MIGHT AS WELL BE OP-Chapter 377: Pickaxe

Six months had passed since the commencement of military training.

By now, everyone had acclimated to the harsh standards of military life to a satisfactory degree.

Wake before 4 a.m.

Report to the training grounds by 4 a.m.

Depart the training grounds by 9 p.m.

Repeat.

Their existence became a monotonous cycle, an unbroken routine devoid of anything beyond this relentless pattern.

The only deviations were brief visits to the infirmary for treatment or to the cafeteria for sustenance.

The changes were undeniable, evident to any discerning eye.

Some had grown bulkier, their frames hardened with dense layers of muscle.

Others had become leaner, their physiques honed and compact, built for speed and precision.

Their footsteps grew lighter, yet every movement carried weight, deliberate, calculated.

Their guard rose instinctively, subtle yet ever-present, as if their bodies had long abandoned the notion of vulnerability.

Their eyes, once ordinary, now gleamed with sharpness, vigilant, shaped by discipline and struggle.

Their very presence felt different, grounded, composed, refined.

It was, without question, remarkable progress.

Corporal Samuel stood in silence, his face devoid of any expression.

As impassive as ever, he betrayed no hint of satisfaction, as though the recruits had made no discernible progress at all.

Yet, Samuel had trained countless recruits before.

Each of them had yielded results.

This group was no different.

There was no room for celebration.

Results were expected.

They were an imperative, not a triumph.

"You've been here for six months now, meaning you've completed half of your goal. From here on out, we will elevate your training"

Corporal Samuel's voice was steady as he surveyed the gathered recruits, his gaze sweeping across them all.

"We'll be transitioning into combat training from this point forward"

At his words, there was little outward reaction, yet, a fleeting spark ignited in their eyes.

They hadn't touched a weapon in six months.

Corporal Samuel gave a simple wave of his hand, and a roll of assorted weapons materialized before them.

He issued his command without hesitation.

"You are to select a weapon you are unfamiliar with. If you are accustomed to a sword, choose a spear. If you wield a hammer, pick up an axe"

At his words, the recruits moved with swift precision, no questions asked, no delay.

As they equipped themselves, Corporal Samuel continued, his tone steady.

"The purpose of this exercise is to familiarize you with a weapon outside of your usual repertoire. On the battlefield, anything can happen. You might lose your weapon at any moment"

His voice remained steady, sharp, a reflection of his unshakable discipline.

"Pick a partner and begin sparring"

Corporal Samuel commanded.

"Remember, this isn't about winning. It isn't about overpowering your opponent. The goal is to familiarize yourself with the weapon"

At his words, the recruits swiftly paired off, and the training began.

A flurry of motion filled the air, the sounds of blades and weapons clashing resonating like an uncoordinated rhythm.

They moved with haste but little grace, each action devoid of the precision that came with familiarity.

Even an observer untrained in combat could see, they were not yet comfortable with these new weapons.

Anthony stood with a neutral expression.

At the outset of the training, he had anticipated breezing through it without much effort.

Yet, it appeared the military regimen was equally effective on everyone, no exceptions.

In an attempt to level the playing field, Anthony had deactivated many of his passive abilities, including 'Sense Dome' and 'Infinity', choosing to endure the training like the others.

However, the All Seeing Eyes were different.

They weren't a skill he could simply toggle off and on at will.

They remained perpetually active, an ever present force within him.

Throughout the training, Anthony found sweat trickling down his back, his body soaked in exertion.

He, too, gasped for breath, his lungs burning from the relentless pace.

He, too, suffered injuries, though they were swiftly healed, his body mending as though nothing had happened.

He had chosen to train alongside the others, embracing the same hardships, and indeed, some progress had been made.

But unlike the rest, Anthony was not unfamiliar with the weapons.

He was a master of each one.

As he watched his fellow recruits floundering, swinging their weapons with little coordination, a quiet smirk tugged at his lips.

They were, in his eyes, nothing more than amateurs, yet, he couldn't fault them.

They had never held these weapons before.

He sparred with his opponent, his expression a mask of calm focus.

Each attack was expertly parried, his movements fluid as he seized every opening to strike.

His opponent, though quick to respond, could only react through sheer strength and speed.

There was no finesse in his style, only brute force.

The wind seemed to part as their weapons collided, the clash ringing through the air.

Their figures blurred in the rapid exchange, a dance of motion and steel.

Corporal Samuel observed in silence, offering no corrections.

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He allowed the recruits to swing their weapons freely, letting them make their own mistakes.

His gaze flicked to Anthony, noting how effortlessly he moved, as if the sparring were something he could do in his sleep.

"White haired kid, pick another weapon"

His command was sharp and direct.

The recruits briefly shifted their attention to Anthony, the only one with white hair in the entire group, before quickly returning to their own sparring.

Anthony simply halted and nodded, not bothering to argue that he was already proficient with every weapon.

Instead, he chose something unconventional this time.

A pickaxe.

His sparring partner frowned at the choice.

After all, a pickaxe was meant for mining, for breaking rocks and logs, hardly a weapon of war.

But no comment was made.

Without a word, they resumed their sparring, the air thick with the sound of clashing metal.

Corporal Samuel, observing Anthony's continued ease, refrained from issuing any further instructions.

His gaze shifted instead to the other recruits.

Though they were still unfamiliar with their new weapons, progress was evident.

They had the physique, the reflexes, and the battle experience, the three elements that allowed them to adapt to their weapons, even if only by a small margin.

After observing for two hours, Corporal Samuel began to issue corrections.

His words came swift and sharp, each one like a bullet.

He corrected their stances.

He corrected their breathing.

Again, he corrected their breathing.

Corporal Samuel wasn't a master of many weapons.

He had mastered only one.

But as an instructor, tasked with training recruits until the day he retired, he had devoted time to learning the ins and outs of every weapon... except for the pickaxe.