated.

"We could’ve finished Gorg’s squad faster if we’d gone straight for the kills."

"And we would’ve spent more energy doing that," Koda replied.

"Maybe. But we’d have been sure they couldn’t come after us again."

Koda looked at him.

"Do you honestly think killing Gorg would’ve stopped every other squad from seeing us as a target?"

Varkos opened his mouth, then closed it.

"That’s what I thought."

Serah finished wrapping her forearm and leaned back against the rock.

"At least we made it through with all three of us alive."

"For now," Koda said.

She gave him a tired look.

"You ever get tired of saying things like that?"

"Would you prefer I tell you everything’s going to be fine?"

"Occasionally, yes."

"Everything’s going to be fine."

Serah waited.

Koda sighed.

"I don’t believe that for a second."

"You’re terrible at reassurance."

"I’ve been told."

Varkos snorted, and for a moment, the tension eased.

Then Koda looked back at the arena.

When the final horn sounded, ten squads remained on their feet. Squad Nineteen was among them.

They had fought three battles in total, two being a bit rough. Compared with the heaps of injured demons scattered across the floor, they’d come through remarkably well.

Koda wasn’t about to complain.

The lead officer descended from the platform and strode across the arena. His armored boots struck the stone with measured, deliberate steps.

He stopped in front of Koda.

"Squad Nineteen."

Koda and his cohorts straightened.

"You have survived the trial and secured Vanguard status for the Seventh Unit. The squad leader will step forward."

Koda exchanged a brief glance with Serah and Varkos. Seeing a nod from both, he moved ahead.

The officer’s eyes were cold and assessing. He produced a lacquered crest of black metal edged with red, the same insignia that hung from the towers overlooking the camp.

He held it out.

"You are hereby appointed Vanguard Leader of the Seventh Unit. You will draw Vanguard equipment from the quartermaster and assume command of minor squads during Rift incursions. Your additional rations and soul stones will be delivered to your camp tonight."

Koda accepted the crest. It was heavier than it looked.

The thought Soul Stones brought a wave of cold, steady relief. Its concentrated essence was exactly what he needed to keep his forming Core Seed from stalling.

For once, the trial had given him something worth the trouble.

The officer continued.

"You fought with remarkably little waste. No unnecessary movements, no panic, and no reckless pursuit of your opponents. You targeted the joints before attempting to disable your enemy."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"That is unusual for an awakened demon of your rank."

Koda kept his expression neutral, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

It might have been amusement.

"That’s all," he said at last before turning away.

Koda waited until the officer had moved on before releasing the breath he’d been holding.

Being noticed is both a reward and a danger.

Too little attention meant fewer resources. Too much meant someone eventually asking the wrong questions.

From now on, he’d have to walk a narrow line: competent enough to earn what he needed, but never so extraordinary that the wrong person became curious about how he’d done it.

He turned the crest over in his hand and reached to fasten it to his belt.

Then the seal on his shoulder burned.