Solflare: The Painter's Secret-Chapter 73: NEXT WAVE
Leon exhaled sharply the moment he emerged outside and saw the Primary Training Field, which was usually empty, now a seething mass of bodies.
"Why didn’t I see that notification earlier?"
He walked slowly to the field’s gate, joined the queue, moved inside, and stopped by a group of boys who looked uncertain.
Whispers rose around Leon like flies to something rotting.
"Hey. Are you the so-called Storm?" a lanky boy with narrow, dark brown eyes asked in a curious tone.
Another one with a sharp face snorted. "He’s the one. Can’t you recognise the outfit? Pathetic."
A third, slightly broad-shouldered, elbowed the second. "Man, this isn’t the time for that. He’s in the first wave with us. That’s all that matters now."
The broad-shouldered boy looked Leon up and down with a dismissive sneer. "Don’t pamper a shrimp when he knows he’s a shrimp. He’ll just be dead weight. I can tell just by judging his appearance and body structure."
’My appearance and body structure?’ Leon stared at the boy with a blank expression. Then, a faint, cold smile touched the corner of his mouth.
"See?" the broad-shouldered boy said. "He’s even accepting it." He turned and strode toward a long rack at the field’s edge, where an array of weapons glinted under the morning sun.
Leon followed him with his gaze, then swept over the rack: swords, spears, quarterstaffs, war hammers.
All those around him moved to the array and began selecting their arms, hefting them, testing their weight.
Shuffling feet and the low clatter of metal and wood filled the air.
Leon’s hands remained at his sides as he watched them. He walked past the rack without stopping, without picking up a single thing.
The broad-shouldered guy laughed in an ugly tone when he noticed Leon hadn’t taken a weapon. "Going in bare-handed? You really do have a death wish, Rat."
Leon turned and looked at him, but didn’t answer. He then moved to an open space and waited, his empty hands curling slowly into fists at his sides.
Around him, the proctors with grim faces began calling the selected groups.
The weight of the command from the elevator slammed into his mind when he tilted his gaze to the crowd and the sky.
’FIGHT THEM ALL.’
Leon closed his eyes, brushed his palms across his face, and sighed heavily. His chest rose and fell smoothly after he cracked his eyes open and realised his group had been called.
As he stepped into the designated zone, ringed by armed competitors and the watching eyes of Alchemania, he swallowed, noticing he was the only one who entered empty-handed.
The proctor’s voice boomed, "Brace yourselves. Fight until the last of your opponents is eliminated!" A chime followed.
The field dissolved into a blur of motion. Shouts, guttural cries tore the air. Heavy thuds of boots became a frantic drumbeat.
Dust swirled up, turning into a gritty fog that stung Leon’s eyes and coated his tongue. Within it, streaks of light—blue, green, and violent red flared as weapons clashed.
Clang. Screech. Thud.
Leon walked slowly through the chaos. His senses stretched, filtering the cacophony. He ducked without looking as a blade whistled where his head had been.
He sidestepped a lunging figure that had locked in a grapple with another.
"Fight, else you’ll be eliminated in seconds!" the broad-shouldered boy’s voice barked from his right side.
Leon turned and saw him charging forward, his sword a grey blur as he parried a strike from a boy with a war hammer.
When Leon turned back, his eyes widened. The tip of a large, crude sword was a foot from his face, thrust by a snarling competitor covered in dirt.
Leon sidestepped, but the edge grazed his cheek.
"Shit!" His jaw tightened. A single drop of warm blood traced a path to his jawline. His hands, which had been loose at his sides all this time, curled slowly into fists.
He pivoted, shifting his weight to launch a counter. But before he could, a heavier form barreled past him. The broad-shouldered boy slammed his own blade against the large sword with a deafening CLANG, driving the attacker back.
"Don’t die and make us lose, freak!" the boy snarled over his shoulder, already engaging the swordsman in a series of furious exchanges.
Leon wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his left hand, then flicked the red droplets onto the churned earth. ’Make you lose, huh.’
A faint, cold smile touched his lips, but he brushed it away as the ground beneath his boots shuddered violently.
It sounded like an earthquake, but it wasn’t. Through the dust, he saw a boy kneeling, palms flat on the earth, his face strained.
The fight raged for a while. Then, as suddenly as it began, the chaos stilled. The fog of dust began to settle, pulled down by a strange, heavy silence.
Bodies littered the ground in their section of the field, some groaning, most chillingly still. Blood dressed the ground in sprinkles.
Around Leon, only his three temporary allies remained upright.
The lanky boy and the sharp-faced one were bent down, hands on their knees, gasping ragged breaths. Sweat dripped from their faces and hit the dirt like tiny rain. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖
The broad-shouldered boy stood, but the tip of his sword dragged in the earth, his chest heaving.
Leon stood among them as the only person whose breathing was steady, his shirt damp with sweat, but his stance unbroken.
The proctor’s chime sounded again in a harsh tone. "CONGRATULATIONS, GROUP 7. PREPARE FOR NEXT WAVE."
’Next wave?’ Leon’s face tensed slightly. His eyes scanned the edge of the field and saw a new group already moving toward their designated zone.
They stepped on the still bodies, slammed their feet at the necks of the groaning ones, and laughed.
They moved in a more synchronised rhythm.
’At least I’m not the only one without a weapon,’ he thought, noticing two of the newcomers also carried no visible arms.
But the faint hope died as the broad-shouldered boy spat on the ground and whispered in a low, grim voice.
"These aren’t E-ranks like us. So do your best to just survive."
