CRACK.
Eli barely got his sword up in time to block the next blow. The impact rattled through his arms, but he gritted his teeth and shoved forward. Their weapons locked. Their breath came hot and fast.
"Not bad," Rolf admitted. "But not good enough."
He twisted, slamming his weight into Eli's chest. The air left Eli's lungs in a rush, and the next thing he knew, his back was hitting the dirt.
"Fuck," Eli groaned.
Rolf grinned down at him. "Told you."
"Enough flirting, ladies," Vos snapped. "Again!"
The fights lasted hours. Bruises bloomed across Eli's arms and ribs. By the end of it, his muscles screamed, his vision swam, and he could barely hold his practice sword.
And then came the rifles.
"Bayonets today," The Sergeant said, grabbing a long, wickedly sharp blade and attaching it to the end of his rifle. "You ever run out of bullets, this is your best friend. Better than a sword, better than a knife. This will punch through armor, flesh, and bone."
