The combat room was filled with labored breathing, the sound of students catching their breath after the intense training session. Some stood proudly, satisfied with their performance, while others looked disappointed or frustrated.
The supervisor stood in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes scanning the trainees.
"Now that we've stopped, let's go over your mistakes."
A groan passed through the crowd.
The supervisor ignored it.
"Listen carefully. These mistakes may seem small now, but in a real battle, they will cost you your life."
He gestured toward a few students, beginning his critique.
The Supervisor's Combat Lecture
He started with a tall, muscular guy who wielded a battle-axe.
"Your movements are powerful but wasteful."
The trainee frowned.
"You rely too much on brute force. Each swing of your axe takes too much energy, leaving you open. Against a fast opponent, you'll be dead before you land a hit. Control your strikes. Make each one count."
The muscular guy gave a reluctant nod.
The supervisor moved on to a skinny boy with a rapier.
"You are too hesitant."
The skinny boy tensed.
"I can tell you were analyzing the doll's movements. That's good—but in a real fight, hesitation gets you killed. You need to trust your instincts. Strike when the opening appears, don't wait for a perfect moment that may never come."
He turned to a girl with silver hair, who had wielded a spear with impressive skill.
"Your technique is precise, but you lack adaptability."
The girl narrowed her eyes.
"You executed textbook maneuvers flawlessly, but real fights are unpredictable. If your opponent doesn't follow your expected patterns, you hesitate. Learn to adjust mid-battle."
The silver-haired girl gave a slight nod, absorbing the advice.
How funny that it was all his roommate that were corrected.... At least he want among.
Then, the supervisor's gaze landed on Hope.
He began walking toward him, his boots clicking against the stone floor.
Hope sighed internally.
"Here we go."
The Supervisor Confronts Hope
Standing before him, the supervisor studied him for a moment.
"What is your name?"
Hope rolled his shoulders, exhaling through his nose.
"I knew this was coming."
He muttered under his breath, "My name is Hopeless... but you can call me whatever you want."
A few students chuckled in the background.
The supervisor raised an eyebrow, but his face remained unreadable.
"Hopeless?"
Hope didn't bother explaining.
The supervisor didn't push further. Instead, he got straight to Hope's mistakes.
"You have potential, but your technique is sloppy."
Hope resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"You rely on instincts, which is good—but instincts alone won't save you. You react well, but you don't plan ahead. If you want to survive, you must think beyond the present moment. Anticipate your enemy's next move, not just the one in front of you."
Hope's eyebrows twitched slightly.
He hated to admit it, but the man had a point.
The supervisor wasn't done.
"You also don't commit to your attacks."
Hope frowned slightly.
"You hesitate when you strike, afraid of wasting movement. In some cases, that's wise—but against an opponent that adapts, hesitation means failure. When you decide to attack, you must strike with confidence. Half-hearted attacks only give your enemy time to counter."
Hope clenched his jaw.
"Commit to my attacks...?"
He replayed the battle in his head.
The moment he targeted the doll's wrist joint, he had hesitated for a split second before striking fully. That hesitation gave the machine just enough time to reposition.
He hated that the supervisor was right.
The man studied him a moment longer, then continued.
The Final Combat Lesson
"Now, all of you—listen carefully."
The room went silent.
"There are five fundamental things to remember in combat. If you don't take anything else from today, take this."
He raised a finger.
"First—analyze your enemy. Know what you're up against. Their strengths, their weaknesses, their fighting style. Every enemy has a pattern, a habit. Find it. Exploit it.**"
A second finger went up.
"Second—understand your weapon. Your weapon is an extension of your body. Know what it can do. Know its limits. If you don't understand your own weapon, you'll never master it."
The third finger rose.
"Third—know your own limits. Strength means nothing if you exhaust yourself too quickly. Speed is useless if you can't react in time. You must understand your own body, your own stamina, your own skills. Fight within your means."
The fourth finger followed.
"Fourth—use your environment. A smart fighter doesn't just rely on their weapon or their body. The battlefield itself can be a weapon. A stone, a shadow, a slippery floor—anything can be used to your advantage."
Finally, he raised his entire hand.
"Fifth—stay calm."
The room was silent.
"In the heat of battle, panic is your greatest enemy. Fear clouds judgment. Anger makes you reckless. Overconfidence makes you careless.
Keep your mind clear. A calm fighter is a deadly fighter."
He lowered his hand, scanning the room.
"Remember these five rules, and you will live longer than most. Forget them... and you'll be just another corpse in the soulrealm
His words hung in the air, a grim reminder of the reality they faced.
Then, he exhaled.
"That's all for now."
A collective breath of relief washed over the students.
But before anyone could relax too much—
The supervisor smirked.
"Tomorrow, we increase the difficulty."
Groans filled the room.
Hope simply sighed.
"Of course we do."