Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 114: Teamwork Training

For a second, the students stared. Then chaos erupted.

"Form up! Melee to the front!" Aethelstan’s voice rang out, authoritative but edged with strain. He moved to the center, shield raised. "Bromm, left flank! Deron, right! Spellcasters behind!"

But the order was more aspiration than execution. Bromm, the dwarven Berserker, let out a booming laugh and charged ahead of the forming line, his greataxe held high. "I’ll crack the first one for you!"

"Bromm, I said hold!" Aethelstan shouted, but it was too late.

Bromm reached the lead Construct and swung with all his might. It was a powerful, straightforward blow. The Construct raised a thick arm to block.

CLANG!

Stone chips flew. The Construct staggered but didn’t fall. Its other arm swung around in a ponderous, heavy arc. Bromm, off-balance from his own reckless swing, took the brunt of it on his shoulder.

The impact was brutal, knocking the breath from him and sending him stumbling backward into the churned earth.

"Healer!" Bromm grunted, scrambling to get up, his left arm hanging numb.

Corisande, knowing it was a bad idea, decided to help the Dwarf anyway. But she’d positioned herself poorly, too far back and behind Liraeth, who was already unleashing her magic.

"Burn, you overgrown rocks!" Liraeth cried, firing ⸢Ember Bursts⸥ —small, explosive balls of fire—in a wild barrage.

They peppered the Constructs’ chests, leaving black scorch marks but doing little real damage. The explosions, however, kicked up clouds of dust and smoke.

"Liraeth, you’re blinding everyone!" Nessa hissed from the periphery. The shadow-walker had been trying to flank, but the smoke and erratic flashes ruined her sightlines.

A Construct turned towards the noise of her voice, forcing her to melt back into the shadows to avoid a slow, devastating swipe.

"Then do something useful!" Liraeth retorted, launching a more concentrated ⸢Fire Bolt⸥. It sailed past two Constructs and fizzled against the far wall.

Corisande finally reached Bromm, her hands glowing with soft green light. "⸢Lesser Mending⸥," she whispered.

The healing energy flowed, knitting bruised tissue and easing the pain. "Ah. Thanks, Princess," Bromm flashed brown teeth.

Corisande ignored him and looked up to find that she was utterly exposed.

A second Construct lumbered towards them. Aethelstan, holding two others at bay with his shield and precise, punishing jabs of his sword, couldn’t break free.

Corvell came to the rescue.

He activated a ⸢Protection Barrier⸥ around them. The Golem’s fist struck the barrier and it reverberated through its arm, siphoning the health of the construct.

As it pulled back in pain, Corvell grabbed Corisande while Bromm got up on his own.

It was a discordant mess of individual duels, not a formation. The Spearhead was blunted before it even formed a point.

From the platform, Omares watched with a face like carved stone. Beside him, Chief Diviner Dionocles made a note on a shimmering tablet.

"No cohesion. The Prince commands the air, not the men. The Dwarf is a one-stroke weapon. The fire-caster is a hazard. She’s trying to impress everyone but is doing the exact opposite"

Omares didn’t reply. He simply raised his hand again and made a gentle, pulling motion.

The ten Stonewarden Constructs immediately disengaged, stepping back in unison and fading away into the magic of the floating sigils.

Once they disappeared, the sigils began to spin again.

The arena fell silent, save for the heavy breathing and coughs of the students.

"Pathetic," Omares stated, the word landing like a hammer. He floated down. "You fought twenty individuals against ten simple constructs. You lost."

Aethelstan straightened, his face flushed with frustration and shame. "We were organizing—"

"You were speaking," Omares interrupted. "There is a difference. Bromm. Your strength is an asset. Your recklessness is a mortal flaw. You left the formation, became isolated, and immediately required rescue. You turned an asset into a liability."

He turned to Liraeth. "Your power is not a toy. It is a tool. You lit signal fires for the enemy and obscured the vision of your allies. You fought against your team, not for it."

Finally, he stopped before Corisande, who flinched but held his gaze.

"Princess Corisande. You are, at this moment, the weakest combatant here. You move without awareness, placing yourself in danger and out of reach."

