Chapter 28: Trigger Condition

December 22, 2024

Eldralore Academy

“Still nothing?” Henry asked. Around the dining table, the rest of Alpha Team simply shrugged or shook their heads.

Ryan looked up from his notebook. “Nah, got nothin’ at all.”

“Well,” Dr. Anderson interjected, “the Dean did find Valtor’s background – or lack thereof – rather suspicious.”

“But no physical evidence of espionage,” Henry guessed.

The Doc shook his head.

The news was unfortunate but expected for any talented operative. They may as well have been working against a KGB super-spy, adept in OPSEC and combat all the same. However, Henry knew they were capable of slipping up; the revelation in the forest was evidence enough of their limits. It was only a matter of time before the next one occurred. Hopefully, they’d find something during their excursion to the arena.

Henry gathered his things. “Got one last major place to check. Let’s see if Valtor’s tryna mess around with the tournament.”

Arenas: the terrorist’s playground of choice, whether dealing with Earth’s finest nutcases or Gaerra’s magically inclined psychopathic assassins. Predictable, really. Henry had to admit, if the Nobians were planning something, this would be the place.

One well-executed strike and voila – Eldralore’s magical society gets a surprise facelift, minus a few hundred faces. The cream of Sonaran potential, wiped clean – from rising students to nobles who’d probably never lifted a finger in their lives, all conveniently gathered in one place like a gift-wrapped present. It’d be catastrophic, not to mention the political fallout for Sonara over the deaths of international guests in attendance.

He could almost admire the efficiency, if it wasn’t so utterly horrifying. They’d accomplish the elimination of powerful assets and the tactical pruning of the next generation, all while sending a message that the Nobians were already in Sonaran cities, simply waiting to strike. Subtle as a sledgehammer, yet undeniably effective.

At the arena’s entrance, Henry nodded toward one of the guards present. Just a few days building trust with Lyrus had been well worth it. The guard stepped to the side, granting access as if it had been decided long before they arrived.

Walking inside, Henry pulled out his handheld EMF meter – no oddities yet. “Alright. Owens, you’re with me for the upper levels – let’s check the VIP area and seats. Hayes, Yen, Doc, look through the ground floor. Focus on any structural supports, columns, beams, and load-bearing walls. Anything that could conceal or anchor something. Keep an eye on high-traffic areas too – walkways, stairs, entrances, exits.”

Henry started with the grand staircase leading to the VIP section. The device remained silent, its display showing only the ambient magical energy of the surrounding environment.

“Huh,” he muttered, reaching the top. “Nothing on the main approach.”

“Strange?” Ron asked.

Henry looked back at the stairway. “Maybe. Probably not high-traffic enough to warrant traps.”

“Yeah,” Ron scratched his chin, looking around the vast arena, “but shit, there’s like 30 other stairways. Tons of places to hide.”

Henry nodded. “Yeah, alright. Let’s clear this out. I’ll take the north side.”

They split up, Henry starting with the area reserved for the highest-ranking guests. Yet, after almost half an hour of searching, he found nothing. No traps under the seats, no bombs hidden away in containers, no traces of runes. The absence was more unsettling than any discovery could have been, almost begging the question: did he miss something?

He paused, frowning. The VIP area should have been a prime target. The Nobians weren’t known for half-measures or mercy, yet the best place for a strike remained unnervingly devoid of threats.

“Think I got something,” Ron called out, shaking Henry from his thoughts.

Henry made his way over to Ron, who stood before a… silvery sphere mounted on a pedestal? The Sonarans always had a penchant for the unusual – or the impractical. This sphere was probably no exception. “What’s this?” he asked, studying the object. The surface appeared to be covered in runes, though for what purpose, Henry could hardly guess.

Ron shrugged. “Fancy decoration, I guess. But here, check this out.” He pointed to a small panel near the base of the pedestal. “Looks like an access port, kinda.”

Henry crouched for a closer look. The panel wasn’t elaborate by any means – just a simple recessed plate with what looked like a manual trigger mechanism consisting of interlocking grooves. Not daring to mess around with pressing the plate, he scanned it with his EMF meter. The magic inside was powerful, but contained – a few thousand milligauss up close, and likely much higher if the device was activated.

