Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

Without hesitation, he struck the longsword with the dagger. The blade of the longsword splintered effortlessly under the pressure. Kayvaan continued slashing, and within moments, the once-pristine longsword was reduced to nothing but a hilt. He casually tossed it aside. "This dagger isn't just a tool; it's a masterpiece. In skilled hands, even a small weapon can turn the tide of battle. Imagine what such a weapon could do against unarmored flesh. Now, let me ask the soldier I hit earlier—what's your name?"

"Sir, my name is Hogel! Sir!" The young recruit's voice was loud and resolute, but there was an unmistakable tension in his stance.

"Very well, Hogel," Kayvaan replied, casually spinning the dagger in his hand. "Now tell me—what would happen if I used this dagger on you, as I did with that sword?"

Hogel's face turned pale, the color draining as the memory of Kayvaan slicing the iron sword like a potato replayed in his mind. He swallowed hard. "I… I'd die, sir."

"Correct. The armor you're wearing might stop an ordinary blade, but it wouldn't stand a chance against this dagger. Do you know why?" Kayvaan raised the weapon for all to see. "This dagger has been enhanced with monomolecular blade technology. You probably don't fully understand what that means, so let me simplify: this dagger has been subjected to high-tech modifications, making it extraordinarily sharp. In the Middle Ages, something like this would be considered a magical weapon."

Kayvaan walked back to the center of the field, addressing the gathered soldiers. "Many of you will eventually be issued similarly advanced weaponry. You'll also face enemies wielding weapons beyond your understanding. That's why, starting today, you must master two key skills. First, trust your armor. Second, learn to identify your enemy's weapons. Know what your gear can resist and what you must avoid."

He gestured to a rack of weapons nearby. "Now, each of you will take one of these standard legion swords. This is the basic cold weapon you'll train with and, eventually, use to defeat your enemies. Get familiar with it. Understand its weight, its balance, and its limitations. Partner up. Practice against each other. The winners today will receive rewards, and the losers will face punishment. Instructors, sort them into pairs!"

The soldiers quickly divided into groups and began sparring. The air was soon filled with the clashing of swords, the dull thuds of armored bodies colliding, and occasional groans as recruits struggled to adjust to the weight of their armor and the awkwardness of their weapons. It was clear that this was an entirely new experience for them. While some were proficient in boxing or marksmanship, few had any idea how to wield a sword effectively, let alone while encased in heavy armor.

The chaotic skirmishes lacked structure or finesse, resembling little more than a brawl. Kayvaan stood on the sidelines, watching impassively. He didn't interrupt; he knew this was an essential part of the process. Skill would come later. For now, they needed to familiarize themselves with the feel of holding a sword and moving in armor. "You there—Hogel!" Kayvaan suddenly called out. "Why aren't you sparring?"

"Sir, I've been assigned no partner."

"No partner? That's fine. I'll spar with you myself."

Hogel's heart leaped. On the surface, he feigned excitement at the honor of sparring with his superior. Internally, though, his thoughts were venomous. 'Perfect. This is my chance for payback.' Hogel still fumed over being singled out earlier and humiliated in front of his comrades. Now, with a legitimate reason to fight back, he was determined to make Kayvaan regret it.

"Why don't you answer? Are you afraid to fight me?"

"No, sir! It's an honor and a privilege to spar with you, sir!"

"Oh, no," Kayvaan said, his tone almost pitying. "You're an unlucky man, Hogel. Believe me."

Hogel, however, was brimming with confidence. Compared to the burly soldiers around him, Kayvaan's slender frame seemed unimposing. This guy doesn't stand a chance, Hogel thought as he readied his weapon.

Hogel quickly learned how wrong he was. The first exchange lasted only moments. One second, Hogel was advancing, confident he had the upper hand. The next, he was flat on his back, staring at the sky, his sword clattering to the ground. Confused but undeterred, he tried again. Then again. Each attempt ended the same way, with Hogel sprawled on the ground, completely outmatched. His frustration mounted as he failed to understand how he kept losing.

To drive the lesson home, Kayvaan began to toy with him. Each movement was calculated, each strike precise. Hogel wasn't just losing—he was being dismantled. By the time Kayvaan finally stepped back, Hogel was so battered he could barely stand. "Well," Kayvaan said, shaking his head. "You wanted a sparring partner. Congratulations. From now on, you'll be practicing with me."

For the first time, Hogel realized just how unlucky he truly was. The chaotic sparring matches among the rest of the soldiers continued for another fifteen minutes. Eventually, all the victors and losers were determined. The instructors took over, herding the exhausted recruits toward the next training site. There was no time for rest. The schedule was grueling, with barely a moment to catch their breath between drills. Meals had to be finished in five minutes; any unfinished food meant continuing on an empty stomach.

The training was relentless. Alongside traditional physical conditioning, recruits were subjected to cross-country obstacle courses designed to mimic combat conditions. Machine guns mounted above barbed wire unleashed bursts of simulated fire as soldiers crawled beneath, the sound of bullets whizzing overhead adding a visceral sense of danger.

Kayvaan observed it all with a critical eye. The training was designed not just to build physical strength but to forge discipline, resilience, and camaraderie. This wasn't about individual survival; it was about creating warriors who could function as a cohesive unit on the battlefield. "They're rough," Edward commented, stepping up beside Kayvaan. "Undisciplined. Green. Do you really think they'll be ready?"

"They have to be," Kayvaan replied simply, his gaze fixed on the recruits. "This galaxy doesn't wait for anyone to be ready."

The relentless day of high-intensity training finally concluded as the sun dipped below the horizon. Dinner was greeted with a roar of cheers from the soldiers. Before them lay a feast they couldn't have imagined in their wildest dreams—a spread far removed from the bland rations they were accustomed to. Even better, the usual time limit for meals was extended to a luxurious fifteen minutes. For a fleeting moment, the soldiers basked in a rare sense of contentment. But this was Kayvaan's camp, and such moments were never meant to last.

After dinner, the soldiers were ushered into a dimly lit classroom. Soft, tranquil music played in the background, the kind that might accompany a soothing evening by the sea. Outside, the rhythmic murmur of waves added to the serene ambiance. Each soldier was given a sheet of paper and a pen and instructed to write an 800-word essay. The topic? Whatever they wanted. The only rule? Stay awake. Falling asleep would result in severe punishment.