"Yet," he continued, his tone shifting from critique to cold analysis, "you are the linchpin. A party without a healer is a party on a timer. Your first priority is not to heal. It is to position. To be where you are safest and most effective."

He addressed them all. "A formation is a living organism. The front line is the shell. The damage dealers are the claws. The support is the heart and lungs. If the heart stops, the organism dies. If the claws strike the shell, it injures itself."

"We will try again," Omares declared. "But with rules. Aethelstan, your only task is to hold. Draw their attention. Be the unbreakable wall. The other Knights will follow.

"Bromm, you will be the hammer, but you will stay within five paces of the healer. Your duty is to destroy what threatens her and what Aethelstan pins.

"Liraeth, you will not cast until Nessa gives you a target. Your fire is a scalpel, not a cudgel. Corisande, like Corvell, you will cast ⸢Sanctuary⸥ the moment the engagement begins. Your survival is the priority."

He looked at the determined, dirty faces. "This is not about killing constructs. This is about learning to breathe as one entity. Begin."

The sigils stopped spinning and blared blue. Ten Stonewardens rose once more.

This time, the start was different. Aethelstan did not shout a complex order. He stepped forward, slammed his shield into the dirt, and cried, "To me!"

He radiated a palpable sense of defiance, a ⸢Challenger’s Shout⸥ that drew the Constructs’ glowing eyes.

As they lumbered toward him, Corisande and Corvell, planted firmly behind Aethelstan and Bromm, raised their hands.

⸢Sanctuary⸥

A shimmering, dome-like field of gentle energy bloomed around them, extending to cover Aethelstan and Bromm. It wouldn’t stop a determined assault, but it would slow attacks and soothe minor abrasions.

Bromm held back on his hungry desire to charge. He stood his ground beside the Healers, axe ready, a growl in his throat. "C’mon then, you buckets of gravel!"

Liraeth held her wand, biting her lip in concentration. Nessa flitted at the edge of the conflict, her voice clear. "Left construct, leg joint, now!"

Liraeth pivoted. A single, focused ⸢Fire Bolt⸥ streaked out, not as a wild shot, but as a precise lance. It struck the knee of the indicated Golems. The stone cracked. The creature stumbled, its rhythm broken.

"Front right, pressure point on the arm!" Nessa called again.

Another bolt. Another crack.

Aethelstan and the other Knights, within the Sanctuary, was a fortress. They parried, shoved, and used their shields to control the space, creating openings. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

When a Construct overextended trying to reach Corisande, Bromm stepped in, his axe blow now a controlled, crushing strike that shattered its core.

Vadrian and Dagna worked in tandem on the right, Vadrian’s swift swordplay deflecting blows to create openings for Dagna’s nature magic to ensnare and trip.

At times, it looked clumsy. Maybe even slow. But it was coherent. Their teamwork was growing with each kill.

When the last Construct crumbled, the students stood in a rough but recognizable Spearhead shape, panting but intact. The silence this time was one of exhausted understanding.

"Time?" Omares asked, not turning.

Dionocles consulted his tablet. "Four minutes, forty-two seconds. A 280% improvement in coordinated efficiency."

A collective breath was released. Bromm grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. Aethelstan allowed himself a nod of grim satisfaction. Corisande’s hands trembled, but from spent mana, not fear.

Omares faced them. "Adequate. You have begun to use the most basic tool: each other. Remember this feeling. For tomorrow, the theory ends."

He gestured to Dionocles. The Chief Diviner unfurled a scroll sealed with the crest of Eldermoor. His voice, usually so dry, was grave.

"Training is suspended. A suitable Gate has manifested in the province of Neverglades. It is Beta Gate, Swarm-type. The Duke has agreed to ban the Guilds from entering. This is a chance for one of you to gain a unique Aspect."

The students’ eyes gleamed with hungry interest. Gate Aspects. Who didn’t want them? They were unique powers that could be infused into equipment, weapons or Relics, making them even more powerful.

Omares’s gaze swept over the twenty, their youthful confidence now heightened by the promise of more power. "You aspired to be more than students. To be Awakeners. Heroes. Tomorrow, you will have that chance. Gather your gear. Prepare your minds.

"We depart for the Neverglades at dawn."