“Must be one of those wards Kelmithus mentioned.” He stood up, examining the sphere more thoroughly. Like a radome, the sphere was likely designed to project magic outward in a hemispherical pattern, all while masquerading as a simple decoration. Had the Sonarans figured this out on their own, or were they borrowing from Baranthurian design philosophy?

The Doc would probably love to take a crack at the technical details, but that wasn’t Henry’s concern right now. Yeah, it was definitely a ward emitter – that much was obvious. But what did Ron find so special about it?

“Yup, now take a look at this.” Ron bent forward, his frame lowering just enough to bring his eyes level with a gap between the sphere and the pedestal it rested on.

Henry knelt beside him. “Huh. That ain’t right. These are supposed to be sealed tight, aren’t they?”

“Mhmm,” Ron agreed. “And it’s not sitting perfectly. Kinda like it’s propped up, but just enough to leave space underneath and go unnoticed otherwise.”

Great. They’d finally found something important. And great, now they had to deal with this shit. The misalignment was subtle, but definitely deliberate. The only question was, to what end?

And hell, how could they even determine that? “Alright, we can’t deactivate it or move it ourselves. How we gonna see what’s under there?”

Ron scratched his head, finally straightening with a clear eureka moment. “You got that borescope shit right? Part of the site exploitation stuff?”

“What,” Henry tilted his head, “you mean the snake camera? Yeah, I think I got it. Lemme check.” He reached into his Holding Bag, fumbling through the site exploitation equipment until he found it – a rolled wire with a USB-C cable on one end and a tubular camera on the other.

“Got it.” The cable connected to his toughpad with a soft click, a notification popping up as it detected the external device. As the live feed flickered on, Henry turned to Ron. “Keep your meter on the thing. Anything goes crazy, let me know and I’ll pull out.”

“Aight, I gotchu.”

Henry inched the camera forward, keeping his hand steady. The interior of the sphere mirrored the smooth exterior, similarly studded with runes. He angled the camera downward, focusing on the pedestal’s surface. And, surprise, surprise – another rune. Unlike the thinly etched runes associated with the sphere, this one had been carved with a wider tool, possibly a knife.

He couldn’t recognize the rune itself, but he’d learned enough about them and wards to know that this certainly wasn’t a part of the original design. He snapped several pictures of the rune and the interior of the sphere, complementing it with a panning video of the whole setup before he pulled out the camera.

“I found four other wards earlier,” Ron said pointing at the corners of the room. “Should check ‘em.”

Henry couldn’t agree more. They moved to the next emitter, repeating the process. It showed no signs of tampering – just a perfectly boring, untouched sphere on its pedestal. Without a gap to peer inside, there was no way of telling if the interior was messed up. Unsealing it just to check was a risk he didn’t want to take; might as well leave it to the academy staff.

The third and fourth spheres were less cooperative, each containing hidden runes similar to the first. They looked identical, as far as he could tell, likely rigged to cast the same spell. Henry snapped some more pictures, saving the documentation for both Elwes and Armstrong.

The final emitter was lackluster, though probably for the best. Henry carefully retracted the camera. They’d definitely seen enough.

Henry tapped the push-to-talk button on his vest, lowering his mouth to his collar. “Alpha Team, Alpha Actual. Just found defensive wards; looked like someone tampered with them – scratched new runes that we can’t ID. Any updates?”

“Yeah, we done come across some runes too,” Ryan’s voice came up. “Sent y’all the pictures. They’re up under the main seats, some scratched near the base of the columns, like someone wanted ‘em hidden but close enough to matter. Reckon they ain’t supposed to be there.”

“Copy,” Henry said, watching the notification pop up on his tablet. “Keep looking. I’ll radio Elwes.”

Swapping to his handheld radio, he updated her on the runes.

“Ah, I do hope I’m using this properly. I’ve received your message and will be there promptly. Be sure not to touch any of them,” Elwes warned. “Now how does one end this? Is it this button here? Yes, I daresay I’ll try –” The radio clicked as she ended the transmission.

Her awkward sign-off lightened the mood a bit, but did little to dispel the tension surrounding the mysterious runes. For all Henry knew, they might as well be ticking time bombs, primed and waiting for the right conditions to detonate. He’d be damn sure not to touch them.

Speculation with Ron confirmed his suspicions – bombs seemed the likely culprit. The placement under the main seats and near critical structural supports pointed to one goal: maximum devastation. Their only consolation, grim as it was, lay in the likelihood that detonation wouldn’t occur until a sizeable target was present.

Elwes arrived after a lengthy five minutes, striding into the VIP section. “Captain Donnager, Lieutenant Owens,” she greeted.

“Professor.” Henry approached her with his tablet. He swiped through the images, starting with the untouched wards. “These are what the wards are normally supposed to look like, right? Completely sealed?”

Elwes leaned over the tablet, squinting. “Yes,” she replied, her voice carrying a trace of expectation.

Henry swiped to the next set, showcasing the wards that had a gap between the sphere and the pedestal. “Alright, so I’m guessing these aren’t supposed to look like this?”

The professor shook her head, confirming Henry’s suspicions.

Now, the more pressing concern. “And I’m guessing these runes aren’t supposed to be there either?” He offered her the device.

Elwes took the tablet, swiping too hard at first. She hesitated, then tried again, copying the gesture she’d seen him use. Henry had no doubt that under different circumstances, she'd be absorbed by the device, fiddling with it out of curiosity. But now, her attention stayed locked on the screen, studying the runes.

“Captain, the instruments you used to capture these pictures – they’re purely electromechanical, are they not? No… magical components?”

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed. “Nothing magical about ‘em.”

Elwes’ shoulders visibly relaxed. “Thank heavens. These runes… I suspect they are fashioned to trigger upon reaching a certain mana threshold. Had a detection spell been cast too near, I daresay the result could have been most calamitous.”

Henry felt his stomach tighten. If not for their tech, they probably would’ve triggered one of those landmines. “How bad are we talking here?”

Elwes looked up from the tablet, apparently not needing any more study, as if she’d figured it out already. “The runes are of… an explosive nature.”

“So they’re bombs,” Ron said.

“Indeed.” The professor folded her arms, confusion settling into her face. “However, they appear fashioned to detonate only upon contact with Tier 9 magic.”

Tier 9? It made little sense to Henry. “No way the crowd’s ambient mana could set that off. Maybe spells flying around during the tournament itself?”

“No, perhaps not. The students’ spells reach but Tier 8 at most. And the nobles’ gallery stands too far removed from the ring for any magic cast there to affect these runes.”

The situation didn’t sit well with Ron, either. “In that case, why make a trap that’s pretty much impossible to trigger unless someone’s investigating? Wouldn’t that uh, defeat the purpose of taking out a bunch of important nobles?”

Elwes shrugged. “I fear we've missed some vital piece. There must be more to this design we've yet to uncover.”

Henry gave it some thought, but perhaps it was time to move on. Maybe they’d figure out something later. “What about these runes? We found them under the seats and around the columns.”

She analyzed the new set of images, eyes narrowing again. “They, too, are explosive runes. Though… they differ markedly from the first few. I dare say, they are designed to respond to a continuous flow of magical force, perhaps corresponding to the presence of a thousand souls or more.”

Henry frowned. “A thousand? That’s about how many people the arena holds, right?”

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“Aye. Should such power be sustained for no less than ten minutes, I fear the runes would detonate.” Elwes paused, no doubt grappling with the severity of the threat. “The force of the initial blast would wreak great destruction; yet, I find myself more concerned with the release of magical energy thereafter.”

Henry crossed his arms. “Enough to reach Tier 9, I’m guessing?”

The realization hit Elwes hard. “Yes, I believe so… By Sola’s light, it would surely rouse those more potent runes we uncovered ere now.”

Henry remained silent. The system was apparently designed to work without intervention – a brutal but effective solution to the lack of remote detonators. The Nobians were crafty, more than he would’ve liked. Once more, they’ve proven themselves a near-peer enemy, one that’d make underestimation a fatal mistake.

“We need to lock this down,” he finally said, looking at Elwes. “Can you tell Lyrus? Get him over here, maybe?” It wasn’t his favorite idea, but it had to be done.

Elwes gave a brisk nod. “I shall reach out to him at once.”

The professor raised her hand, summoning a small, spectral familiar that looked like a crow. She leaned in and spoke quietly, then released it. The familiar flew off swiftly, disappearing through the window. A few moments later, it returned with Dean Lyrus and several more academy staff in tow.

The door swung open with the kind of flair only self-important bureaucrats seemed to master. Lyrus swept in, trailed by a coterie of sycophants masquerading as staff. His gaze locked onto Henry and Ron, lips curling in what could only be the sour aftermath of their failed charm. Clearly, they hadn’t built that much trust just yet.

The man who’d reluctantly authorized their presence now looked like he was regretting every life choice that led to this moment. “Professor,” Lyrus addressed Elwes, “what precisely is the nature of this… interruption? Your familiar spoke of urgent business, yet I find only,” he paused, eyes sliding over Henry and Ron like they were particularly distasteful insects, “our… external consultants.”

The way he said ‘consultants’ almost made it sound like a communicable disease. Henry suppressed a smirk at the man’s near-comical ‘thrill’.

Elwes stepped forward, focusing on the situation at hand like a truly responsible adult. Henry had to admire her composure; dealing with Lyrus on a regular basis would likely drive lesser academics to drink. “Dean Lyrus, we’ve happened upon explosive runes.” She gestured towards Henry. “These gentlemen possess images depicting the runes, which are scattered across the arena grounds. Some among them lie concealed beneath wards, even within this gallery.”

Henry handed Elwes the tablet, watching Lyrus’ reaction. He gave no other hint than the pursing of his lips. Honestly, he’d seen glaciers move faster than this man’s thought process. Insane. Bombs sitting right beside them, and here he was taking his sweet ass time.

“Speak, then,” Lyrus eventually relented, “if indeed there lies aught you have uncovered beyond your approved investigation.”

Henry held his tongue. Now wasn’t the time to remind the Dean that their ‘approved investigation’ was about as well-defined as a politician's campaign promises.

“Lyrus,” Elwes interjected, “I’ve examined the runes myself. We must postpone the tournament.”

As cathartic as it might’ve been, Henry knew that punching the Dean would be pretty counterproductive. “With all due respect, does the scope of our investigation really matter when lives are on the line?”

Lyrus narrowed his eyes, clearly affronted by Henry’s tone, or possibly annoyed by the very valid point he’d brought up. “Very well, then. Let us see these wards which you claim to be so perilous.”

“Center of the room, plus those two at the outer corners of the gallery. The ones with the best view of the arena, naturally.” Henry gestured toward the window.

Lyrus approached the central pedestal. Shockingly, he reached for the sphere. Henry blinked, sure he’d misunderstood. No way the Dean was about to –

But yes, the pompous ass had already laid a hand on it, unscrewing the sphere like the last few minutes of conversation never happened. Henry’s stomach plummeted. For one heart-stopping moment, he was convinced they were all about to be atomized by bureaucratic hubris. The urge to dive for cover warred with morbid fascination as Lyrus manhandled what was basically a magic IED.

Hell, was the Dean following some fucked up checklist? ‘Step one: Potentially trigger apocalyptic explosion. Step two: File incident report in triplicate.’ Despite the Dean looking like he knew what he was doing, Henry didn’t find it any easier to watch. Thankfully, the sphere came free without protest, exposing the reassuringly inert rune beneath.

Lyrus set it down casually on a nearby seat with not a care in the world. Henry’s relief at continued existence was quickly overshadowed by an overwhelming desire to introduce the Dean’s head to the nearest hard surface.

“Lyrus!” Elwes’ voice cracked. “Surely that’s not –”

Lyrus silenced her with an impervious wave, bending to examine the exposed rune. After an agonizingly long moment, he straightened. His face had shifted from his usual resting bitch face to… well, genuine concern. “It appears that your findings may have some merit after all.”

Henry resisted the urge to say ‘No shit.’ Barely.

Lyrus turned to his staff. “Fetch the voidstone containers.” He paused, wrestling with his next words. “And… seal the entire campus at once; let none come or go.”

The staff members exchanged glances, probably unused to seeing the Dean rattled like this. Lyrus’ eye twitched. “Do move yourselves now – unless, of course, it is your wish to remain here until these runes take it upon themselves to reforge the arena?”

They scattered like startled pigeons. As they exited, Lyrus turned back to Henry and Ron, bearing an expression between constipation and grudging respect. With a heavy sigh, he began, “It seems, then, that I owe you some measure of appreciation for your diligence in this affair. Your…” he paused, choking on his next word, “expertise, though I loathe to admit it, has proven itself to be of greater worth than anticipated.”

Henry raised an eyebrow. Actual gratitude? From Lyrus? Not something he’d expected, but hey, he’d take it.

“From this point onward, we shall see to the matter ourselves,” Lyrus continued, his tone leaving no doubt that Henry and his team were now excluded. “You are dismissed, sir. Doubtless, there are other pressing affairs that require your attention.”

The dismissal was about as subtle as a brick to the face. Henry gave a nod to both Lyrus and Elwes as he turned to leave. No point in burning bridges, even if Lyrus seemed determined to douse them in kerosene – or fyrite?

Exiting the gallery, he gave an update to Ryan, Isaac, and Dr. Anderson. It seemed for now that the mission was over; all that remained was to inform Armstrong.

Upon reaching the relative privacy of their apartment, Henry immediately got to work. “Blue One, Alpha Actual. Priority traffic. Over.”

The officer’s reply came back muffled – an absent-minded ‘mmm,’ followed by the crinkle of… a bag of chips? “Alpha Actual, Blue One. Send traffic. Over.”

“We’ve found multiple explosive runes. Tier 9 magic, likely Nobian. Sonarans have initiated lockdown; they’re handling sweep. No casualties. Transmitting imagery now, over.”

“Alpha Actual, solid copy. Stand by – relaying to Blue Actual. Over.”

Henry allowed his body to sink into the couch while he waited for their response. Who knew investigations could be so… like this? Lyrus, the epitome of arrogant dickheadery, messing around with an IED like a 2-year-old with Legos. If ignorance was bliss, the Dean was practically euphoric. And Elwes, bless her, trying to inject a modicum of sense into the proceedings. Then Valtor, still a prime suspect but clean of any connection to the runes so far.

The empty glass on the table beckoned to Henry. Monsters in the forest preparing for an all-out assault, followed by a plot to bomb the tournament? It was no coincidence. The evidence suggested something larger at play, but what? Was the fiasco in the woods simply a distraction from the runes? And what if the runes were just another layer, a cover for something else? Man, he sure as hell had earned a drink. Probably the whole damn bottle, while he was at it.

The radio crackled again. “Alpha Actual, Blue One. Orders from Blue Actual: Return to base for immediate debrief. Acknowledge. Over.”

Henry felt the slight tug of a smirk on his lip. “Blue One, Alpha Actual. Solid copy. ETA 1 hour. Out.”

He ended the call, letting his head fall back against the couch. Huh, that meant they’d be back for Christmas. His smirk grew wider. How would Sera react?

“Ay, what you smilin’ about?”

Ron’s voice nearly startled Henry. He sat straight up. “Shit, uh, just got off the radio with TOC. Armstrong’s pulling us back just in time for Christmas.”

Ron snorted, dropping into the chair across from Henry. “Yeah. alright. Christmas is nice and all, but it ain’t that wonderful. Bet yo ass was thinkin’ ‘bout standing under some mistletoe.”

Henry grinned. Once again, the big guy’s instincts were on point. “Fuck, you got me. Let’s hurry up and tell the others so we can get back.”

– –

Armstrong Base

At last, it was upon her – the moment of true action. Days of preparation, and here she stood. The ceaseless drills, the uninspiring dry fire, the endless assemblage of these strange weapons – aye, she’d borne it all. And for what? Supposed calluses on her hands? As though these strange weapons could truly mar her skin so. At least it was far gentler than her days training with the sword – no blisters nor foes seeking to send her sprawling. If she must endure O’Connor’s endless berating, she could at least take solace in the simplicity of the Americans’ methods.

Sera’s grip tightened upon the surprisingly light pistol, much as the day when she’d first cast aside those wretched training swords. Gods above, such pitiful things, suited only for children and recruits. But when at last true steel had been placed in her hands, she had learned the difference – no more wooden toys, but a weapon of genuine purpose. And now, this M18? It was much the same.

Ere now, she’d observed Alpha Team – and even Kelmithus – making sport with their firearms. But now, power lay within her grasp and with it, the opportunity to prove she could master this alien art of war as readily as she had the arcane.

Sergeant O’Connor stood afore Sera. “On my command, you will approach the firing line. Don’t get too excited, now. Weapons remain on safe until instructed otherwise. Understood?”

“Aye, Sergeant.”

At O’Connor’s command, Sera drew nigh unto the firing line. She adopted that peculiar ‘isosceles’ stance the Sergeant had shown her; feet planted at shoulder width and arms thrust forth, with the M18 held aloft. She fixed her aim upon the paper target ahead, much as an archer would, though the stance felt far less graceful than the draw of her blade.

“Huh, damn near perfect. Alright, now watch closely.”

Were it not for Sera’s discipline, she might have preened at the Sergeant’s praise. Yet she held fast, turning only to attend his words.

Sergeant O’Connor drew forth his sidearm with a swiftness that rivaled Sera’s own unsheathing of her blade. Then did he commence his recitation upon the weapon’s parts, explaining the barrel, grip, trigger, and so forth.

Sera dispelled the urge to roll her eyes. Did he imagine she’d spent these days in idle repose? “Sergeant, might we dispense with a lecture of the M18’s anatomy? I assure you, I’ve not been merely admiring my reflection these past days.”

“Well, if you say so. Pay attention; this is what I’m gonna want to see from you.” He pressed upon a small lever, whereupon the magazine clattered onto his hand. “Mag’s out; now we check the chamber.”

Angling the top of the weapon toward Sera, he drew back the slide and searched the chamber within. “Empty. Good.”

Satisfied, he took the magazine and drove it into the weapon’s grip. He then released the slide, whereupon it snapped forward to chamber the round. This routine had become familiar enough to her these past days, yet a stirring in the belly beset her. Excitement? Anxiety? Anticipation? It might have been a combination, for her turn was nigh.

The Sergeant fired, the shots sounding distant, muffled as though beneath water. The tightness of the ear inserts was near unbearable but for all their discomfort, she understood their use. Elsewise, she’d scarce hear aught but ringing for days to come. Still, her impulses whispered sweetly, instilling a longing to cast them off for but a breath.

O’Connor ejected the magazine, checking the chamber, ere he laid the weapon upon the table. The Sergeant’s look galled her, as though he fancied her some highborn lass unused to discomfort. Well, that she was of noble birth, aye, ‘twas true enough – yet her hardiness? That, forsooth, was a matter most disputable.

She suppressed a scoff, knowing full well the coverings chafed – aye, but she’d not grant him the satisfaction of seeing it. “Fear not, Sergeant. These contraptions shan’t hinder me.”

O’Connor laughed heartily, perhaps seeing right through her facade. “Sorry, we didn’t exactly plan for elves when we packed this gear. But hey, we’ve got some custom ones coming in a couple weeks. For now, just hang in there a bit longer.”

Alas, salvation was a couple weeks too long. “Your consideration does your credit, Sergeant. No doubt these marvels would prove as crucial as Mithrilforged gear in a dragon’s lair. Though I confess, these current coverings do have their merits, I suppose.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, indeed; they serve right well to mute the droning of lectures and prattling courtiers alike. Perhaps I shall retain a pair for the affairs of court. Now, shall I commence?” She turned her gaze back to the range.

The Sergeant smirked. “Alright, then. Load your weapon. Insert a magazine, then chamber a round.”

Sera steadily replicated the Sergeant’s earlier procedure. This done, she stood at the ready, awaiting the Sergeant’s next word.

“Good. Stance is good so far, alright. Your target’s ten yards out. Take your time, line up your sights, and fire when ready.”

Ten yards? Sera almost laughed. A paltry distance, truly, for a weapon of such repute. Why, with her bow she could strike a fleeing goblin from thrice the distance – and these firearms were said to be far more precise. Nay, this would prove no challenge at all. Sera aligned the front sight with the rear, flipping the safety off.

She drew breath, then squeezed the trigger. The ensuing thunder was mighty, even through her ear coverings. Having grown to the sense of the weapon from her dry fire practice, she found the weapon’s kick scarce worthy of note. It hardly shifted in her grip, the recoil naught but a trifle even without her physical enhancement magic. It was almost disappointing. She’d expected more of a challenge, but no – the pistol might as well have been a child’s toy in her hands, so readily did she master it.

Yet, in that very ease did she also recognize the weapon’s true might. Dwarves, Men, Elves, all made equal by this simple ‘handgun’, scarce heavier than a dagger and as readily hidden. It was a thing of such simplicity in use, yet able to grant a Tier 1 novice the means to kill even a Tier 10 swordsman with the mere press of a trigger. A great equalizer, aye.

The very weapon mocked the bow. Strength was ever needful for it, each draw a task upon the string and her muscles. Yet here, this weapon required but a scant touch, granting a force that far surpasses aught she had known. Strange, how so little effort could make an archer’s skill seem naught but wasted toil. Yet thrilling indeed, how this ease might free her hands for aught beyond – the casting of spells, the command of the field – all whilst felling foes with a fraction of the strain.

“So? How’d you like it?”

Sera cleared the weapon, then turned to O’Connor. Try as she might, she could scarce contain her grin. “Very much, Sergeant. I’d not have thought so small a thing could ‘pack quite a punch.’ I say, I’m very much fain – excited – to commence drills with the full magazine.”

The Sergeant paused, for custom would bid him start with but a single round, then two, to build in due measure. Yet, much to her surprise, he yielded. “Alright, why not? Go ahead, then – load up and show me what you can do.”

He surveyed the field to ensure the targets were set, then with a nod, bid her begin.

Sera loaded her weapon again. Raising it, she took aim upon the closest mark at 20 yards and fired. She had now the measure of the recoil, yet the impact pressed upon her more keenly. The magnitude of visual recoil scaled with greater distances, demanding she keep a surer hand. Advancing to the thirty-yard mark, she found a steady cadence, yet found herself tarrying a bit longer between shots to ensure they’d find purchase. This was no longer child’s play, after all.

At fifty yards – the range of an unaided longbow, she squinted; the target was but a speck against the front sight, almost as if it mocked her efforts. The notion that this small weapon might reach so far seemed nigh unto folly. Yet, the very existence of the target spoke of O’Connor’s expectations. Had he set this up just to see her falter? Well then, she’d not disappoint.

She called forth a touch of strengthening magic, steadying her grip. A cheat, perhaps, yet with fifty yards and that pitiful speck of a mark afore her, she’d not lose sleep. She pulled the trigger with a smirk. Even so, keeping the pistol true required concentration. The shots landed well enough to be satisfactory – aye, a fair challenge, though she’d as lief swallow nails as tell the Sergeant so.

“Shit,” O’Connor whistled, clapping his hands slowly, “that ain’t bad at all.”

Sera glanced over at him. Fifty yards with this pistol? A fool’s errand, certes, and yet the Sergeant but says ‘ain’t bad’? Forsooth, it was a feat fit for a rifle! If he’d call it naught but ‘not bad’, then she’d wager he knew it well enough.

“Well, Sergeant, I could keep tossing pebbles at that mark – or, if you’re willing, perhaps place a proper tool in my hands. A rifle, perhaps?”

She held his gaze, bracing for an outright refusal. Even she knew rifles were scarce granted upon a whim. She’d dry-fired an M7 just yesterday, aye, but most of her time had been spent laboring over sidearms. Yet, the prospect lingered – if he were impressed enough, perhaps he’d yield.

O’Connor chuckled. “Tryna run before you can walk, huh? Y’know what, I can respect it. But uh… aren't you a magic knight or somethin'? Surprised you wanna pick up a new primary weapon so quickly.”

Sera folded her arms. “A good knight adapts to the battlefield. Rest easy Sergeant, I can manage the walk. Yet if you fancy I should crawl,” she let out an overdramatic, exasperated sigh, “then so be it – crawl I shall.”

He smirked, clearly entertained. “Alright, alright. We’ll see about rifles soon enough. Besides, I heard Alpha Team’s coming back soon. Let’s see what Captain Donnager has to say.”